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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42973 ***
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+     1. Page scan source: Google Books
+         http://books.google.com/books?id=E08YAAAAYAAJ
+         (Harvard University)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                             THE HOUSE OF
+                          THE WHITE SHADOWS
+
+
+                                  By
+
+                            B. L. FARJEON
+
+                             _Author of_
+                   Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square
+                    Grif, Toilers of Babylon, etc.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                        R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
+                      PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK: 1904
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                         Copyright, 1903, by
+                        New Amsterdam Book Co.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                  _The House of the White Shadows_.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                       BENJAMIN LEOPOLD FARJEON
+
+
+We regret to learn that since this book was sent to press in this
+country, its gifted author has passed away in London at the ripe age
+of 70 years. It seems appropriate and indeed necessary to preface "The
+House of the White Shadows," on its appearance in America, with a
+brief account of Mr. Farjeon's life and literary career. Considering
+his popularity it is astonishing how very little is generally known
+regarding this author's personality. The ordinary reference books, if
+not altogether silent respecting him, have but a line or two, giving
+the date of his birth with perhaps a list of two or three of his
+principal novels. It is sincerely to be hoped that a competent
+biography will ultimately appear, affording to his very many admirers
+some satisfactory account of a man who has given the world more than
+twenty-five remarkable works of fiction.
+
+Mr. Farjeon was an Englishman, having been born in London in 1833. At
+an early age he went to Australia and from thence to New Zealand. It
+would be exceedingly interesting to learn how he employed himself in
+those colonies. We know that he engaged in a journalistic venture in
+Dunedin, but how long it continued or how he fed his intellectual life
+during the years which intervened, until he published his first novel
+in London, we know little or nothing. At all events he returned home
+and launched his first literary venture in London in 1870. It was
+called "Grif, a Story of Australian Life." This story proved to be
+eminently successful, and probably determined its author's future
+career. He produced "Joshua Marvel" in 1871; "London's Heart" in 1873;
+"Jessie Trim" in 1874, and a long list of powerful novels ending with
+"Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square," published only two or three years
+ago. Some of these works, like "Blade o' Grass," "Bread and Cheese and
+Kisses," "Great Porter Square," etc., have been very popular both in
+England and the United States, passing through many editions.
+
+Mr. Farjeon's style is remarkable for its vivid realism. The London
+"Athenæum" in a long and appreciative review styles him "a master of
+realistic fiction." On account of his sentiment and minute
+characterization he is regarded as a follower of the method of
+Dickens. No writer since that master can picture like Farjeon the
+touching and pathetic type of innocent childhood, pure in spite of
+miserable and squalid surroundings. He can paint, too, a scene of
+sombre horror so vividly that even Dickens himself could scarcely
+emulate its realism.
+
+Mr. Farjeon visited the United States several times during his long
+life. Americans have always regarded him with kindly feelings. Perhaps
+this kindliness was somewhat increased when it became generally known
+that he had married a daughter of America's genial actor, Joseph
+Jefferson.
+
+"The House of the White Shadows" is published in this country by
+arrangement with Messrs. Hutchinson & Co., of London, who have been
+Mr. Farjeon's publishers in Great Britain for many years.
+
+                                                  THE PUBLISHERS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS
+
+     CHAPTER
+
+
+                    Book I.--The Trial of Gautran.
+
+
+          I.--Only a Flower-girl,
+
+         II.--The Arrival of the Advocate,
+
+        III.--The Advocate's Wife Insists upon Having her Way,
+
+         IV.--Jacob Hartrich, the Baker, Gives his Reasons for
+                Believing Gautran the Woodman Guilty of the Murder of
+                Madeline,
+
+          V.--Fritz the Fool,
+
+         VI.--Mistress and Maid,
+
+        VII.--A Visit from Pierre Lamont--Dreams of Love,
+
+       VIII.--The Interview in Prison,
+
+         IX.--The Advocate Undertakes a Strange Case,
+
+          X.--Two Letters--From Friend to Friend, from Lover to Lover,
+
+         XI.--Fire and Snow--Fool Fritz Informs Pierre Lamont, where
+                Actual Love Commences,
+
+        XII.--The Struggle of Love and Duty,
+
+       XIII.--The Trial of Gautran,
+
+        XIV.--The Evidence of Witnesses,
+
+         XV.--The Widow Joseph Gives Evidence Respecting a Mysterious
+                Visitor,
+
+        XVI.--The Conclusion of the Prosecution,
+
+       XVII.--The Advocate's Defense--The Verdict,
+
+
+                      Book II.--The Confession.
+
+
+          I.--A Letter from John Vanbrugh,
+
+         II.--A Startling Interruption,
+
+        III.--In the Dead of Night,
+
+         IV.--The Confession,
+
+
+                    Book III.--The Grave of Honour.
+
+
+          I.--Preparations for a Visitor,
+
+         II.--A Love Story of the Past,
+
+        III.--A Mother's Treachery,
+
+         IV.--Husband and Wife,
+
+          V.--The Gathering of the Storm,
+
+         VI.--The Grave of Honour,
+
+        VII.--Husband and Wife,
+
+       VIII.--The Compact,
+
+         IX.--Mother Denise Has Strange Fancies in the Night,
+
+          X.--Christian Almer's Child-life,
+
+         XI.--Beatrice Almer Gives a Promise to Her Son,
+
+        XII.--The Last Meeting between Husband and Wife,
+
+       XIII.--The Arrival of Christian Almer,
+
+
+                Book IV.--The Battle with Conscience.
+
+
+          I.--Lawyer and Priest,
+
+         II.--The White Shadow,
+
+        III.--The Watch on the Hill,
+
+         IV.--The Silent Voice,
+
+          V.--Gautran Finds a Refuge,
+
+         VI.--Pierre Lamont Reads Love-verses to Fritz the Fool,
+
+        VII.--Mistress and Maid,
+
+       VIII.--In the Home of His Childhood,
+
+         IX.--Christian Almer Receives Two Visitors,
+
+          X.--A Brief Survey of the Web,
+
+         XI.--A Crisis,
+
+        XII.--Self-justification,
+
+       XIII.--Shadows,
+
+        XIV.--The Advocate Fears he has Created a Monster,
+
+         XV.--Gautran and the Advocate,
+
+        XVI.--Pierre Lamont Seeks the Hospitality of the House of
+                White Shadows,
+
+       XVII.--Fritz the Fool Relates a Strange Dream to Pierre Lamont,
+
+
+                    Book V.--The Doom Of Gautran.
+
+
+          I.--Adelaide Strives to Propitiate Pierre Lamont,
+
+         II.--Gautran Seeks John Vanbrugh,
+
+        III.--Gautran Resolves on a Plan of Escape,
+
+         IV.--Heaven's Judgment,
+
+          V.--Father Capel Discovers Gautran in His Peril,
+
+         VI.--The Written Confession,
+
+
+                   Book VI.--A Record Of The Past.
+
+
+          I.--The Discovery of the Manuscript,
+
+         II.--Christian Almer's Father,
+
+        III.--A Dishonourable Concealment,
+
+         IV.--M. Gabriel is Dismissed,
+
+          V.--The Thief in the Night,
+
+         VI.--The Hidden Crime,
+
+        VII.--False Wife, False Friend,
+
+
+                       Book VII.--Retribution.
+
+
+          I.--John Vanbrugh and the Advocate,
+
+         II.--A Terrible Revelation,
+
+        III.--Pauline,
+
+         IV.--Onward--to Death,
+
+          V.--The Doom of the House of White Shadows,
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                     THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS.
+
+
+
+
+
+                   _BOOK I.--THE TRIAL OF GAUTRAN_.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I
+
+                         ONLY A FLOWER-GIRL.
+
+
+The feverish state of excitement into which Geneva was thrown was not
+caused by a proclamation of war, a royal visit, a social revolution, a
+religious wave, or an avalanche. It was simply that a man was on his
+trial for murder.
+
+There is generally in Geneva a rational if not a philosophic
+foundation for a social upheaving; unlike the people of most other
+countries, the population do not care to play a blind game of follow
+my leader. They prefer to think for themselves, and their leaders must
+be men of mark. Intellect is passionately welcomed; pretenders find
+their proper level.
+
+What, then, in a simple trial for murder, had caused the excitement?
+Had the accused moved in a high station, was he a poet, a renowned
+soldier, a philanthropist, a philosopher, or a priest loved for his
+charities, and the purity of his life? None of these; he was Gautran,
+a woodman, and a vagabond of the lowest type. It would be natural,
+therefore, to seek for an explanation in the social standing of his
+victim. A princess, probably, or at least a lady of quality? On the
+contrary. A common flower-girl, who had not two pair of shoes to her
+feet.
+
+Seldom had a trial taken place in which the interest manifested had
+been so absorbing. While it was proceeding, the questions which men
+and women asked freely of each other were:
+
+"What news from the court-house?"
+
+"How many days longer is it likely to last?"
+
+"Has the monster confessed?"
+
+"What will the verdict be?"
+
+"Do you think it possible he can escape?"
+
+"Why did the famous Advocate undertake the defence?"
+
+In fashionable assemblies, and in _cafés_ where the people drank their
+lager and red wine; in clubs and workshops; on steamboats and
+diligences; in the fields and vineyards; on high-roads and
+bye-roads--the trial of Gautran formed the principal topic of
+conversation and debate, to the almost utter exclusion of trade, and
+science, and politics, and of a new fashion in hats which was setting
+the women of adjacent countries crazy. So animated were the
+discussions that the girl lying in her grave might have been supposed
+to be closely related to half the inhabitants of Geneva, instead of
+having been, as she was, a comparative stranger in the town, with no
+claim upon any living Genevese on the score of kinship. The evidence
+against the prisoner was overwhelming, and it appeared as though a
+spirit of personal hatred had guided its preparation. With deadly
+patience and skill the prosecution had blocked every loophole of
+escape. Gautran was fast in the meshes, and it was observed that his
+counsel, the Advocate, in the line he adopted, elicited precisely the
+kind of evidence which--in the judgment of those who listened to him
+now for the first time-strengthened the case against the man he was
+defending.
+
+"Ah," said those observers, "this great Advocate shares the horror of
+the murderer and his crime, and has undertaken the defence for the
+purpose of ensuring a conviction."
+
+A conclusion which could only occur to uninformed minds.
+
+There were others--among them the prosecuting counsel, the judge, and
+the members of the legal profession who thronged the court who, with a
+better knowledge of the Advocate's marvellous resources, and the
+subtle quality of his intellect, were inspired with the gravest doubts
+as to the result of the trial. This remarkable man, who gazed before
+him with calm, thoughtful eyes, whose face was a mask upon which no
+trace of inward emotion could be detected, was to them at once a
+source of perplexity and admiration. Instances were cited of trials in
+which he had been engaged, in the course of which he had seemed to
+play so directly into the hands of his antagonists that defeat was not
+dreamt of until they were startled by the discovery that he had led
+them into an ambush where, at the supreme moment, victory was snatched
+from their grasp. And, when it was too late to repair their error,
+they were galled by the reflection that the Advocate had so blinded
+their judgment, and so cloaked his designs, that he had compelled them
+to contribute largely to their own discomfiture.
+
+It was in the acknowledgment of these extraordinary powers that the
+doubt arose whether Gautran would not slip through the hands of
+justice. Every feature of the case and the proceedings, whether
+picturesque or horrible, that afforded scope for illustration by pen
+and pencil was pressed into the service of the public--whose appetite
+for such fare is regarded as immoderate and not over-nice--by special
+correspondents and artists. Descriptions and sketches of the river and
+its banks, of the poor home of the unfortunate flower-girl, of the
+room in which she had slept, of her habits and demeanour, of her
+dress, of her appearance alive and dead; and, as a contrast, of
+Gautran and his vile surroundings--not a detail was allowed to escape.
+It was impossible, without favour or influence, to obtain admission to
+the court in which the trial was held, and, could seats have been
+purchased, a higher price would willingly have been paid for them than
+the most celebrated actress or prima donna could have commanded.
+Murders are common enough, but this crime had feverishly stirred the
+heart of the community, and its strangest feature was that the
+excitement was caused, not so much by the murder itself, as by an
+accidental connection which imparted to it its unparalleled interest.
+
+The victim was a young girl seventeen years of age, who, until a few
+months before her cruel and untimely death, had been a stranger in the
+neighbourhood. Nothing was known of the story of her life. When she
+first appeared in the suburbs of Geneva she was accompanied by a woman
+much older than herself, and two facts made themselves immediately
+apparent. That a strong attachment existed between the new-comers, and
+that they were very poor. The last circumstance was regarded as a
+sufficient indication that they belonged to the lower classes. The
+name of the younger of the women was Madeline, the name of the elder
+Pauline.
+
+That they became known simply by these names, Madeline and Pauline,
+was not considered singular by those with whom they consorted; as they
+presented themselves, so they were accepted. Some said they came from
+the mountains, some from the plains, but this was guess-work. Their
+dress did not proclaim their canton, and they brought nothing with
+them to betray them.
+
+To the question asked of them, "What are you?" Pauline replied,
+"Cannot you see? We are common working people."
+
+They hired a room in a small cottage for three francs a month, and
+paid the first month's rent in advance, and their landlady was correct
+in her surmise that these three francs constituted nearly the whole of
+their wealth. She was curious to know how they were going to live, for
+although they called themselves working people, the younger of the two
+did not seem to be fitted for hard work, or to be accustomed to it.
+
+For a few days they did nothing, and then their choice of avocation
+was made. They sold flowers in the streets and _cafés_ of Geneva, and
+gained no more than a scanty living thereby.
+
+The woman in whose cottage they lived said she was surprised that they
+did not make a deal of money, as much because of Madeline's beauty as
+of their exquisite skill in arranging their posies.
+
+Had Pauline traded alone it is likely that failure would have attended
+her, for notwithstanding that she was both comely and straight-made,
+there was always in her eyes the watchful look of one who mistrusts
+honeyed words from strangers, and sees a snare in complimentary
+phrases.
+
+It was otherwise with Madeline, in whose young life Nature's fairest
+season was opening, and it would have been strange indeed if her
+smiling face and winning manners had not attracted custom. This
+smiling face and these winning manners were not an intentional part of
+the trade she followed; they were natural gifts.
+
+Admiration pursued her, not only from those in her own station in
+life, but from some who occupied a higher, and many an insidious
+proposal was whispered in her ear whose poisonous flattery would have
+beguiled her to her ruin. If she had not had in Pauline a staunch and
+devoted protector, it is hard to say whether she could have resisted
+temptation, for her nature was singularly gentle and confiding; but
+her faithful companion was ever on the alert, and no false wooer could
+hope to win his way to Madeline's heart while Pauline was near.
+
+One gave gold for flowers, and was about to depart with a smile at the
+success of his first move, when Pauline, with her hand on his sleeve,
+stopped his way.
+
+"You have made a mistake," she said, tendering the gold; "the flowers
+you have taken are worth but half-a-franc."
+
+"There is no mistake," he said airily; "the gold is yours for beauty's
+sake."
+
+"I prefer silver," she said, gazing steadily at him, "for fair
+dealing's sake."
+
+He took back his gold and gave her silver, with a taunting remark that
+she was a poor hand at her trade. She made no reply to this, but there
+was a world of meaning in her eyes as she turned to Madeline with a
+look of mingled anxiety and tenderness. And yet she desired money,
+yearningly desired it, for the sake of her young charge; but she would
+only earn it honestly, or receive it from those of whom she had a
+right to ask.
+
+She guarded Madeline as a mother guards her young, and their affection
+for each other grew into a proverb. Certainly no harm could befall the
+young flower-girl while Pauline was by her side. Unhappily a day
+arrived when the elder of the women was called away for a while. They
+parted with tears and kisses, never to meet again!
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                     THE ARRIVAL OF THE ADVOCATE
+
+
+Among those whom Madeline's beauty had attracted was a man in a common
+way of life, Gautran, a woodman, who followed her with dogged
+persistence. That his company was distasteful to this bright young
+creature could not be doubted, but he was not to be shaken off, and
+his ferocity of character deterred others from approaching the girl
+when he was present. Many times had he been heard to say, "Madeline
+belongs to me; let me see who is bold enough to dispute it." And again
+and again that it would go hard with the man who stepped between him
+and the girl he loved. Even Pauline was loth to anger him, and seemed
+to stand in fear of him. This was singular enough, for when he and
+Madeline were seen together, people would say, "There go the wolf and
+the lamb."
+
+This wretch it was who stood accused of the murder of the pretty
+flower-girl.
+
+Her body had been found in the River Rhone, with marks of violence
+upon it, and a handkerchief tightly twisted round its neck. The proofs
+of a cruel murder were incontestable, and suspicion fell immediately
+upon Gautran, who was the last person known to be in Madeline's
+company. Evidence of his guilt was soon forthcoming. He was madly,
+brutally in love with her, and madly, brutally jealous of her. On the
+night of the murder they had been seen walking together on the bank of
+the river; Gautran had been heard to speak in a high tone, and his
+exclamation, "I will kill you! I will kill you!" was sworn to by
+witnesses; and the handkerchief round her neck belonged to him. A
+thousand damning details were swiftly accumulated, all pointing to the
+wretch's guilt, and it was well for him that he did not fall into the
+hands of the populace. So incensed were they against him that they
+would have torn him to pieces.
+
+Not in all Geneva could there be found a man or a woman who, by the
+holding up of a finger, would have besought mercy for him. Regret was
+openly expressed that the death punishment for murder was not lawful,
+some satisfaction, however, being derived from the reflection that in
+times gone by certain heinous crimes had brought upon the criminals a
+punishment more terrible than death.
+
+"They should chain the monster by the waist," said a man, "so that he
+cannot lie down, and can only move one step from the stake. Gautran
+deserves worse than that."
+
+But while he lay in prison, awaiting the day of trial, there arrived
+in Geneva an Advocate of renown, who had travelled thither with his
+wife in search of much needed repose from years of continuous mental
+toil. This man was famous in many countries; he was an indefatigable
+and earnest worker, and so important were his services deemed
+that phenomenal fees were frequently paid to secure them. But
+notwithstanding the exceeding value of his time he had been known to
+refuse large sums of money in cases offered to him, in order to devote
+himself to others which held out no prospect of pecuniary reward.
+
+Wealthy, and held in almost exaggerated esteem, both for his abilities
+and the cold purity of his life, it was confidently predicted that the
+highest honours of the state were in store for him, and it was
+ungrudgingly admitted--so far above his peers did he stand--that the
+loftiest office would be dignified by association with his name. The
+position he had attained was due as much to his intense enthusiasm in
+the cause he championed as to his wondrous capacity for guiding it to
+victory. As leader of a forlorn hope he was unrivalled. He had an
+insatiable appetite for obstacles; criminal cases of great moment, in
+which life and liberty were in imminent peril, and in which there was
+a dark mystery to be solved, possessed an irresistible fascination for
+him. Labour such as this was a labour of love, and afforded him the
+keenest pleasure. The more intricate the task the closer his study of
+it; the deeper the mystery the greater his patience in the unravelling
+of it; the more powerful the odds against him the more determined his
+exertions to win the battle. His microscopic, penetrating mind
+detected the minutest flaw, seized the smallest detail likely to be of
+advantage to him, and frequently from the most trivial thread he spun
+a strand so strong as to drag the ship that was falling to pieces to a
+safe and secure haven. His satisfaction at these achievements was
+unbounded, but he rarely allowed an expression of exultation to escape
+him. His outward tranquillity, even in supreme crises, was little less
+than marvellous. His nerve was of iron, and to his most intimate
+associates his inner life was a sealed book.
+
+Accompanied by his wife, the Advocate entered Geneva, and alighted at
+one of the principal hotels, four days before that on which the trial
+of Gautran was to commence.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III
+
+           THE ADVOCATE'S WIFE INSISTS UPON HAVING HER WAY
+
+
+Their arrival was expected. The moment they were shown into a private
+room the proprietor of the hotel waited upon them, and with obsequious
+bows welcomed them to Geneva.
+
+"A letter has been awaiting my lord," said this magnate, the whiteness
+of whose linen was dazzling; he had been considering all the morning
+whether he should address the great Advocate as "your lordship," or
+"your eminence," or "your highness," and had decided upon the first,
+"since yesterday evening."
+
+The Advocate in silence received the letter, in silence read it, then
+handed it to his wife, who also read it, with a careless and
+supercilious air which deeply impressed the landlord.
+
+"Will my lord and my lady," said this official, "honour us by
+remaining long in our town? The best rooms in the establishment are at
+their disposal."
+
+The Advocate glanced at his wife, who answered for him:
+
+"We shall remain for a few hours only."
+
+Despair was expressed in the landlord's face as he left the room,
+overwhelmed with the desolation caused by this announcement.
+
+The letter which he had delivered to the Advocate ran as follows:
+
+
+"Comrade, whom I have never seen, but intimately know, Welcome.
+Were it not that I am a cripple, and physically but half a
+man--represented, fortunately, by the upper moiety of my body--I
+should come in person to shake you by the hand. As it is, I must wait
+till you take up your quarters in Christian Almer's villa in our quiet
+village, where I spend my days and nights, extracting what amusement I
+can from the foibles and weaknesses of my neighbours. My father was
+steward to Christian Almer's father, and I succeeded him, for the
+reason that the office, during the latter years and after the death of
+the elder Almer, was a sinecure. Otherwise, another steward would have
+had to be found, for my labours lay elsewhere. But since the day on
+which I became a mere bit of animated lumber, unable of my own will to
+move about, and confined within the narrow limits of this sleepy
+valley, I have regarded the sinecure as an important slice of good
+fortune, albeit there was nothing whatever to do except to cause
+myself to be wheeled past Christian Almer's villa on fine days, for
+the purpose of satisfying myself that no thief had run away with its
+rusty gates. Then came an urgent letter from young Almer, whom I have
+not beheld since he was a lad of nine or ten, begging of me to put the
+house in order for you and your lady, to whom I, as an old gallant, am
+already in spirit devoted. And when I heard that it was for you the
+work was to be done, doubly did I deem myself fortunate in not having
+thrown up the stewardship in my years of active life. All, then, is
+ready in the old house, which will be the more interesting to you from
+the fact of its not having been inhabited for nearly a generation.
+Comedies and tragedies have been enacted within its walls, as you
+doubtless know. Does Christian Almer come with you, and has he grown
+into the likeness of his father?--Your servant and brother,
+
+                                        "Pierre Lamont."
+
+
+"Who is this Pierre Lamont?" asked his wife.
+
+"Once a famous lawyer," replied the Advocate; "compelled some years
+ago to relinquish the pursuit of his profession by reason of an
+accident which crippled him for life. You do not wish to stop in
+Geneva, then?"
+
+"No," said the beautiful woman who stood before him, his junior by
+five-and-twenty years; "there is nothing new to be seen here, and I am
+dying with impatience to take possession of Mr. Almer's villa. I have
+been thinking of nothing else for the last week."
+
+"Captivated by the name it bears."
+
+"Perhaps. The House of White Shadows! Could anything be more enticing?
+Why was it so called?"
+
+"I cannot tell you. Until lately, indeed when this holiday was decided
+upon"--he sighed as he uttered the word "holiday"; an indication that
+he was not accepting it in a glad spirit--"I was not aware that Almer
+owned a villa hereabouts. Do not forget, Adelaide, that he cautioned
+you against accepting an offer made in a rash moment."
+
+"What more was needed to set me longing for it? 'Here is a very
+beautiful book,' said Mr. Almer, 'full of wonderful pictures; it is
+yours, if you like--but, beware, you must not open it.' Think of
+saying that to a woman!"
+
+"You are a true daughter of Eve. Almer's offer was unwise; his caution
+still more unwise."
+
+"The moment he warned me against the villa, I fell in love with it. I
+shall discover a romance there."
+
+"I, too, would warn you against it----"
+
+"You are but whetting my curiosity," she interrupted playfully.
+
+"Seriously, though. Master Lamont, in his letter, says that the house
+has not been inhabited for nearly a generation----"
+
+"There must be ghosts there," she said, again interrupting him. "It
+will be delightful."
+
+"And Master Lamont's remark," continued the Advocate, "that there have
+been comedies and tragedies enacted within its walls is not a
+recommendation."
+
+"I have heard you say, Edward, that they are enacted within the walls
+of the commonest houses."
+
+"But this particular house has been for so long a time deserted! I am
+in ignorance of the stories attached to it; that they are in some
+sense unpleasant is proved by Almer's avoidance of the place. What
+occurs to me is that, were it entirely desirable, Almer would not have
+made it a point to shun it."
+
+"Christian Almer is different from other men; that is your own opinion
+of him."
+
+"True; he is a man dominated by sentiment; yet there appears to be
+something deeper than mere sentiment in his consistent avoidance of
+the singularly named House of White Shadows."
+
+"According to Master Lamont's letter he has been to some trouble to
+make it agreeable to us. Indeed, Edward, you cannot argue me out of
+having my own way."
+
+"If the house is gloomy, Adelaide----"
+
+"I will brighten it. Can I not?" she asked in a tone so winning that
+it brought a light into his grave face.
+
+"You can, for me, Adelaide," he replied; "but I am not thinking of
+myself. I would not willingly sadden a heart as joyous as yours. You
+must promise, if you are not happy there, to seek with me a more
+cheerful retreat."
+
+"You can dismiss your fears, Edward. I shall be happy there. All last
+night I was dreaming of white shadows. Did they sadden me? No. I woke
+up this morning in delightful spirits. Is that an answer to your
+forebodings?"
+
+"When did you not contrive to have your own way? I have some banking
+business to do in Geneva, and I must leave you for an hour." She
+nodded and smiled at him. Before he reached the door he turned and
+said: "Are you still resolved to send your maid away? She knows your
+wants so well, and you are so accustomed to her, that her absence
+might put you to inconvenience. Had you not better keep her with you
+till you see whether you are likely to be suited at Almer's house?"
+
+"Edward," she said gaily, "have I not told you a hundred times, and
+have you not found out for yourself a hundred and a hundred times
+again, that your wife is a very wilful woman? I shall love to be
+inconvenienced; it will set my wits to work. But indeed I happen to
+know that there is a pretty girl in the villa, the old housekeeper's
+granddaughter, who was born to do everything I wish done in just the
+way I wish it done."
+
+"Child of impulse and fancy," he said, kissing her hand, and then her
+lips, in response to a pouting invitation, "it is well for you that
+you have a husband as serious as myself to keep guard and watch over
+you. What is the thought that has suddenly entered your head?"
+
+"Can you read a woman's thoughts?" she asked in her lightest manner.
+
+"I can judge by signs. What was your thought, Adelaide?"
+
+"A foolish thought. To keep guard and watch over me, you said. The
+things are so different. The first is a proof of love, the second of
+suspicion."
+
+"A logician, too," he said with a pleased smile; "the air here agrees
+with you." So saying he left her, and the moment he was beyond the
+reach of her personal influence his native manner asserted itself, and
+his features assumed their usual grave expression. As he was
+descending the stairs of the hotel he was accosted by a woman, the
+maid he had advised his wife to keep.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir," she said; "but may I ask why I am
+discharged?"
+
+"Certainly not of me," he replied stiffly; "you are my wife's servant.
+She has her reasons."
+
+"She has not made me acquainted with them," said the woman
+discontentedly. "Will you?"
+
+He saw that she was in an ill-temper, and although he was not a man to
+tolerate insolence, he was attentive to trifles.
+
+"I do not interfere with my wife's domestics. She engages whom she
+pleases, and discharges whom she pleases."
+
+"But to do right, sir, that is everyone's affair. I am discharged
+suddenly, without notice, and without having committed a fault. Until
+this morning I am perfection; no one can dress my lady like me, no one
+can arrange her hair so admirably. That is what she says to me
+continually. Why, then, am I discharged? I ask my lady why, and she
+says, for her convenience."
+
+"She has paid you, has she not?"
+
+"Oh yes, and has given me money to return home. But it is not that. It
+is that it hurts me to be suddenly discharged. It is to my injury when
+I seek another situation. I shall be asked why I left my last. To
+speak the truth, I must say that I did not leave, that I was
+discharged. I shall be asked why, and I shall not be able to say."
+
+"Has she not given you a character?"
+
+"Yes; it is not that I complain of; it is being suddenly discharged."
+
+"I cannot interfere, mistress. You have no reasonable cause for
+complaint. You have a character, and you are well paid; that should
+content you."
+
+He turned from her, and she sent her parting words after him:
+
+"My lady has her reasons! I hope they will be found to be good ones,
+and that you will find them so. Do you hear?--that you will find them
+so!"
+
+He paid no further heed to her, and entering his carriage drove to the
+Rue de la Corraterie, to the business house of Jacob Hartrich, and was
+at once admitted to the banker's private room.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+     JACOB HARTRICH, THE BANKER, GIVES HIS REASONS FOR BELIEVING
+         GAUTRAN THE WOODMAN GUILTY OF THE MURDER OF MADELINE
+
+
+Jacob Hartrich, by birth a Jew, had reached his sixtieth year, and
+was as hale and strong as a man of forty. His face was bland and
+full-fleshed, his eyes bright and, at times, joyous, his voice mellow,
+his hands fat and finely-shaped, and given to a caressing petting of
+each other, denoting satisfaction with themselves and the world in
+general. His manners were easy and self-possessed--a characteristic of
+his race. He was a gentleman and a man of education.
+
+He gazed at the Advocate with admiration; he had an intense respect
+for men who had achieved fame by force of intellect.
+
+"Mr. Almer," he said, "prepared me for your arrival, and is anxious
+that I should forward your views in every possible way. I shall be
+happy to do so, and, if it is in my power, to contribute to the
+pleasure of your visit."
+
+"I thank you," said the Advocate, with a courteous inclination of his
+head. "When did you last see Mr. Almer?"
+
+"He called upon me this day three weeks--for a few minutes only, and
+only concerning your business."
+
+"He is always thoughtful and considerate. I suppose he was on his road
+to Paris when he called upon you."
+
+"No; he had no intention of going to Paris. I believe he had been for
+some time in the neighbourhood of Geneva before he favoured me with a
+visit. He is still here."
+
+"Here!" exclaimed the Advocate, in a tone of pleasure and surprise.
+
+"At least in Switzerland."
+
+"In what part?"
+
+"I cannot inform you, but from the remarks he let fall, I should say
+in the mountains, where tourists are not likely to penetrate." He
+paused a moment before he continued: "Mr. Almer spoke of you, in terms
+it was pleasant to hear, as his closest, dearest friend."
+
+"We are friends in the truest sense of the word."
+
+"Then I may speak freely to you. During the time he was with me I was
+impressed by an unusual strangeness in him. He was restless and ill at
+ease; his manner denoted that he was either dissatisfied with himself
+or was under some evil influence. I expressed my surprise to him that
+he had been for some time in this neighbourhood without calling upon
+me, but he did not offer any explanation of his neglect. He told me,
+however, that he was tired of the light, the gaiety, and the bustle of
+cities, and that it was his intention to seek some solitude to
+endeavour to rid himself of a terror which had taken possession of
+him. No sooner had he made this strange declaration than he strove, in
+hurried words, to make light of it, evidently anxious that it should
+leave no impression upon my mind. I need scarcely say he did not
+succeed. I have frequently thought of that declaration and of
+Christian Almer in connection with it."
+
+The Advocate smiled and shook his head.
+
+"Mr. Almer is given to fantastic expression. If you knew him as well
+as I do you would be aware that he is prone to magnify trifles, and
+likely to raise ghosts of the conscience for the mere pleasure of
+laying them. His nature is of that order which suffers keenly, but I
+am not disposed on that account to pity him. There are men who would
+be most unhappy unless they suffered."
+
+"My dear sir," said Jacob Hartrich, "I have known Christian Almer
+since he was a child. I knew his father, a gentleman of great
+attainments, and his mother, a refined and exquisitely beautiful
+woman. His child-life probably made a sad impression upon him, but he
+has mixed with the world, and there is a bridge of twenty years
+between then and now. A great change has taken place in him, and not
+for the better. There is certainly something on his mind."
+
+"There is something on most men's minds. I have remarked no change in
+Mr. Almer to cause me uneasiness. He is the same high-minded gentleman
+I have ever known him to be. He is exquisitely sensitive, responsive
+to the lightest touch; those who are imbued with such qualities suffer
+keenly and enjoy keenly."
+
+"The thought occurred to me that he might have sustained a monetary
+loss, but I dismissed it."
+
+"A monetary loss would rather exalt than depress him. He is rich--it
+would have been a great happiness for him if he had been poor. What
+are termed misfortunes are sometimes real blessings; many fine natures
+are made to halt on their way by worldly prosperity. Had Christian
+Almer been born in the lower classes he would have found a worthy
+occupation; he would have made a name for himself, and in all
+probability would have won a wife--who would have idolised him. He is
+a man whom a woman might worship."
+
+"You have given me a clue," said Jacob Hartrich; "he has met with a
+disappointment in love."
+
+"I think not; had he met with such a disappointment I should most
+surely have heard of it from his own lips."
+
+Interesting as this conversation was to both the speakers it had now
+come to a natural break, and Jacob Hartrich, diverging from it,
+inquired whether the Advocate's visit was likely to be a long one.
+
+"I have pledged myself," said the Advocate somewhat wearily, "to
+remain here for at least three months."
+
+"Rest is a necessary medicine." The Advocate nodded absently. "Pray
+excuse me while I attend to your affairs. Here are the local and other
+papers."
+
+He left the room, and returning soon afterwards found the Advocate
+engaged in the perusal of a newspaper in which he appeared to be
+deeply interested.
+
+"Your business," said Jacob Hartrich, "will occupy about twenty
+minutes. There are some trifling formalities to be gone through with
+respect to signatures and stamps. If you are pressed for time I will
+send to you at your hotel."
+
+"With your permission I will wait," said the Advocate, laying aside
+the paper with a thoughtful air.
+
+Jacob Hartrich glanced at the paper, and saw the heading of the
+column which the Advocate had perused, "The Murder of Madeline the
+Flower-girl."
+
+"You have been reading the particulars of this shocking deed."
+
+"I have read what is there written."
+
+"But you are familiar with the particulars; everybody has read them."
+
+"I am the exception, then. I have seen very few newspapers lately."
+
+"It was a foul and wicked murder."
+
+"It appears so, from this bare recital."
+
+"The foulest and most horrible within my remembrance. Ah! where will
+not the passions of men lead them?"
+
+"A wide contemplation. Were men to measure the consequences of their
+acts before they committed them, certain channels of human events
+which are now exceedingly wide and turbulent would become narrow and
+peaceful. It was a girl who was murdered?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Young?"
+
+"Barely seventeen."
+
+"Pretty?"
+
+"Very pretty."
+
+"Had she no father to protect her?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Nor mother?"
+
+"No--as far as is known."
+
+"A flower-girl, I gather from the account."
+
+"Yes. I have occasionally bought a posy of her--poor child!"
+
+"Did she trade alone?"
+
+"She had a companion, an elderly woman, who, unhappily, left her a few
+days before the murder."
+
+"Deserted her?"
+
+"No; it was an amicable parting, intended to last but a short time, I
+believe. It is not known what called her away."
+
+"This young flower-girl--was she virtuous?"
+
+"Undoubtedly, in my belief. She was most modest and child-like."
+
+"But susceptible to flattery. You hesitate. Why? Do you not judge
+human passions by human standards? She was young, pretty, in humble
+circumstances; her very opposite would be susceptible to flattery;
+therefore, she."
+
+"Why, yes, of course; I hesitated because it would pain me to say
+anything concerning her which might be construed into a reproach."
+
+"In such matters there is but one goal to steer for--the truth. I
+perceive that a man, Gautran, is in prison, charged with the murder."
+
+"A man?" exclaimed Jacob Hartrich, with indignant warmth. "A monster,
+rather! Some refined punishment should be devised to punish him for
+his crime."
+
+"His crime! I have, then, been reading an old paper." The Advocate
+referred to the date. "No--it is this morning's."
+
+"I see your point, but the proofs of the monster's guilt are
+irrefragable."
+
+"What proofs? The statements of newspaper reporters--the idle and
+mischievous tattle of persons who cannot be put into the witness-box?"
+
+"It is well that you express yourself to me privately on this matter.
+In public it would not be credited that you were in earnest."
+
+"Then the facts are lost sight of that the man has to be tried, that
+his guilt or innocence has yet to be established."
+
+"The law cannot destroy facts."
+
+"The law establishes facts, which are often in danger of being
+perverted by man's sympathies and prejudices. Are you acquainted with
+this Gautran?"
+
+"I have no knowledge of him except from report."
+
+"And having no knowledge of him, except from report, you form an
+opinion upon hearsay, and condemn him offhand. It is justice itself,
+therefore, that is on its trial, not a man accused of a frightful
+deed. _He_ is already judged. It is stated in the newspaper that the
+man's appearance is repulsive."
+
+"He is hideous."
+
+"Then you _have_ seen him."
+
+"No."
+
+"Calmly consider what value can be placed upon your judgment under the
+circumstances. You say the girl was pretty. Her engaging manners have
+tempted you to buy posies of her, not always when you needed them. In
+making this statement of a fact which, trivial as it appears to be, is
+of importance, I judge a human action by a human standard. Thus,
+beauty on one side, and a forbidding countenance on the other, may be
+the means of contributing--nay, of leading--to a direct miscarriage of
+justice. This should be prevented; justice must have a clear course,
+which must not be blocked and choked up by passion and prejudice. The
+opinion you express of Gautran's guilt may be entertained by others to
+whom he is also a stranger."
+
+"My opinion is universal."
+
+"The man, therefore, is universally condemned before he is called upon
+to answer the charge brought against him. Amidst this storm, in the
+wild fury of which reason has lost its proper functions, where shall a
+jury be found to calmly weigh the evidence on either side, and to
+judge, with ordinary fairness, a miserable wretch accused of a foul
+crime?"
+
+"Gautran is a vagabond," said Jacob Hartrich feebly, feeling as though
+the ground were giving way under his feet, "of the lowest type."
+
+"He is poor."
+
+"Necessarily."
+
+"And cannot afford to pay for independent legal aid."
+
+"It is fortunate. He will meet with his deserts more surely and
+swiftly."
+
+"You can doubtless call to mind instances of innocent persons being
+accused of crimes they did not commit, and being made to suffer."
+
+"There is no fear in the case of Gautran."
+
+"Let us hope not," said the Advocate, whose voice during the
+conversation had been perfectly passionless, "and in the meantime, do
+not lose sight of this principle. Were Gautran the meanest creature
+that breathes, were he the most repulsive being on earth, he is an
+innocent man until he is declared guilty by the law. Equally so were
+he a man gifted with exceeding beauty of person, and bearing an
+honoured name. And of those two extremes, supposing both were found
+guilty of equal crimes, it is worthy of consideration, whether he who
+walks the gutters be not better entitled to a merciful sentence than
+he who lives on the heights."
+
+At this moment a clerk brought some papers into the room. Jacob
+Hartrich looked over them, and handed them, with a roll of notes, to
+the Advocate, who rose and prepared to go.
+
+"Have you a permanent address?" asked the banker. "We take up our
+quarters at once," replied the Advocate, "at the House of White
+Shadows."
+
+Jacob Hartrich gazed at him in consternation. "Christian Almer's
+villa! He made no mention of it to me."
+
+"It was an arrangement entered into some time since. I have a letter
+from Master Pierre Lamont informing me that the villa is ready for
+us."
+
+"It has been uninhabited for years, except by servants who have been
+kept there to preserve it from falling into decay. There are strange
+stories connected with that house."
+
+"I have heard as much, but have not inquired into them. The
+probability is that they arise from credulity or ignorance, the
+foundation of all superstition."
+
+With that remark the Advocate took his leave.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V
+
+                            FRITZ THE FOOL
+
+
+As the little wooden clock in the parlour of the inn of The Seven
+Liars struck the hour of five, Fritz the Fool ran through the open
+door, from which an array of bottles and glasses could be seen, and
+cried:
+
+"They are coming--they are coming--the great Advocate and his
+lady--and will arrive before the cook can toss me up an omelette!"
+
+And having thus delivered himself, Fritz ran out of the inn to the
+House of White Shadows, and swinging open the gates, cried still more
+loudly:
+
+"Mother Denise! Dionetta, my pearl of pearls! Haste--haste! They are
+on the road, and will be here a lifetime before old Martin can
+straighten his crooked back!"
+
+Within five minutes of this summons, there stood at the door of the
+inn of The Seven Liars, the customers who had been tippling therein,
+the host and hostess and their three children; and ten yards off, at
+the gates of the villa. Mother Denise, her pretty granddaughter,
+Dionetta, and old Martin, whose breathing came short and quick at the
+haste he had made to be in time to welcome the Advocate and his lady.
+The refrain of the breaking-up song sung in the little village school
+was dying away, and the children trooped out, and waited to witness
+the arrival. The schoolmaster was also there, with a look of relief on
+his face, and stood with his hand on the head of his favourite pupil.
+The news had spread quickly, and when the carriage made its appearance
+at the end of the lane, which shelved downward to the House of White
+Shadows, a number of villagers had assembled, curious to see the great
+lord and lady who intended to reside in the haunted house.
+
+As the carriage drove up at the gates, the courier jumped down from
+his seat next to the driver, and opened the carriage door. The
+villagers pressed forward, and gazed in admiration at the beautiful
+lady, and in awe at the stern-faced gentleman who had selected the
+House of White Shadows for a holiday residence. There were those among
+them who, poor as they were, would not have undertaken to sleep in any
+one of the rooms in the villa for the value of all the watches in
+Geneva. There were, however, three persons in the small concourse of
+people who had no fears of the house. These were Mother Denise, the
+old housekeeper, her husband Martin, and Fritz the Fool.
+
+Mother Denise, the oldest servant of the house, had been born there,
+and was ghost and shadow proof; so was her husband, now in his
+eighty-fifth year, whose body was like a bent bow stretched for the
+flight of the arrow, his soul. Not for a single night in sixty-eight
+years had Mother Denise slept outside the walls of the House of White
+Shadows; nothing did she know of the great world beyond, and nothing
+did she care; a staunch, faithful servant of the Almer family,
+conversant with its secret history, her duty was sufficient for her,
+and she had no desire to travel beyond the space which encompassed it.
+For forty-three years her husband had kept her company, and to
+neither, as they had frequently declared, had a supernatural visitant
+ever appeared. They had no belief whatever in the ghostly gossip.
+
+Fool Fritz, on the contrary, averred that there was no mistake about
+the spiritual visitants; they appeared to him frequently, but he had
+no fear of them; indeed, he appeared to rather enjoy them. "They may
+come, and welcome," he said. "They don't strike, they don't bite, they
+don't burn. They reveal secrets which you would like nobody to find
+out. If it had not been for them, how should I have known about Karl
+and Mina kissing and courting at the back of the schoolhouse when
+everybody was asleep, or about Dame Walther and her sly bottle, or
+about Wolf Constans coming home at three in the morning with a dead
+lamb on his back--ah, and about many things you try and keep to
+yourselves? I don't mind the shadows, not I." There was little in the
+village that Fritz did not know; all the scandal, all the love-making,
+all the family quarrels, all the secret doings--it was hard to keep
+anything from him; and the mystery was how he came to the knowledge of
+these matters. "He is in affinity with the spirits," said the village
+schoolmaster; "he is himself a ghost, with a fleshly embodiment. That
+is why the fool is not afraid." Truly Fritz the Fool was ghostlike in
+appearance, for his skin was singularly white, and his head was
+covered with shaggy white hair which hung low down upon his shoulders.
+From a distance he looked like an old man, but he had not reached his
+thirtieth year, and so clear were his eyes and complexion that, on a
+closer observance, he might have passed for a lad of half the years he
+bore. A shrewd knave, despite his title of fool.
+
+Pretty Dionetta did not share his defiance of ghostly visitors. The
+House of White Shadows was her home, and many a night had she awoke in
+terror and listened with a beating heart to soft footsteps in the
+passage outside her room, and buried her head in the sheets to shut
+out the light of the moon which shone in at her window. Fritz alone
+sympathised with her. "Two hours before midnight," he would say to
+her; "then it was you heard them creeping past your door. You were
+afraid, of course--when one is all alone; I can prescribe a remedy for
+that--not yet, Dionetta, by-and-by. Till then, keep all men at a
+distance; avoid them; there is danger in them. If they look at you,
+frown, and lower your eyes. And to-night, when you go to bed, lock
+your door tight, and listen. If the spirits come again, I will charm
+them away; shortly after you hear their footsteps, I will sing a stave
+outside to trick them from your door. Then sleep in peace, and rely on
+Fritz the Fool."
+
+Very timid and fearful of the supernatural was this country beauty,
+whom all the louts in the neighbourhood wanted to marry, and she
+alone, of those who lived in the House of White Shadows, welcomed the
+Advocate and his wife with genuine delight. Fool Fritz thought of
+secretly-enjoyed pleasures which might now be disturbed, Martin was
+too old not to dislike change, and Mother Denise was by no means
+prepared to rejoice at the arrival of strangers; she would have been
+better pleased had they never shown their faces at the gates.
+
+The Advocate and his wife stood looking around them, he with observant
+eyes and in silence, she with undisguised pleasure and admiration. She
+began to speak the moment she alighted.
+
+"Charming! beautiful! I am positively in love with it. This morning it
+was but a fancy picture, now it is real. Could anything be more
+perfect? So peaceful, and quaint, and sweet! Look at those children
+peeping from behind their mother's gown--she can be no other than
+their mother--dirty, but how picturesque!--and the woman herself, how
+original! It is worth while being a woman like that, to stand as she
+does, with her children clinging to her. Why does Mr. Almer not like
+to live here? It is inexplicable, quite inexplicable. I could be happy
+here for ever--yes, for ever! Do you catch the perfume of the limes?
+It is delicious--delicious! It comes from the grounds; there must be a
+lime-tree walk there. And you," she said to the pretty girl at the
+gates, "you are Dionetta."
+
+"Yes, my lady," said Dionetta, and marvelled how her name could have
+become known to the beautiful woman, whose face was more lovely than
+the face of the Madonna over the altar of the tiny chapel in which she
+daily prayed. It was not difficult to divine her thought, for Dionetta
+was Nature's child.
+
+"You wonder who told me your name," said the Advocate's wife, smiling,
+and patting the girl's cheek with her gloved hand.
+
+"Yes, my lady."
+
+"It was a little bird, Dionetta."
+
+"A little bird, my lady!" exclaimed Dionetta, her wonderment and
+admiration growing fast into worship. The lady's graceful figure, her
+pink and white face, her pearly teeth, her lovely laughing mouth, her
+eyes, blue as the most beautiful summer's cloud--Dionetta had never
+seen the like before.
+
+"You," said the Advocate's wife, turning to the grandmother, "are
+Mother Denise."
+
+"Yes, my lady," said the old woman; "this is my husband, Martin. Come
+forward, Martin, come forward. He is not as young as he was, my lady."
+
+"I know, I know; my little bird was very communicative. You are
+Fritz."
+
+"The Fool," said the white-haired young man, approaching closer to the
+lady, and consequently closer to Dionetta, "Fritz the Fool. But that
+needn't tell against me, unless you please. I can be useful, if I care
+to be, and faithful, too, if I care to be."
+
+"It depends upon yourself, then," said the lady, accepting the
+independent speech in good part, "not upon others."
+
+"Mainly upon myself; but I have springs that can be set in motion, if
+one can only find out how to play upon them. I was told you were
+coming."
+
+"Indeed!" with an air of pleasant surprise. "By whom, and when?"
+
+"By whom? The white shadows. When? In my dreams."
+
+"The white shadows! They exist then! Edward, do you hear?"
+
+"It is not so, my lady," interposed Mother Denise, in ill-humour at
+the turn the conversation was taking; "the shadows do not exist,
+despite what people say. Fritz is over-fond of fooling."
+
+"It is my trade," retorted Fritz. "I know what I know, grandmother."
+
+"Is Fritz your grandson, then?" asked the Advocate's wife, of Mother
+Denise.
+
+"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Mother Denise.
+
+"What is not," remarked Fritz sententiously, "may be. Bear that in
+mind, grandmother; I may remind you of it one day."
+
+The Advocate, upon whom not a word that had passed had been lost,
+fixed his eyes upon Fritz, and said:
+
+"A delusion can be turned to profit. You make use of these shadows."
+
+"The saints forbid! They would burn me in brimstone. Yet," with a look
+both sly and vacant, "it would be a pity to waste them."
+
+"You like to be called a fool. It pleases you."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why, rather?"
+
+"I might answer in your own words, that it can be turned to profit.
+But I am too great a fool to see in what way."
+
+"You answer wisely. Why do you close your eyes?"
+
+"I can see in the dark what I choose to see. When my eyes are open, I
+am their slave. When they are closed, they are mine--unless I dream."
+
+The Advocate gazed for a moment or two in silence upon the white face
+with its closed eyes raised to his, and then said to his wife:
+
+"Come, Adelaide, we will look at the house."
+
+They passed into the grounds, accompanied by Mother Denise, Martin,
+and Dionetta. Fritz remained outside the gate, with his eyes still
+closed, and a smile upon his lips.
+
+"Fritz," said the host of the inn of The Seven Liars, "do you know
+anything of the great man?"
+
+Fritz rubbed his brows softly and opened his eyes.
+
+"Take the advice of a fool, Peter Schelt. Speak low when you speak of
+him."
+
+"You think he can hear us. Why, he is a hundred yards off by this
+time!"
+
+Fritz pointed with a waving finger to the air above him.
+
+"There are magnetic lines, neighbours, connecting him with everything
+he once sets eyes on. He can see without seeing, and hear without
+hearing."
+
+"You speak in riddles, Fritz."
+
+"Put it down to your own dulness, Peter Schelt, that you cannot
+understand me. Master Lamont, now--what would you say about him? That
+he lacks brains?"
+
+"A long way from it. Master Lamont is the cleverest man in the
+valley."
+
+"Not now," said Fritz, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder in
+the direction taken by the Advocate; "his master has come. Master
+Lamont is a great lawyer, but we have now a greater, one who is a more
+skilful cobbler with his tongue than Hans here is with his awl; he can
+so patch an old boot as to make it better than a new one, and look as
+close as you may, you will not see the seams. Listen, Master Schelt.
+When I stood there with my eyes shut I had a dream of a stranger who
+was found murdered in your house. An awful dream, Peter. Gather round,
+neighbours, gather round. There lay the stranger dead on his bed, and
+over him stood you, Peter Schelt, with a bloody knife in your hand.
+People say you murdered him for his money, and it really seemed so,
+for a purse stuffed with gold and notes was found in your possession;
+you had the stranger's silver watch, too. Suspicious, was it not? It
+was looking so black against you that you begged the great man who has
+come among us to plead for you at your trial. You were safe enough,
+then. He told a rare tale. Forty years ago the stranger robbed your
+father; suddenly he was struck with remorse, and seeking you out, gave
+you back the money, and his silver watch in the bargain. He proved to
+everybody's satisfaction that, though you committed the murder, it was
+impossible you could be guilty. Don't be alarmed, Madame Schelt, it
+was only a dream."
+
+"But are you sure I did it?" asked Peter Schelt, in no way disturbed
+by the bad light in which he was placed by Fritz's fancies.
+
+"What matters? The great man got you off, and that is all you cared
+for. Look here, neighbours; if any of you have black goats that you
+wish changed into white, go to him; he can do it for you. Or an old
+hen that cackles and won't lay, go to him; she will cackle less, and
+lay you six eggs a day. He is, of all, the greatest."
+
+"Ah," said a neighbour, "and what do you know of his lady wife?"
+
+"What all of you should know, but cannot see, though it stares you in
+the face."
+
+"Let us have it, Fritz."
+
+"She is too fair. Christine," to a stout young woman close to him,
+"give thanks to the Virgin to-night that you were sent into the world
+with a cast in your eye, and that your legs grow thicker and crookeder
+every day. _You_ will never drive a man out of his senses with your
+beauty."
+
+Fritz was compelled to beat a swift retreat, for Christine's arms were
+as thick as her legs, and they were raised to smite. Up the lane flew
+the fool, and Christine after him, amid the laughter of the villagers.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+                          MISTRESS AND MAID
+
+
+In the meantime the Advocate and his wife strolled through the
+grounds. Although it was evident that much labour had been bestowed
+upon them, there were signs of decay here and there which showed the
+need of a master mind; but as these traces were only to be met with at
+some distance from the villa itself, it was clear that they would not
+interfere with the comfort of the new arrivals. The house lay low, and
+the immediate grounds surrounding it were in good condition. There
+were orchards stocked with fruit-trees, and gardens bright with
+flowers. At a short distance from the house was an old châlet which
+had been built with great taste; it was newly painted, and much care
+had been bestowed upon a covered pathway which led to it from a side
+entrance to the House of White Shadows. The principal room in this
+châlet was a large studio, the walls of which were black. On the left
+wall--in letters which once were white, but which had grown yellow
+with age--was inscribed the legend, "The Grave of Honour."
+
+"How singular!" exclaimed the Advocate's wife. "'The Grave of Honour!'
+What can be the meaning of it?"
+
+But Mother Denise did not volunteer an explanation.
+
+Near the end of the studio was an alcove, the space beyond being
+screened by a dead crimson curtain. Holding back the curtain, a large
+number of pictures were seen piled against the walls.
+
+"Family pictures?" asked the Advocate's wife, of Mother Denise.
+
+"No, my lady," was the reply; "they were painted by an artist, who
+resided and worked here for a year or so in the lifetime of the old
+master."
+
+By the desire of the lady the housekeeper brought a few of the
+pictures into the light. One represented a pleasure party of ladies
+and gentlemen dallying in summer woods; another, a lady lying in a
+hammock and reaching out her arm to pluck some roses; two were
+companion pictures, the first subject being two persons who might have
+been lovers, standing among strewn flowers in the sunshine--the second
+subject showing the same figures in a different aspect; a cold grey
+sea divided them, on the near shore of which the man stood in an
+attitude of despair gazing across the waters to the opposite shore, on
+which stood the woman with a pale, grief-stricken face.
+
+"The sentiment is strained," observed the Advocate, "but the artist
+had talent."
+
+"A story could be woven out of them," said his wife; "I feel as if
+they were connected with the house."
+
+Upon leaving the châlet they continued their tour through the grounds.
+Already the Advocate felt the beneficial effects of a healthy change.
+His eyes were clearer, his back straighter, he moved with a brisker
+step. Mother Denise walked in front, pointing out this and that,
+Martin hobbled behind, and Dionetta, encouraged thereto, walked by her
+new mistress's side.
+
+"Dionetta," said the Advocate's wife, "do you know that you have the
+prettiest name in the world?"
+
+"Have I, my lady? I have never thought of it, but it is, if you say
+so."
+
+"But perhaps," said the Advocate's wife, with a glance at the girl's
+bright face, "a man would not think of your name when he looked at
+you."
+
+"I am sure I cannot say, my lady; he would not think of me at all."
+
+"You little simpleton! I wish I had such a name; they ought to wait
+till we grow up, so that we might choose our own names. I should not
+have chosen Adelaide for myself."
+
+"Is that your name, my lady?"
+
+"Yes--they could not have given me an uglier."
+
+"Nay," said Dionetta, raising her eyes in mute appeal for forgiveness
+for the contradiction, "it is very sweet."
+
+"Repeat it, then. Adelaide."
+
+"May I, my lady?"
+
+"Of course you may, if I wish you to. Let me hear you speak it."
+
+"Adelaide! Adelaide!" murmured Dionetta softly. The permission was as
+precious as the gift of a silver chain would have been. "My lady, it
+is pretty."
+
+"Shall we change?" asked the Advocate's wife gaily.
+
+"Can we?" inquired Dionetta in a solemn tone. "I would not mind if you
+wish it, and if it is right. I will ask the priest."
+
+"No, do not trouble. Would you really like to change?"
+
+"It would be so strange--and it might be a sin! If we cannot, it is of
+no use thinking of it."
+
+"There is no sin in thinking of things; if there were, the world would
+be full of sin, and I--dear me, how much I should have to answer for!
+I should not like everyone to know my thoughts. What a quiet life you
+must live here, Dionetta!"
+
+"Yes, my lady, it is quiet."
+
+"Would you not prefer to live in a city?"
+
+"I should be frightened, my lady. I have been only twice to Geneva,
+and there was no room in the streets to move about. I was glad to get
+back."
+
+"No room to move about, simplicity! That is the delight of it. There
+are theatres, and music, and light, and life. You would not be
+frightened if you were with me?"
+
+"Oh, no, my lady; that would be happiness."
+
+"Are you not happy here?"
+
+"Oh, yes, very happy."
+
+"But you wish for something?"
+
+"No, my lady; I have everything I want."
+
+"Everything--positively everything?"
+
+"Yes, my lady."
+
+"There is one thing you must want, Dionetta, if you have it not
+already."
+
+"May I know what it is?"
+
+"Yes, child. Love."
+
+Dionetta blushed crimson from forehead to throat, and the Advocate's
+wife laughed, and tapped her cheek.
+
+"You are very pretty, Dionetta; it is right you should have a pretty
+name. Do you mean to tell me you have not a lover?"
+
+"I have been asked, my lady," said the girl, in a tone so low that it
+could only just be heard.
+
+"And you said 'yes'? Little one, I have caught you."
+
+"My lady, I did not say 'yes.'"
+
+"And the men were contented? They must be dolts. Really and truly, you
+have not a lover?"
+
+"What can I say, my lady?" murmured Dionetta, her head bent down.
+"There are some who say they--love me."
+
+"But you do not love them?"
+
+"No, my lady."
+
+"You would like to have one you could love?"
+
+"One day, my lady, if I am so fortunate."
+
+"I promise you," said the Advocate's wife with a blithe laugh, "that
+one day you will be so fortunate. Women were made for love--and men,
+too, or where would be the use? It is the only thing in life worth
+living for. Blushing again! I would give my jewel-case to be able to
+blush like you."
+
+"I cannot help it, my lady. My face often grows red when I am quite
+alone."
+
+"And thinking of love," added the Advocate's wife; "for what else
+should make it red? So you do think of things! I can see, Dionetta,
+that you and I are going to be great friends."
+
+"You are very good, my lady, but I am only a poor peasant. I will
+serve you as well as I can."
+
+"You knew, before I came, that you were to be my maid?"
+
+"Yes, my lady. Master Lamont said it was likely. Grandmother did not
+seem to care that it should be so, but I wished for it, and now that
+she has seen you she must be glad for me to serve you."
+
+"Why should she be glad, Dionetta?"
+
+"My lady, it could not be otherwise," said Dionetta very earnestly;
+"you are so good and beautiful."
+
+"Flatterer! Master Lamont--he is an old man?"
+
+"Yes, my lady."
+
+"There are some old men who are very handsome."
+
+"He is not. He is small, and thin, and shrivelled up."
+
+"Those are not the men for us, are they, little one?"
+
+"But he has a voice like honey. I have heard many say so."
+
+"That is something in his favour--or would be, if women were blind. So
+from this day you are my maid. You will be faithful, I am sure, and
+will keep my secrets. Mind that, Dionetta. You must keep my secrets."
+
+"Have you any?" said Dionetta, "and shall you tell them to me?"
+
+"Every woman in the world has secrets, and every woman in the world
+must have someone to whom she can whisper them. You will find that out
+for yourself in time. Yes, child, I have secrets--one, a very precious
+one. If ever you guess it without my telling you, keep it buried in
+your heart, and do not speak of it to a living soul."
+
+"I would not dare, my lady."
+
+They walked a little apart from the others during this dialogue. The
+concluding words brought them to the steps of the House of White
+Shadows.
+
+"Edward," said the Advocate's wife to him, as they entered the house,
+"I have found a treasure. My new maid is charming."
+
+"I am pleased to hear it. She has an ingenuous face, but you will be
+able to judge better when you know more of her."
+
+"You do not trust many persons, Edward."
+
+"Not many, Adelaide."
+
+"Me?" she asked archly.
+
+"Implicitly."
+
+"And another, I think."
+
+"Certainly, one other."
+
+"I should not be far out if I were to name Christian Almer."
+
+"It is to him I refer."
+
+"I have sometimes wondered," she said, with an artless look, "why you
+should be so partial to him. He is so unlike you."
+
+"We are frequently drawn to our unlikes; but Almer and I have one
+quality in common with each other."
+
+"What quality, Edward?"
+
+"The quality of the dog--faithfulness. Almer's friendship is precious
+to me, and mine to him, because we are each to the other faithful."
+
+"The quality of the dog! How odd that sounds! Though when one thinks
+of it there is really something noble in it. And friendship--it is
+almost as if you placed it higher than love."
+
+"It is far higher. Love too frequently changes, as the seasons change.
+Friendship is, of the two, the more likely to endure, being less
+liable to storms. But even a faithful friendship is rare."
+
+"And faithful love much rarer, according to your ideas. Yet, Mr.
+Almer, having this quality of the dog, would be certain, you believe,
+to be faithful both in love and friendship."
+
+"To the death."
+
+"You are thorough in your opinions, Edward."
+
+"I do not believe in half-heartedness, Adelaide."
+
+The arrangements within the house were complete and admirable. For the
+Advocate's wife, a boudoir and reception-rooms into which new fashions
+had been introduced with judgment so good as not to jar with the old
+furnishings which had adorned them for many generations. For the
+Advocate a study, with a library which won from him cordial approval;
+a spacious and commodious apartment, neither overloaded with furniture
+nor oppressive with bare spaces; with an outlook from one window to
+the snow regions of Mont Blanc, from another to the city of Geneva,
+which was now bathed in a soft, mellow light. This tender evidence of
+departing day was creeping slowly downwards into the valleys from
+mount and city, a moving picture of infinite beauty.
+
+They visited the study last; Adelaide had been loud in her praises of
+the house and its arrangement, commending this and that, and declaring
+that everything was perfect. While she was examining the furniture in
+the study the Advocate turned to the principal writing-table, upon
+which lay a pile of newspapers. He took up the first of these, and
+instinctively searched for the subject which had not left his mind
+since his visit to the banker, Jacob Hartrich--the murder of Madeline
+the flower-girl. He was deep in the perusal of fresh details,
+confirmatory of Gautran's guilt, when he was aroused by a stifled cry
+of alarm from Adelaide. With the newspaper still in his hand, he
+looked up and asked what had alarmed her. She laughed nervously, and
+pointed to an old sideboard upon which a number of hideous faces were
+carved. To some of the faces bodies were attached, and the whole of
+this ancient work of art was extravagant enough to have had for its
+inspiration the imaginings of a madman's brain.
+
+"I thought I saw them moving," said Adelaide. The Advocate smiled, and
+said:
+
+"It is the play of light over the figures that created the delusion;
+they are harmless, Adelaide."
+
+The glow of sunset shone through a painted window upon the faces,
+which to a nervous mind might have seemed to be animated with living
+colour.
+
+"Look at that frightful head," said Adelaide; "it is really stained
+with blood."
+
+"And now," observed the Advocate, "the blood-stain fades away, and in
+the darker light the expression grows sad and solemn."
+
+"I should be frightened of this room at night," said Adelaide, with a
+slight shiver; "I should fancy those hideous beings were only waiting
+an opportunity to steal out upon me for an evil purpose."
+
+A noise in the passage outside diverted their attention.
+
+"Gently, Fritz, gently," cried a voice, "unless you wish to make holes
+in the sound part of me."
+
+The Advocate moved to the door, and opened it. A strange sight came
+into view.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VII
+
+              A VISIT FROM PIERRE LAMONT--DREAMS OF LOVE
+
+
+At the door stood Fritz the Fool, carrying in his arms what in the
+gathering dusk looked like a bundle. This bundle was human--a man who
+was but half a man. Embracing Fritz, with one arm tightly clutching
+the Fool's neck, the figure commenced to speak the moment the door was
+opened.
+
+"I only am to blame; learning that you were in the study, I insisted
+upon being brought here immediately; carry me in gently, Fool, and set
+me in that chair."
+
+The chair indicated was close to the writing-table, by which the
+Advocate was standing.
+
+"Fritz made me acquainted with your arrival," continued the intruder,
+"and I hastened here without delay. When I tell you that I live two
+miles off, eight hundred feet above the level of this valley, you will
+realise the jolting I have had in my wheeled chair. Fritz, you can
+leave us; but be within call, as you must help to get me home again.
+Is there any need for me to introduce myself?" he asked.
+
+"Master Lamont," said the Advocate.
+
+"As much as is left of me; but I manage to exist. I have proved that a
+man can live without legs. You received my letter?"
+
+"Yes; and I thank you for your attention. My wife," said the Advocate,
+introducing Adelaide. Attracted by the dulcet voice of Pierre Lamont,
+she had come out of the deeper shadows of the room. Dionetta had
+spoken truly; this thin, shrivelled wreck of mortality had a voice as
+sweet as honey.
+
+"I cannot rise to pay my respects to you," said Pierre Lamont, his
+lynx eyes resting with profound admiration upon the beautiful woman,
+"but I beg you to believe that I am your devoted slave." Adelaide bent
+her head gracefully, and smiled upon the old lawyer. "One of my great
+anxieties is to know whether I have arranged the villa to your
+satisfaction. Christian Almer was most desirous that the place should
+be made pleasant and attractive, and I have endeavoured to carry out
+his instructions."
+
+"We owe you a debt of gratitude," said Adelaide; "everything has been
+charmingly done."
+
+"I am repaid for my labour," said Pierre Lamont gallantly. "You must
+be fatigued after your journey. Do not let me detain you. I shall
+remain with the Advocate but a very few minutes, and I trust you will
+allow me to make another and a longer visit."
+
+"We shall always be happy to see you," said Adelaide, as she bowed and
+left the room.
+
+"You are fortunate, comrade," said Pierre Lamont, "both in love and
+war. Your lady is the most beautiful I have ever beheld. I am
+selfishly in hopes that you will make a long stay with us; it will put
+some life into this sleepy valley. Is Christian Almer with you?"
+
+"No; but I may induce him to come. It is to you," said the Advocate,
+pointing to the pile of newspapers, "that I am indebted for these."
+
+"I thought you would find something in them to interest you. I see you
+have one of the papers in your hand, and that you were reading it
+before I intruded upon you. May I look at it? Ah! you have caught up
+the scent. It was the murder of the flower-girl I meant."
+
+"Have you formed an opinion upon the case?"
+
+"Scarcely yet; it is so surrounded with mystery. In my enforced
+retirement I amuse myself by taking up any important criminal case
+that occurs; and trying it in my solitude, acting at once the parts of
+judge and counsel for the prosecution and defence. A poor substitute
+for the reality; but I make it serve--not to my satisfaction, I
+confess, although I may show ingenuity in some of my conclusions. But
+I miss the cream, which lies in the personality of the persons
+concerned. This case of Gautran interests and perplexes me; were I
+able to take an active part, it is not unlikely I should move in it. I
+envy you, brother; I should feel proud if I could break a lance with
+you; but we do not live in an age of miracles, so I must be content,
+perforce, with my hermit life. What I read does not always please me;
+points are missed--almost wilfully missed, as it seems to me--strong
+links allowed to fall, disused, false inferences drawn, and, in the
+end, a verdict and sentence which half make me believe that justice
+limps on crutches. 'Fools, fools, fools!' I cry; 'if I were among you
+this should not be.' But what can an old cripple do? Grumble? Yes; and
+extract a morsel of satisfaction from his discontent--which tickles
+his vanity. That men's deserts are not meted out to them troubles me
+more now than it used to do. The times are too lenient of folly and
+crime. I would have the old law revived. 'To the doer as he hath
+done'--thus saith the thrice ancient word--so runs the 'Agamemnon.' If
+my neighbour kill my ass, I would knock his on the head. And this
+Gautran, if he be guilty, deserves the death; if he be innocent,
+deserves to live and be set free. But to allow a poor wretch to be
+judged by public passions--Heaven send us a beneficent change!"
+
+The voice of the speaker was so sweet, and the arguments so palatable
+to the Advocate, and so much in accordance with his own views, that he
+listened with pleasure to this outburst. He recognised in the cripple
+huddled up in the chair one whose pre-eminence in his craft had been
+worthily attained.
+
+"I am pleased we have met," he said, and the eyes of Pierre Lamont
+glistened.
+
+He soon brought his visit to a close, and while Fritz the Fool was
+being summoned, he said that in the morning he would send the Advocate
+all the papers he could gather which might help to throw a light on
+the case of Gautran.
+
+"You have spoken with Fritz, he tells me."
+
+"I have; he appears to me worth studying."
+
+"There is salt in the knave; he has occasionally managed to overreach
+me. Fool as he is, he has a head with brains in it. Farewell."
+
+Now, although the old lawyer, while he was with the Advocate, seemed
+to think of nothing but his more celebrated legal brother, it was far
+different as he was carried in his wheeled chair to his home on the
+heights. He had his own servant to propel him; Fritz walked by his
+side.
+
+"You were right, Fritz, you were right," said Pierre Lamont, and he
+smacked his lips, and his eyes kindled with the fire of youth, "she is
+a rare piece of flesh and blood--as fair as a lily, as ripe as a peach
+ready to drop from the wall. With passions of her own, Fritz; her
+veins are warm. To live in the heart of such a woman would be to live
+a perpetual summer. What say you, Fritz?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"That is a fool's answer."
+
+"Then the fools are the real wise men, for there is wisdom in silence.
+But I say nothing because I am thinking."
+
+"A mouse in labour. Beware of bringing forth a mountain; it will rend
+you to pieces."
+
+Fritz softly hummed a tune as they climbed the hills. Only once did he
+speak till they arrived at Pierre Lamont's house; it was in reply to
+the old lawyer, who said:
+
+"It is easier going up the hills than coming down."
+
+"That depends," said Fritz, "upon whether it is the mule or the man on
+his back."
+
+Pierre Lamont laughed quietly; he had a full enjoyment of Fritz's
+humour.
+
+"I have been thinking," said Fritz when the journey was completed----
+
+"Ah, ah!" interrupted Pierre Lamont; "now for the mountain."
+
+"--Upon the reason that made so fair a lady--young, and warm, and
+ripe--marry an icicle."
+
+"There is hidden fire, Fritz; you may get it from a stone."
+
+"I forgot," said Fritz, with a sly chuckle, "that I was speaking to an
+old man."
+
+"Rogue!" cried Pierre Lamont, raising his stick.
+
+"Never stretch out your hand," said Fritz, darting away, "for what you
+cannot reach."
+
+"Fritz, Fritz, come here!"
+
+"You will not strike?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I will trust you. There are lawyers I would not, though every word
+they uttered was framed in gold."
+
+"So, you have been thinking of the reason that made so fair a lady
+marry an icicle?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The icicle is celebrated."
+
+"That is of no account."
+
+"He is rich."
+
+"That is good."
+
+"He is much older than she. He may die, and leave her a young widow."
+
+"That is better."
+
+"Then she may marry again--a younger man."
+
+"That is best Master Lamont, you have a head."
+
+"And your own love-affair, Fritz, is that flourishing, eh? Have the
+pretty red lips kissed a 'Yes' yet?"
+
+"The pretty red lips have not been asked. I bide my time. My peach is
+not as ripe as the icicle's. I'll go and look after it, Master Lamont.
+It needs careful watching; there are poachers about."
+
+Fritz departed to look after his peach, and Pierre Lamont was carried
+into his study, where he sat until late in the night, surrounded by
+books and papers.
+
+The Advocate was also in his study until two hours past midnight,
+searching newspaper after newspaper for particulars and details of the
+murder of the unfortunate girl whose body had been found in the wildly
+rushing Rhone. And while he pondered and mused, and ofttimes paced the
+room with thoughtful face, his wife lay sleeping in her holiday home,
+with smiles on her lips, and joy in her heart, for she was dreaming of
+one far away. And her dream was of love.
+
+And Dionetta, the pretty maid, also slept, with her hands clasped at
+the back of her head; and her lady was saying to her: "Really and
+truly, Dionetta, you have not a lover? Women are made for love. It is
+the only thing in life worth living for." And a blush, even in her
+sleep, stole over her fair face and bosom. For her dream was of love.
+
+And Pierre Lamont lived over again the days of his youth, and smirked
+and languished, and made fine speeches, and moved amidst a paradise of
+fair faces, all of which bore the likeness of one whom he had but just
+seen for the first time. And, old as he was, his dream was of love.
+
+And Fritz the Fool tossed in his bed, and muttered:
+
+"Too fair! too fair! If I were rich she might tempt me to be false to
+one, and make me vow I would lay down my life for her. It is a good
+thing for me that I am a fool."
+
+And Gautran in his prison cell writhed upon his hard bed in the midst
+of the darkness; for by his side lay the phantom of the murdered girl,
+and his despair was deep and awful.
+
+And in the mountains, two hundred miles distant from the House of
+White Shadows, roamed Christian Almer in the moonlight, struggling
+with all his mental might with a terror which possessed him. The spot
+he had flown to was ten thousand feet above the level of the sea, and
+his sleeping-room was in the hut of a peasant, mountain-born and
+mountain-reared, who lived a life of dull contentment with his goats,
+and wife, and children. Far away in the heights immense forests of
+fir-trees were grouped in dark, solemn masses. Not a branch stirred; a
+profound repose reigned within their depths, while the sleepless
+waterfalls in the lower heights, leaping, and creeping, and dashing
+over chasm and precipice, proclaimed the eternal wakefulness of
+Nature. The solitary man gazed upon these majestic signs in awe and
+despair.
+
+"There is no such thing as oblivion," he muttered; "there is no such
+thing as forgetfulness. These solitudes, upon which no living creature
+but myself is to be seen, are full of accusing voices. My God! to die
+and be blotted out for ever and ever were better than this agony! I
+strive and strive, and cannot rid myself of the sin. I will conquer
+it--I will--I will--I will!"
+
+But even as he spoke there gleamed upon him from a laughing cascade
+the vision of a face so beautiful as to force a groan from his lips.
+He turned from the vision, and it shone upon him with a tender wooing
+in every waterfall that met his sight. Trembling with the force of a
+passion he found it impossible to resist, he walked to his mountain
+home, and threw himself upon his couch. He was exhausted with
+sleepless nights, and in a short time he fell into a deep slumber. And
+a calm stole over his troubled soul, for his dreams were of love!
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII
+
+                     THE INTERVIEW IN THE PRISON
+
+
+"Arise, Gautran."
+
+At this command Gautran rose slowly from the floor of his prison-cell,
+upon which he had been lying at full length, and shaking himself like
+a dog, stood before the gaoler.
+
+"Can't you let me alone?" he asked, in a coarse, savage voice.
+
+"Scum of the gutter!" replied the gaoler. "Speak civilly while you
+have the power, and be thankful your tongue is not dragged out by the
+roots."
+
+"You would do it if you dared."
+
+"Ay--and a thousand honest men would rejoice to help me."
+
+"Is it to tell me this you disturbed me?"
+
+"No, murderer!"
+
+"What do you want of me?"
+
+The gaoler laughed at him in mockery. "You look more like beast than
+man."
+
+"That's how I've been treated," growled Gautran.
+
+"Better than you deserve. So, you have influential friends, it seems."
+
+"Have I?" with a venomous flash at the taunt.
+
+"One will be here to see you directly."
+
+"Let him keep from me. I care to see no one."
+
+"That may be, but the choice is not yours. This gentleman is not to be
+denied."
+
+"A gentleman, eh?" exclaimed Gautran, with some slight show of
+interest.
+
+"Yes, a gentleman."
+
+"Who is he, and what is his business with me?"
+
+"He is a great lawyer, who has sent murderers to their doom----"
+
+"Ah!" and Gautran drew a long vindictive breath through closed teeth.
+
+"And has set some free, I've heard."
+
+"Is he going to do that for me?" asked Gautran, and a light of fierce
+hope shone in his eyes.
+
+"He will earn Heaven's curse if he does, and man's as well. Here he
+is. Silence."
+
+The door was opened, and the Advocate entered the cell.
+
+"This is Gautran?" he asked of the gaoler.
+
+"This is he," replied the gaoler.
+
+"Leave me alone with him."
+
+"It is against my orders, sir."
+
+"Here is your authority."
+
+He handed to the gaoler a paper, which gave him permission to hold
+free and uninterrupted converse with Gautran, accused of the murder of
+Madeline the flower-girl. The interview not to last longer than an
+hour.
+
+The gaoler prepared to depart, but before he left the cell he said in
+an undertone:
+
+"Be careful of the man; he is a savage, and not to be trusted."
+
+"There is nothing to fear," said the Advocate.
+
+The gaoler lingered a moment, and then retired.
+
+The cell was but dimly lighted, and the Advocate, coming into it from
+the full sunlight of a bright day, could not see clearly for a little
+while. On the other hand. Gautran, whose eyes were accustomed to the
+gloom, had a distinct view of the Advocate, and in a furtive, hangdog
+fashion he closely inspected the features of his visitor. The man who
+stood before him could obtain his condemnation or his acquittal.
+Dull-witted as he was, this conviction was as much an intuition as an
+impression gained from the gaoler's remarks.
+
+"You are a woodman?" said the Advocate.
+
+"Aye, a woodman. It is well known."
+
+"Have you parents?"
+
+"They are dead."
+
+"Any brothers or sisters?"
+
+"None. I was the only one."
+
+"Friends?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Have you wife or children?"
+
+"Neither."
+
+"How much money have you?"
+
+"Not a sou."
+
+"What about this murder?" asked the Advocate abruptly.
+
+"What about it, then?" demanded Gautran. The questions asked by the
+Advocate were more judicial than friendly, and he assumed an air of
+defiance.
+
+"Speak in a different tone. I am here to assist you, if I see my way.
+You have no lawyer to defend you?"
+
+"How should I get one? What lawyer works without pay, and where should
+I find the money to pay him?"
+
+"Heed what I say. I do not ask you if you are innocent or guilty of
+the crime of which you stand charged, for that is a formula and,
+guilty or not guilty, you would return but one answer. Have you
+anything to tell me?"
+
+"I can't think of anything."
+
+"You have led an evil life."
+
+"Not my fault. Can a man choose his own parents and his country? The
+life I have led I was born into; and that is to stand against me."
+
+"Are there any witnesses who would come forward and speak in your
+favour?"
+
+"None that I know of."
+
+"Is it true that you were walking with the girl on the night she was
+murdered?"
+
+"No man has heard me deny it," said Gautran, shuddering.
+
+"Why do you shudder?"
+
+"Master, you asked me just now whether I had a wife, and I told you I
+had none. This girl was to have been my wife. I loved her, and we were
+to have been married."
+
+"That is disputed."
+
+"Everything is disputed that would tell in my favour. The truth is of
+no use to a poor devil caught in a trap as I am. Have you heard any
+good of me, master?"
+
+"Not any; all that I have heard is against you."
+
+"That is the way of it. Well, then, judge for yourself."
+
+"Can you indicate anyone who would be likely to murder the girl? You
+shudder again."
+
+"I cannot help it. Master, put yourself in this cell, as I am put,
+without light, without hope, without money, without a friend. You
+would need a strong nerve to stand it. You want to know if I can point
+out anyone who could have done the deed but me? Well, if I were free,
+and came face to face with him, I might. Not that I could say
+anything, or swear to anything for certain, for I did not see it done.
+No, master, I will not lie to you. Where would be the use? You are
+clever enough to find me out. But I had good reason to suspect, aye,
+to know, that the girl had other lovers, who pressed her hard, I dare
+say; some who were rich, while I was poor; some who were almost mad
+for her. She was followed by a dozen and more. She told me so herself,
+and used to laugh about it; but she never mentioned a name to me. You
+know something of women, master; they like the men to follow them--the
+best of them do--ladies as well as peasants. They were sent into the
+world to drive us to perdition. I was jealous of her, yes, I was
+jealous. Am I guilty because of that? How could I help being jealous
+when I loved her? It is in a man's blood. Well, then, what more can I
+say?"
+
+In his intent observance of Gautran's manner the Advocate seemed to
+weigh every word that fell from the man's lips.
+
+"At what time did you leave the girl on the last night you saw her
+alive?"
+
+"At ten o'clock."
+
+"She was alone at that hour?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did you see her again after that?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Did you have reason to suspect that she was to meet any other man on
+that night?"
+
+"If I had thought it, I should have stopped with her."
+
+"For what purpose?"
+
+"To see the man she had appointed to meet."
+
+"And having seen him?"
+
+"He would have had to answer to me. I am hot-blooded, master, and can
+stand up for my rights."
+
+"Would you have harmed the girl?"
+
+"No, unless she had driven me out of my senses."
+
+"Were you in that state on the night of her death?"
+
+"No--I knew what I was about."
+
+"You were heard to quarrel with her."
+
+"I don't deny it."
+
+"You were heard to say you would kill her."
+
+"True enough. I told her if ever I found out that she was false to me,
+I would kill her."
+
+"Had she bound herself to marry you?"
+
+"She had sworn to marry me."
+
+"The handkerchief round her neck, when her body was discovered in the
+river, is proved to have been yours."
+
+"It was mine; I gave it to her. I had not much to give."
+
+"When you were arrested you were searched?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Was anything taken from you?"
+
+"My knife."
+
+"Had you and the girl's secret lover--supposing she had one--met on
+that night, you might have used your knife."
+
+"That is speaking beforehand. I can't say what might have happened."
+
+"Come here into the light. Let me look at your hands."
+
+"What trick are you going to play me, master?" asked Gautran, in a
+suspicious tone.
+
+"No trick," replied the Advocate sternly. "Obey me, or I leave you."
+
+Gautran debated with himself in silence for a full minute; then, with
+an impatient movement, as though it could not matter one way or
+another, he moved into the light, and held out his hands.
+
+The Advocate, taking a powerful glass from his pocket, examined the
+prisoner's fingers and nails and wrists with the utmost minuteness,
+Gautran, the while, wrapped in wonder at the strange proceeding.
+
+"Now," said the Advocate, "hold your head back, so that the light may
+shine on your face."
+
+Gautran obeyed, warily holding himself in readiness to spring upon the
+Advocate in case of an attack. By the aid of his glass the Advocate
+examined Gautran's face and neck with as much care as he had bestowed
+upon the hands, and then said:
+
+"That will do."
+
+"What is it all for, master?" asked Gautran.
+
+"I am here to ask questions, not to answer them. Since your arrest,
+have you been examined as I have examined you?"
+
+"No, master."
+
+"Has any examination whatever been made of you by doctors or gaolers
+or lawyers?"
+
+"None at all."
+
+"How long had you known the girl?"
+
+"Ever since she came into the neighbourhood."
+
+"Were you not acquainted with her before?"
+
+"No."
+
+"From what part of the country did she come?"
+
+"I can't say."
+
+"Not knowing?"
+
+"Not knowing."
+
+"But being intimate with her, you could scarcely avoid asking her the
+question."
+
+"I did ask her, and I was curious to find out. She would not satisfy
+me; and when I pressed her, she said the other one--Pauline--had made
+her promise not to tell."
+
+"You don't know, then, where she was born?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Her refusal to tell you--was it lightly or seriously uttered?"
+
+"Seriously."
+
+"As though there was a secret in her life she wished to conceal?"
+
+"I never thought of it in that way, but I can see now it must have
+been so."
+
+"Something discreditable, then?"
+
+"Most likely. Master, you go deeper than I do."
+
+"What relationship existed between Pauline and Madeline?"
+
+"Some said they were sisters, but there was a big difference in their
+ages. Others said that Pauline was her mother, but I don't believe it,
+for they never spoke together in that way. Master, I don't know what
+to say about it; it used to puzzle me; but it was no business of
+mine."
+
+"Did you never hear Pauline address Madeline as her child?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"They addressed each other by their Christian names?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did they resemble each other in feature?"
+
+"There was something of a likeness between them."
+
+"Why did Pauline leave the girl?"
+
+"No one knew."
+
+"That is all you can tell me?"
+
+"That is all."
+
+Then after a slight pause, the Advocate asked:
+
+"Do you value your liberty?"
+
+"Yes, master," replied Gautran excitedly.
+
+"Let no person know what has passed between us, and do not repeat one
+word I have said to you."
+
+"I understand; you may depend upon me. But master, will you not tell
+me something more? Am I to be set free or not?"
+
+"You are to be tried; what is brought against you at your trial will
+establish either your innocence or your guilt."
+
+He knocked at the door of the prison cell, and the gaoler opened it
+for him and let him out.
+
+"Well, Gautran?" said the gaoler, but Gautran, wrapped in
+contemplation of the door through which the Advocate had taken his
+departure, paid no attention to him. "Do you hear me?" cried the
+gaoler, shaking his prisoner with no gentle hand.
+
+"What now?"
+
+"Is the great lawyer going to defend you?"
+
+"You want to know too much," said Gautran, and refused to speak
+another word on the subject.
+
+During the whole of the day there were but two figures in his
+mind--those of the Advocate and the murdered girl. The latter
+presented itself in various accusing aspects, and he vainly strove to
+rid himself of the spectre. Its hair hung in wild disorder over neck
+and bosom, its white lips moved, its mournful eyes struck terror to
+his soul. The figure of the Advocate presented itself in far different
+aspects; it was always terrible, Satanic, and damning in its
+suggestions.
+
+"What matter," muttered Gautran, "if he gets me off? I can do as I
+please then."
+
+In the evening, when the small window in his cell was dark, the gaoler
+heard him crying out loudly. He entered, and demanded what ailed the
+wretch.
+
+"Light--light!" implored Gautran; "give me light!"
+
+"Beast in human shape," said the gaoler; "you have light enough.
+You'll get no more. Stop your howling, or I'll stop it for you!"
+
+"Light! light! light!" moaned Gautran, clasping his hands over his
+eyes. But he could not shut out the phantom of the murdered girl,
+which from that moment never left him. So he lay and writhed during
+the night, and would have dashed his head against the wall to put an
+end to his misery had he not been afraid of death.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IX
+
+               THE ADVOCATE UNDERTAKES A STRANGE TASK.
+
+
+It was on the evening of this day, the third since the arrival of the
+Advocate in Geneva, that he said to his wife over the dinner-table:
+
+"I shall in all likelihood be up the whole of to-night in my study. Do
+not let me be disturbed."
+
+"Who should disturb you?" asked Adelaide languidly. "There are only
+you and I in the villa; of course I would not venture to intrude upon
+you without permission."
+
+"You misunderstand me, Adelaide; it is because we are in a strange
+house that I thought it best to tell you."
+
+"As if there were anything unusual in your shutting yourself up all
+night in your study! Our notions of the way to lead an agreeable life
+are so different! Take your own course, Edward; you are older and
+wiser than I; but you must not wonder that I think it strange. You
+come to the country for rest, and you are as hard at work as ever."
+
+"I cannot live without work; aimless days would send me to my grave.
+If you are lonely, Adelaide----"
+
+"Oh, no, I am not," she cried vivaciously, "at least, not yet. There
+is so much in the neighbourhood that is interesting. Dionetta and I
+have been out all day seeing the sights. On the road to Master
+Lamont's house there is the loveliest rustic bridge. And the wild
+flowers are the most beautiful I have ever seen. We met a priest,
+Father Capel, a gentle-looking man, with the kindest face! He said he
+intended to call upon you, and hoped to be permitted. I said, of
+course, you would be charmed. I had a good mind to visit Master
+Lamont, but his house was too far up the hills. Fool Fritz joined us;
+he is very amusing, with his efforts to be wise. I was delighted
+everywhere with the people. I went into some of their cottages, and
+the women were very respectful; and the children--upon my word,
+Edward, they stare at me as if I were a picture."
+
+The Advocate looked up at this, and regarded his wife with fond
+admiration. In his private life two influences were dominant--love for
+his wife, and friendship for Christian Almer. He had love for no other
+woman, and friendship for no other man, and his trust in both was a
+perfect trust.
+
+"I do not wonder that the children stare at you," he said; "you must
+be a new and pleasant experience to them."
+
+"I believe they take me for a saint," she said, laughing gaily; "and I
+need not tell _you_ that I am very far from being one."
+
+"You are, as we all are, human; and very beautiful, Adelaide."
+
+She gazed at him in surprise.
+
+"It is not often you pay me compliments."
+
+"Do you need them from me? To be sure of my affection--is not that
+sufficient?"
+
+"But I am fond of compliments."
+
+"I must commence a new study, then," he said gravely; it was difficult
+for him to indulge in light themes for many minutes together. "So you
+are making yourself acquainted with the neighbours. I hope you will
+not soon tire of them."
+
+"When I do I must seek out some other amusement. You have also
+discovered something since you came here in which you appear to be
+wonderfully interested."
+
+"Yes; a criminal case----"
+
+"A criminal case!" she echoed pettishly.
+
+"In which there is a great mystery. I do not trouble you with these
+law matters; long ago you expressed weariness of such themes."
+
+Her humour changed again.
+
+"A mystery!" she exclaimed with child-like vivacity, "in a place where
+news is so scarce! It must be delightful. What is it about? There is a
+woman in it, of course. There always is."
+
+"Yes; a young woman, whose body was found in the Rhone."
+
+"Murdered?"
+
+"Murdered, as it at present seems."
+
+"The wretch! Have they caught him? For of course it is a man who
+committed the dreadful deed."
+
+"One is in prison, charged with the crime. I visited him to-day."
+
+"Surely you are not going to defend him?"
+
+"It is probable. I shall decide to-night."
+
+"But why, Edward, why? If the man is guilty, should he not be
+punished?"
+
+"Undoubtedly he should. And if he is innocent, he should not be made
+to suffer. He is poor and friendless; it will be a relief for me to
+take up the case, should I believe him to be unjustly accused."
+
+"Is he young--handsome--and was it done through jealousy?"
+
+"I have told you the case is shrouded in mystery. As for the man
+charged with the crime, he is very common and repulsive-looking."
+
+"And you intend to defend such a creature?"
+
+"Most likely."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders with a slight gesture of contempt. She had
+no understanding of his motives, no sympathy in his labours, no pride
+in his victories.
+
+When he retired to his study he did not immediately proceed to the
+investigation of the case of Gautran, as it was set forth in the
+numerous papers which lay on the table. These papers, in accordance
+with the given promise, had been sent to him by Pierre Lamont, and it
+was his intention to employ the hours of the night in a careful study
+of the details of the affair, and of the conjectures and opinions of
+editors and correspondents.
+
+But he held his purpose back for a while, and for nearly half-an-hour
+paced the floor slowly in deep thought. Suddenly he went out, and
+sought his wife's private room.
+
+"It did not occur to me before," he said, "to tell you that a friend
+of Christian Almer's--Mr. Hartrich, the banker--in a conversation I
+had with him, expressed his belief that Almer was suffering."
+
+"Ill!" she cried in an agitated tone.
+
+"In mind, not in body. You have received letters from him lately, I
+believe?"
+
+"Yes, three or four--the last a fortnight ago."
+
+"Does he say he is unwell?"
+
+"No; but now I think of it, he does not write in his usual good
+spirits."
+
+"You have his address?"
+
+"Yes; he is in Switzerland, you know."
+
+"So Mr. Hartrich informed me--somewhere in the mountains, endeavouring
+to extract peace of mind from silence and solitude. That is well
+enough for a few days, and intellectual men are always grateful for
+such a change; but, if it is prolonged, there is danger of its
+bringing a mental disease of a serious and enduring nature upon a man
+brooding upon unhealthy fancies. I value Almer too highly to lose
+sight of him, or to allow him to drift. He has no family ties, and is
+in a certain sense a lonely man. Why should he not come and remain
+with us during our stay in the village? I had an idea that he himself
+would have proposed doing so."
+
+"He might have considered it indelicate," said Adelaide with a bright
+colour in her face, "the house being his. As if he had a right to be
+here."
+
+"It is by no means likely," said the Advocate, shaking his head, "that
+Almer would ever be swayed by other than generous and large-minded
+considerations. Write to him to-night, and ask him to leave his
+solitude, and make his home with us. He will be company for you, and
+your bright and cheerful ways will do him good. The prospect of his
+visit has already excited you, I see. I am afraid," he said, with a
+regretful pathos in his voice, "that my society affords you but poor
+enjoyment; yet I never thought otherwise, when you honoured me by
+accepting my proposal of marriage, than that you loved me."
+
+"I hope you do not think otherwise now," she said in a low tone.
+
+"Why, no," he said with a sigh of relief; "what reason have I to think
+otherwise? We had time to study each other's characters, and I did not
+present myself in a false light. But we are forgetting Almer. Can you
+divine any cause for unusual melancholy in him?"
+
+She seemed to consider, and answered:
+
+"No, she could not imagine why he should be melancholy."
+
+"Mr. Hartrich," continued the Advocate, "suggested that he might have
+experienced a disappointment in love, but I could not entertain the
+suggestion. Almer and I have for years exchanged confidences in which
+much of men's inner natures is revealed, and had he met with such a
+disappointment, he would have confided in me. I may be mistaken,
+however; your opinion would be valuable here; in these delicate
+matters, women are keen observers."
+
+"Mr. Hartrich's suggestion is absurd; I am convinced Mr. Almer has not
+met with a disappointment in love. He is so bright and attractive----"
+
+"That any woman," said the Advocate, taking up the thread, for
+Adelaide seemed somewhat at a loss for words, "might be proud to win
+him. That is your thought, Adelaide."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I agree with you. I have never in my life known a man more likely to
+inspire love in a woman's heart than Christian Almer, and I have
+sometimes wondered that he had not met with one to whom he was drawn;
+it would be a powerful influence over him for good. Of an impure
+passion I believe him incapable. Write to him to-night, and urge him
+to come to us."
+
+"If you wrote to him, also, it would be as well."
+
+"I will do so; you can enclose my letter in yours. How does your new
+maid suit you?"
+
+"Admirably. She is perfection."
+
+"Which does not exist."
+
+"If I could induce her grandmother to part with her, I should like to
+keep her with me always."
+
+"Do not tempt her, Adelaide. For a simple maid a country life is the
+happiest and best--indeed, for any maid, or any man, young or old."
+
+"How seldom practice and precept agree! Why do you not adopt a country
+life?"
+
+"Too late. A man must follow his star. I should die of inaction in the
+country; and you--I smile when I think what would become of you were I
+to condemn you to it."
+
+"You are not always right. I adore the country!"
+
+"For an hour and a day. Adelaide, you could not exist out of society."
+
+Until the Alpine peaks were tipped with the fire of the rising sun,
+the Advocate remained in his study, investigating and considering the
+case of Gautran. Only once did he leave it to give his wife the letter
+he wrote to Christian Almer. Newspaper after newspaper was read and
+laid aside, until the long labour came to its end. Then the Advocate
+rose, with no trace of fatigue on his countenance, and according to
+his wont, walked slowly up and down in deep thought. His eyes rested
+occasionally upon the grotesque and hideous figures carved on the old
+sideboard, which, had they been sentient and endowed with the power of
+speech, might have warned him that he had already, within the past few
+hours, woven one tragic link in his life, and have held him back from
+weaving another. But he saw no warning in their fantastic faces, and
+before he retired to rest he had formed his resolve. On the following
+day all Geneva was startled by the news that the celebrated Advocate,
+who had travelled thither for rest from years of arduous toil, had
+undertaken the defence of a wretch upon whose soul, in the opinion of
+nearly every thinking man and woman, the guilt of blood lay heavily.
+The trial of Gautran was instantly invested with an importance which
+elevated it into an absorbing theme with every class of society.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER X
+
+       TWO LETTERS--FROM FRIEND TO FRIEND, FROM LOVER TO LOVER
+
+
+
+                                  I
+
+
+"My Dear Almer,--We have been here three days, and are comfortably
+established in your singularly-named villa, the House of White
+Shadows. It is a perfect country residence, and the scenery around it
+is, I am told, charming. As you are aware, I have no eyes for the
+beauties of Nature; human nature and human motive alone interest me,
+and my impressions of the neighbourhood are derived from the
+descriptions of my wife, who enjoys novelty with the impulsive
+enjoyment of a child. It appears that she was enchanted when she heard
+from your lips that your house was supposed to be haunted by shadows,
+and although you cautioned her immediately afterwards, she was not to
+be deterred from accepting your invitation. Up to this time, no ghost
+has appeared to her, nor has my composure been disturbed by
+supernatural visions. I am a non-believer in visions from the
+spiritual world; she is only too ready to believe. It is the human
+interest attached to such fancies--for which, of course, there must be
+some foundation--which fascinates and arrests the general attention.
+There, for me, the interest ends; I do not travel beyond reality.
+
+"I am supposed to have come for rest and repose. The physicians who
+laid this burden upon me know little of my nature; idleness is more
+irksome, and I believe more injurious, to me than the severest labour;
+and it is a relief, therefore, to me to find myself interested in a
+startling criminal case which is shortly coming on for trial in
+Geneva. It is a case of murder, and a man is in prison, charged with
+its commission. He has no friends, he has no means, he is a vicious
+creature of the commonest and lowest type. There is nothing in him to
+recommend him to favour; he is a being to be avoided--but these are
+not the points to be considered. Is the man guilty or not guilty? He
+is pronounced guilty by universal public opinion, and the jury which
+will be empannelled to try him will be ready to convict upon the
+slightest evidence, or, indeed, without evidence. The trial will be a
+mockery of justice unless the accused is defended by one who is not
+influenced by passion and prejudice. There is a feature in the case
+which has taken powerful possession of me, and which, as far as I can
+judge, has not occurred to others. I intend to devote the whole of
+to-night to a study of the details of the crime, and it is likely that
+I shall undertake the defence of this repulsive creature--no doubt
+much to his astonishment. I have, with this object in view, already
+had an interview with him in his prison-cell, and the trouble I had to
+obtain permission to see him is a sufficient indication of the popular
+temper. When, therefore, you hear--if in the mountain fastness in
+which you are intrenched, you have the opportunity of hearing any news
+at all from the world at your feet--that I have undertaken the defence
+of a man named Gautran, accused of the murder of a flower-girl named
+Madeline, do not be surprised.
+
+"What is most troubling me at the present moment is--what is my wife
+to do, how is she to occupy her time, during our stay in the House of
+White Shadows? At present she is full of animation and delight; the
+new faces and scenery by which she is surrounded are very attractive
+to her; but the novelty will wear off and then she will grow dull.
+Save me from self-reproach and uneasiness by taking up your residence
+with us, if not for the whole of the time we remain here, which I
+should much prefer, at least for a few weeks. By so doing you will
+confer a service upon us all. My wife enjoys your society; you know
+the feeling I entertain for you; and personal association with sincere
+friends will be of real benefit to you. I urge it earnestly upon you,
+for I have an impression that you are brooding over unhealthy fancies,
+and that you have sought solitude for the purpose of battling with one
+of those ordinary maladies of the mind to which sensitive natures are
+prone. If it be so, Christian, you are committing a grave error; the
+battle is unequal; silence and seclusion will not help you to a
+victory over yourself. Come and unbosom yourself to me, if you have
+anything to unbosom, and do not fear that I shall intrude either
+myself or my advice upon you against your inclination. If you have a
+grief, meet it in the society of those who love you. There is a
+medicine in a friendly smile, in a friendly word, which you cannot
+find in solitude. One needs sometimes, not the sunshine of fair
+weather, but the sunshine of the soul. Here it awaits you, and should
+you bring dark vapours with you I promise you they will soon be
+dispelled. I am disposed--out of purest friendliness--to insist upon
+your coming, and to be so uncharitable as to accept it as an act of
+weakness if you refuse me. When the case of Gautran is at an end I
+shall be an idle man; you, and only you, can avert the injurious
+effect idleness will have upon me. We will find occupation together,
+and create reminiscences for future pleasant thought. It may be a long
+time, if ever, before another opportunity so favourable occurs for
+passing a few weeks in each other's society, undisturbed by
+professional cares and duties. You see I am taking a selfish view of
+the matter. Add an inestimable value to your hospitality by coming
+here at once and sweetening my leisure.
+
+                                  "Your friend,
+
+                                       "Edward."
+
+
+
+                                  II
+
+
+"My Own,--My husband is uneasy about you, and has imposed a task upon
+me. You shall judge for yourself whether it is a disagreeable one. I
+am to write to you immediately, to insist upon your coming to us
+without an hour's delay. You have not the option of refusal. The
+Advocate insists upon it, and I also insist upon it. You must come.
+Upon the receipt of this letter you will pack up your portmanteau, and
+travel hither in the swiftest possible way, by the shortest possible
+route. Be sure that you do not disobey me. You are to come instantly,
+without an hour's--nay, without a moment's delay. If you fail I will
+not answer for the consequences, and upon you will rest the
+responsibility of all that follows. For what reason, do you suppose,
+did I accept the offer of your villa in this strangely quiet valley,
+unless it was in the hope and the belief that we should be near each
+other? And now that I _am_ here, pledged to remain, unable to leave
+without an exhibition of the most dreadful vacillation--which would
+not matter were I to have my own way, and were everything to be
+exactly as I wish it--you are bound to fly swiftly to the side of one
+who entertains for you the very sincerest affection. Do not be angry
+with me for my disregard of your caution to be careful in my manner of
+writing to you. I cannot help it. I think of you continually, and if
+you wish me not to write what you fear other eyes than ours might see,
+you must come and talk to me. I shall count the minutes till you are
+here. The Advocate is uneasy about you, and is, indeed and indeed,
+most anxious that you should be with us. He seems to have an idea that
+you have some cause for melancholy, and that you are brooding over it.
+Could anything be more absurd? Cause for melancholy! Just as if you
+were alone in the world! You do not need to be told that there is one
+being who will care for you till she is an old, old woman. Think of me
+as I shall be then. An old woman, with white hair, walking with a
+crutch-stick, as they do on the stage. If you _are_ sad, it is a just
+punishment upon you. There was nothing in the world to prevent your
+travelling with us. What do you think a friend of yours, a banker in
+Geneva, suggested to the Advocate? He said that it was probable that
+you had experienced a disappointment in love. Now, this sets me
+thinking. Why have you chosen to hide yourself in the mountains, a
+hundred and a hundred miles away? Have you been there before? Is there
+some pretty girl to attract you, from whom you find it impossible to
+tear yourself? If it is so, let her beware of me. You have no idea of
+what I should be capable if you gave me cause for jealousy. What is
+her disposition--pensive or gay? She is younger than I am, I
+suppose--though I am not so old, sir!--with hands---- Ah, I am easier
+in my mind; her hands must be coarse, for she is a peasant. I am
+almost reconciled; you could never fall in love with a peasant. They
+may be pretty and fresh for a month or two, but they cannot help
+being coarse, and I know how anything coarse grates upon you. But a
+peasant-girl might fall in love with you--there are more unlikely
+things than that. Shall I tell you what the Advocate said of you this
+evening? It will make you vain, but never mind. 'I have never in my
+life known a man more likely to inspire love in a woman's heart than
+Christian Almer.' There, sir, his very words. How true they are! Ah,
+how cruel was the chance that separated us from each other, and
+brought us together again when I was another man's wife! Oh, if I had
+only known! If some kind fairy had told me that the man who, when I
+was a child, enthralled me with his beautiful fancies, and won my
+heart, and who then, as it seemed, passed out of my life--if I had
+suspected that, after many years, he would return home from his
+wanderings with the resolve to seek out the child and make her his
+wife, do you for one moment suppose I would not have waited for him?
+Do you think it possible I could ever have accepted the hand of
+another man? No, it could not have been, for even as a child I used to
+dream of you, and held you in my heart above all other human beings.
+But you were gone--I never thought of seeing you again--and I was so
+young that I could have had no foreshadowing of what was to come.
+
+"Have you ever considered how utterly different my life might have
+been had you not crossed it? Not that I reproach you--do not think
+that; but how strangely things turn out, without the principal actor
+having anything to do with them! It is exactly like sitting down
+quietly by yourself, and seeing all sorts of wonderful things happen
+in which you have no hand, though if you were not in existence they
+could never have occurred. Just think for a moment. If it had not
+happened that you knew me when I was a child, and was fond of me then,
+as you have told me I don't know how many times--if it had not
+happened that your restless spirit drove you abroad where you remained
+for years and years and years--if it had not happened that, tired of
+leading a wandering life, you resolved to come home and seek out the
+child you used to pet and make love to (but she did not know the
+meaning of love then)--if it had not happened that, entirely ignorant
+of what was passing in your mind, the child, grown into a pretty woman
+(I think I may say that, without vanity), was persuaded by her friends
+that to refuse an offer of marriage made to her by a great lawyer,
+famous and rich, was something too shocking to contemplate--if it had
+not happened that she, knowing nothing of her own heart, knowing
+nothing of the world, allowed herself to be guided by these cold
+calculating friends to accept a man utterly unsuited to her, and with
+whom she has never had an hour's real happiness--if it had not
+happened by the strangest chance, that this man and you were
+friends---- There, my dear, follow it out for yourself, and
+reflect how different our lives might have been if everything
+had happened in the way it ought to have done. I was cheated and
+tricked into a marriage with a man whose heart has room for only one
+sentiment--ambition. I am bound to him for life, but I am yours till
+death--although the bond which unites us is, as you have taught me,
+but a spiritual bond.
+
+"Are you angry with me for putting all this on paper? You must not be,
+for I cannot help it if I am not wise. Wisdom belongs to men. Come,
+then, and give me wise counsel, and prevent me from committing
+indiscretions. For I declare to you, upon my heart and honour, if you
+do not very soon present yourself at the House of White Shadows, I
+will steal from it in the night and make my way to the mountains to
+see what wonderful attraction it is that separates us. What food for
+scandal! What wagging and shaking of heads! How the women's tongues
+would run! I can imagine it all. Save me from exposure as you are a
+true man.
+
+"You have made the villa beautiful. As I walk about the house and
+grounds I am filled with delight to think that you have effected such
+a magic change for my sake. Master Lamont has shown really exquisite
+taste. What a singular old man he is. I can't decide whether I like
+him or not. But how strange that you should have had it all done by
+deputy, and that you have not set foot in the house since you were a
+child. You see I know a great deal. Who tells me? My new maid
+Dionetta. Do you remember, in one of the letters you showed me from
+your steward, that he spoke about the old housekeeper, Mother Denise,
+and a pretty granddaughter? I made up my mind at the time that the
+pretty granddaughter should be my maid. And she is, and her name is
+Dionetta. Is it not pretty?--but not prettier than the owner. Will
+that tempt you? I have sent my town maid away, much to her
+displeasure; she spoke to the Advocate in complaint, but he did not
+mention it to me; I found it out for myself. He is as close as the
+grave. So I am here absolutely alone, with none but strangers around
+me.
+
+"I am very much interested in the pictures in the studio of the old
+châlet, especially in a pair which represents, the first, two lovers
+with the sun shining on them; the second, the lovers parted by a cold
+grey sea. They stand on opposite shores, gazing despairingly at each
+other. He must have been a weak-minded man indeed; he should have
+taken a boat, and rowed across to her; and if he was afraid to do
+that, she should have gone to him. That would have been the most
+sensible thing.
+
+"I could continue my gossip till daylight breaks, but I have already
+lost an hour of my beauty sleep, and I want you, upon your arrival, to
+see me at my best.
+
+"My heart goes with this letter; bring it swiftly back to me."
+
+                                  "Yours for ever,
+
+                                           "Adelaide."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XI
+
+           FIRE AND SNOW--FOOL FRITZ INFORMS PIERRE LAMONT
+                     WHERE ACTUAL LOVE COMMENCES
+
+
+"News, Master Lamont, news!"
+
+"Of what nature, Fritz?"
+
+"Of a diabolical nature. Satan is busy."
+
+"He is never idle--for which the priests, if they have any gratitude
+in them, should be thankful."
+
+"You are not fond of the priests, Master Lamont."
+
+"I do not hate them."
+
+"Still you are not fond of them."
+
+"I do not love them. Your news, fool--concerning whom?"
+
+"A greater than you, or you do not speak the truth."
+
+"The Advocate, then?"
+
+"The same. You are a good guesser."
+
+"Fritz, your news is stale."
+
+"I am unlucky; I thought to be the first. You have heard the news?"
+
+"Not I."
+
+"You have read a letter, informing you of it."
+
+"You are a bad guesser. I have neither received nor read a letter
+to-day."
+
+"You have heard nothing, you have read nothing; and yet you know."
+
+"As surely as you stand before me. Fritz, you are not a scholar, but I
+will give you a sum any fool can do. Add one to one--what do you make
+of it?"
+
+"Why, that is easy enough, Master Lamont."
+
+"The answer then, fool?"
+
+"One."
+
+"Good. You shall smart for it, in the most vulnerable part of man. You
+receive from me, every week, one franc. I owe you, for last week, one
+franc; I owe you, for this, one."
+
+"That is so."
+
+"Last week, one; this week, one. I discharge the liability." And
+Pierre Lamont handed a franc to Fritz.
+
+Fritz weighed the coin in the palm of his hand, spun it in the air and
+smiled.
+
+"Master Lamont, here is a fair challenge. If I prove to you that one
+and one are one, this franc you have given me shall not count off what
+you owe me."
+
+"I agree."
+
+"When one man and one woman are joined in matrimony, they become one
+flesh. Therefore, one and one are one.
+
+"You have earned the franc, fool. Here are the two I owe you."
+
+"Now, perhaps, you will tell _me_ what I came here to tell you."
+
+"The Advocate intends to defend Gautran, who stands charged with the
+murder of the flower-girl."
+
+"You are a master worth serving. I have half a mind to give you back
+your franc."
+
+"Make it a whole mind, Fritz."
+
+"No; second thoughts are best. My pockets are not as warm as yours.
+They are not so well lined. How did you guess, Master Lamont?"
+
+"By means of a golden rule, an infallible rule, by the Rule of
+One--which, intelligibly interpreted to shallow minds--no offence,
+Fritz, I hope----"
+
+"Don't mind me, Master Lamont; I am a fool and used to hard knocks."
+
+"Then by the Rule of One, which means the rule of human nature--as,
+for example, that makes the drunkard stagger to the wine-shop and the
+sluggard to his bed--I guessed that the Advocate could not withstand
+so tempting a chance to prove the truth of the scriptural words that
+all men are liars. What will be palatable information to me is the
+manner in which the news has been received."
+
+"Heaven keep me from ever being so received! The Advocate has not
+added to the number of his friends. People are gazing at each other in
+amazement, and asking for reasons which none are able to give."
+
+"And his wife, Fritz, his wife?"
+
+"Takes as much interest in his doings as a bee does in the crawling of
+a snail."
+
+"Rogue, you have cheated me! How about one and one being one?"
+
+"There are marriages and marriages. This was not made in Heaven; when
+it came about there was a confusion in the pairing, and another couple
+are as badly off. There will be a natural end to both."
+
+"How brought about, fool?"
+
+"By your own rule, the rule of human nature."
+
+"When a jumper jumps, he first measures his distance with his eye. Do
+they quarrel?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Does she look coldly upon him, or he upon her?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Is there silence between them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You are a bad jumper, Fritz. You have not measured your distance."
+
+"See, Master Lamont, I will prove it to you by a figure of speech.
+There travels from the south a flame of fire. There travels from the
+north a lump of snow. They meet. What happens? Either that the snow
+extinguishes the fire and it dies, or that the fire puts an end to the
+snow."
+
+"Fairly illustrated, Fritz. Fire and snow! Truly a most unfortunate
+conjunction."
+
+"She was in the mood to visit you yesterday had you lived a mile
+nearer the valley."
+
+"You were out together."
+
+"She and Dionetta were walking, and I met them and accompanied them.
+She spoke graciously to the villagers, and went into the cottages, and
+drank more than one cup of milk. She was sweeter than sugar, Master
+Lamont, and won the hearts of some of the women and of all the men. As
+for the children, they would have followed her to the world's end, I
+do believe, out of pure admiration. They carry now in their little
+heads the vision of the beautiful lady. Even Father Capel was struck
+by her beauty."
+
+"Priests are mortals, Fritz. On which side did you walk--next to my
+lady or Dionetta?"
+
+"I should be wrecked in a tempest. I sail only in quiet lakes."
+
+"And the maid--did she object to your walking close to her?--for you
+are other than I take you to be if you did not walk close."
+
+"Why should she object? Am I not a man? Women rather like fools."
+
+"How stands the pretty maid with her new mistress?"
+
+"In high favour, if one can judge from fingers."
+
+"Fritz, your wit resembles a tide that is for ever flowing. Favour me
+with your parable."
+
+"It is a delicate point to decide where actual love commences. Have
+you ever considered it, Master Lamont?"
+
+"Not deeply, fool. In my young days I was a mad-brain; you are a
+philosopher. Like a bee, I took what fell in my way, and did not
+puzzle myself or the flower with questions. Where love commences? In
+the heart."
+
+"No."
+
+"In the brain."
+
+"No."
+
+"In the eye."
+
+"No."
+
+"Where, then?"
+
+"In the finger-tips. Dionetta and I, walking side by side, shoulder to
+shoulder, our arms hanging down, brought into close contact our
+finger-tips. What wonder that they touched!"
+
+"Natural magnetism, Fritz."
+
+"With our finger-tips touching, we walked along, and if her heart
+palpitated as mine did, she must have experienced an inward commotion.
+Master Lamont, this is a confession for your ears only. I should be
+base and ungrateful to hide it from you."
+
+"Your confidence shall be respected."
+
+"It leads to an answer to your question as to how Dionetta stands with
+her new mistress. First the finger-tips, then the fingers, and her
+little hand was clasped in mine. It was then I felt the ring upon her
+finger."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"Now, Dionetta never till yesterday owned a ring. I felt it, as a man
+who is curious would do, and suddenly her hand was snatched from mine.
+A moment or two afterwards, her hand was in mine again, but the ring
+was gone. A fine piece of conjuring. A man is no match for a woman in
+these small ways. To-day I saw her for about as long as I could count
+three. 'Who gave you the ring?' I asked. 'My lady,' she answered.
+'Don't tell grandmother that I have got a ring.' Therefore, Master
+Lamont, Dionetta stands well with her mistress."
+
+"Logically carried out, Fritz. The saints prosper your wooing."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XII
+
+                    THE STRUGGLE OF LOVE AND DUTY
+
+
+In his lonely room in the mountain hut in which he had taken up his
+quarters, Christian Almer sat writing. It was early morning; he had
+risen before the sun. During the past week he had struggled earnestly
+with the terror which oppressed him; his suffering had been great, but
+he believed he was conquering. The task he had imposed upon himself of
+setting his duty before him in clear terms afforded him consolation.
+The book in which he was writing contained the record of a love which
+had filled him with unrest, and threatened to bring dishonor into his
+life.
+
+
+                           *  *  *  *  *  *
+
+
+"I thank Heaven," he wrote, "that I am calmer than I have been for
+several days. Separation has proved an inestimable blessing. The day
+may come when I shall look upon my love as dead, and shall be able to
+think of it as one thinks of a beloved being whom death has snatched
+away.
+
+"Even now, as I think of her, there is no fever in the thought. I have
+not betrayed my friend.
+
+"How would he regard me if he were acquainted with my mad passion--if
+he knew that the woman he adored looked upon him with aversion, and
+gave her love to the friend whom he trusted as a brother?
+
+"There was the error. To listen to her confession of love, and to make
+confession of my own.
+
+"That a man should so forget himself--should be so completely the
+slave of his passions!
+
+"How came it about? When were the first words spoken?
+
+"She sat by my side, radiant and beautiful. Admiring glances from
+every part of the theatre were cast upon her. In a corner of the box
+sat her husband, silent and thoughtful, heedless of the brilliant
+scene before him, heedless of her, as it seemed, heedless of the music
+and the singers.
+
+"Royalty was there, immediately facing us, and princes levelled their
+opera-glasses at her.
+
+"There are moments of intoxication when reason and conscience desert
+us.
+
+"We were stepping into the carriage when a note was delivered to him.
+He read it, and said, 'I cannot go with you; I am called away. You
+will not miss me, as I do not dance. I will join you in a couple of
+hours."
+
+"So we went alone, we two together, and her hand rested lightly upon
+mine. And in the dance the words were spoken--words never to be
+recalled.
+
+"What demon prompted them? Why did not an angel whisper to me,
+'Remember. There is a to-morrow.'
+
+"But in the present the morrow is forgotten. A false sense of security
+shuts out all thoughts of the consequences of our actions. A selfish
+delight enthrals us, and we do not see the figure of Retribution
+hovering above us.
+
+"It is only when we are alone with our conscience that this figure is
+visible. Then it is that we tremble; then it is that we hear words
+which appal us.
+
+"Again and again has this occurred to me, and I have vowed to myself
+that I would tear myself from her--a vow as worthless as the gambler's
+resolve to play no more. Drawn irresistibly forward, and finding in
+every meeting a shameful justification in the delusion that I was
+seeing her for the last time; and leaving her with a promise to come
+again soon. Incredible infatuation! But to listen to the recital of
+her sorrows and unhappiness without sympathising with her--it was not
+possible; and to hear her whisper, 'I love you, and only you,' without
+being thrilled by the confession--a man would need to be made of
+stone.
+
+"How often has she said to me, when speaking of her husband, 'He has
+no heart!'
+
+"Can I then, aver with any semblance of honesty that I have not
+betrayed my friend? Basely have I betrayed him.
+
+"If I were sure that she would not suffer--if I were sure that she
+would forget me! Coldness, neglect, indifference--they are sharp
+weapons, but I deserve to bleed.
+
+"Still, I cry out against my fate. I have committed no crime. Love
+came to me and tortured me. But a man must perform a man's duty. I
+will strive to perform mine. Then in years to come I may be able to
+think of the past without shame, even with pride at having conquered.
+
+"I have destroyed her portrait. I could not look upon her face and
+forget her."
+
+
+                           *  *  *  *  *  *
+
+
+A voice from an adjoining room caused him to lay aside his pen. It was
+the peasant, the master of the hut, calling to him, and asking if he
+was ready. He went out to the man.
+
+"I heard you stirring," said the peasant, "and my young ones are
+waiting to show you where the edelweiss can be found."
+
+The children, a boy and a girl, looked eagerly at Christian Almer. It
+had been arranged on the previous day that the three should go for a
+mountain excursion in search of the flower that brings good luck and
+good fortune to the finder. The children were sturdy-limbed and
+ruddy-faced, and were impatient to be off.
+
+"Breakfast first," said Christian Almer, pinching the little girl's
+cheek.
+
+Brown bread, honey, goat's milk, and an omelette were on the table,
+and the stranger, who had been as a godsend to the poor family,
+enjoyed the homely fare. The peasant had already calculated that if
+his lodger lived a year in the hut, they could save five hundred
+francs--a fortune. Christian Almer had been generous to the children,
+in whose eyes he was something more than mortal. Money is a magic
+power.
+
+"Will the day be fine?" asked Christian.
+
+"Yes," said the peasant; "but there will be a change in the evening.
+The little ones will know--you can trust to them."
+
+Young as they were, they could read the signs on Nature's face, and
+could teach their gentleman friend wise things, great and rich as he
+was.
+
+The father accompanied them for a couple of miles; he was a goat-herd,
+and, unlike others of his class, was by no means a silent man.
+
+"You live a happy life here," said Christian Almer.
+
+"Why, yes," said the peasant; "it is happy enough. We have to eat, but
+not to spare; there is the trouble. Still, God be thanked. The
+children are strong and healthy; that is another reason for
+thankfulness."
+
+"Is your wife, as you are, mountain born?"
+
+"Yes; and could tell you stories. And there," said the peasant,
+pointing upwards afar off, "as though it knew my wife were being
+talked of, there is the lämmergeier."
+
+An enormous vulture, which seemed to have suddenly grown out of the
+air, was suspended in the clouds. So motionless was it that it might
+have been likened to a sculptured work, wrought by an angel's hand,
+and fixed in heaven as a sign. It could not have measured less than
+ten feet from wing to wing. Its colour was brown, with bright edges
+and white quills, and its fiery eyes were encircled by broad
+orange-shaded rings.
+
+"My wife," said the peasant, "has reason to remember the lämmergeier.
+When she was three years old her father took her to a part of the
+mountains where they were hay-making, and not being able to work and
+attend to her at the same time, he set her down by the side of a hut.
+It was a fine sunny day, and Anna fell asleep. Her father, seeing her
+sleeping calmly, covered her face with a straw hat, and continued his
+work. Two hours afterwards he went to the spot, and Anna was gone. He
+searched for her everywhere, and all the haymakers assisted in the
+search, but Anna was nowhere to be found. My father and I--I was a
+mere lad at the time, five years older than Anna--were walking towards
+a mountain stream, three miles from where Anna had been sleeping, when
+I heard the cry of a child. It came from a precipice, and above this
+precipice a vulture was flying. We went in the direction of the cry,
+and found Anna lying on the edge of the precipice, clinging to the
+roots with her little hand. She was slipping down, and would have
+slipped to certain death had we been three minutes later. It was a
+difficult task to rescue her as it was, but we managed it, and carried
+her to her father. She had no cap to her head, and no shoes or
+stockings on her feet; she had lost them in her flight through the air
+in the vulture's beak. She has a scar on her left arm to this day as a
+remembrance of her acquaintance with the lämmergeier. So it fell out
+afterwards, when she was a young woman, that I married her."
+
+Ever and again, as they walked onwards, Christian Almer turned to look
+upon the vulture, which remained perfectly still, with its wings
+outstretched, until it was hid from his sight by the peculiar
+formation of the valleys they were traversing.
+
+Hitherto their course had lain amidst masses of the most beautiful
+flowers; gentians with purple bells, others spotted and yellow, with
+brilliant whorls of bloom, the lilac-flowered campanula, the anemone,
+the blue columbine and starwort, the lovely forget-me-not--which
+Christian Almer mentally likened to bits of heaven dropped down--and
+the Alpine rose, the queen of Alpine flowers. Now all was changed. The
+track was bare of foliage; not a blade of grass peeped up from the
+barren rocks.
+
+"There is good reason for it," said the peasant; "here, long years
+ago, a man killed his brother in cold blood. Since that day no flowers
+will grow upon the spot. There are nights on which the spirit of the
+murderer wanders mournfully about these rocks; a black dog accompanies
+him, whose bark you can sometimes hear. This valley is accursed."
+
+Soon afterwards the peasant left Christian Almer to the guidance of
+the children, and with them the young man spent the day, sharing
+contentedly with them the black bread and hard sausage they had
+brought for dinner. This mid-day meal was eaten as they sat beside a
+lake, in the waters of which there was not a sign of life, and
+Christian Almer noticed that, as the children ate, they watched the
+bosom of this lake with a strange and singular interest.
+
+"What are you gazing at?" he asked, curious to learn.
+
+"For the dead white trout," answered the boy. "Whenever a priest dies
+it floats upon the lake."
+
+In the lower heights, where the fir-trees stretched their feathery
+tips to the clouds, they found the flower they were in search of, and
+the children were wild with delight. The sun was setting when they
+returned to the hut, tired and gratified with their day's wanderings.
+The peasant's wife smiled as she saw the edelweiss.
+
+"A lucky love-flower," she said to Christian Almer.
+
+These simple words proved to him how hard was the lesson of
+forgetfulness he was striving to learn; he was profoundly agitated by
+them.
+
+Night fell, and the clouds grew black.
+
+"The wind is rising," said the peasant; "an ill night for travellers.
+Here is one coming towards us."
+
+It proved to be a guide who lived in the nearest post village, and
+who, duly commissioned for the service, brought to Christian Almer the
+letters of the Advocate and his wife.
+
+"A storm is gathering," said the guide; "I must find shelter on the
+heights to-night."
+
+In his lonely room Christian Almer broke the seals, and by the dull
+light of a single candle read the lines written by friend to friend,
+by lover to lover.
+
+The thunder rolled over the mountains; the lightning flashed through
+the small window; the storm was upon him.
+
+He read the letters once only, but every word was impressed clearly
+upon his brain. For an hour he sat in silence, gazing vacantly at the
+edelweiss on the table, the lucky love-flower.
+
+The peasant's wife called to him, and asked if he wanted anything.
+
+"Nothing," he replied, in a voice that sounded strange to him.
+
+"I will leave the bread and milk on the table," she said.
+"Good-night."
+
+He did not answer her, nor did he respond to the children's
+good-night. Their voices, the children's especially, seemed to his
+ears to come from a great distance.
+
+A drop of rain fell from the roof upon the candle, and extinguished
+the light. For a long while he remained in darkness, until all in the
+hut were sleeping; then he went out into the wild night, clutching the
+letters tight in his hand.
+
+He staggered almost blindly onwards, and in the course of half an hour
+found himself standing on a narrow and perilous bridge, from which the
+few travellers who passed that way could obtain a view of a torrent
+which dashed with sublime and terrific force over a precipice upon the
+rocks below, a thousand feet down.
+
+"If I were to grow dizzy now!" he muttered, with a reckless laugh; and
+he tempted fate by leaning over the narrow bridge, and gazing
+downwards into the dark depths.
+
+Indistinct shapes grew out of the mighty and eternal waterfall. Of
+hosts of angry men battling with each other; of rushing horses; of
+armies of vultures swooping down for prey; of accusing and beautiful
+faces; of smiling mouths and white teeth flashing; and, amidst the
+whirl, sounds of shrieks and laughter.
+
+Suddenly he straightened himself, and tearing Adelaide's letter into a
+thousand pieces, flung the evidence of a treacherous love into the
+furious torrent of waters; and as he did so he thought that there were
+times in a man's life when death were the best blessing which Heaven
+could bestow upon him!
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIII
+
+                         THE TRIAL OF GAUTRAN
+
+
+The trial of Gautran was proceeding, and the court was thronged with
+an excited gathering of men and women, upon whom not a word in the
+story of the tragic drama was thrown away. Impressed by the great
+powers of the Advocate who had undertaken to appear for the accused,
+the most effective measures had been adopted to prove Gautran's guilt,
+and obtain a conviction.
+
+It was a legal battle, fought with all the subtle weapons at the
+disposal of the law.
+
+Gautran's prosecutors fought with faces unmasked, and with their hands
+displayed; the Advocate, on the contrary, was pursuing a course which
+none could fathom; nor did he give a clue to it. Long before the case
+was closed the jury were ready to deliver their verdict; but, calm and
+unmoved, the Advocate, with amazing patience, followed out his secret
+theory, the revelation of which was awaited, by those who knew him
+best and feared him most, with intense and painful curiosity.
+
+Every disreputable circumstance in Gautran's life was raked up to
+display the odiousness of his character; his infamous career was
+tracked from his childhood to the hour of his arrest. A creature more
+debased, with features more hideous, it would have been difficult to
+drag forward from the worst haunts of crime and shame. Degraded he was
+born, degraded he had lived, degraded he stood before his judges. It
+was a horror to gaze upon his face as he stood in the dock,
+convulsively clutching the rails.
+
+For eight days had he so stood, execrated and condemned by all. For
+eight days he had endured the anguish of a thousand deaths, of a
+myriad agonising fears. His soul had been harrowed by the most awful
+visions--visions of which none but himself had any conception. In his
+cell with the gaolers watching his every movement; in the court with
+the glare of daylight upon him; in the dusky corridors he traversed
+morning and evening he saw the phantom of the girl with whose murder
+he was charged, and by her side the phantom of himself standing on the
+threshold of a future in which there was no mercy or pity.
+
+No communication passed between him and the lawyer who was fighting
+for him; not once did the Advocate turn to the prisoner or address a
+word to him; it was as though he were battling for a victory in which
+Gautran was in no wise concerned. But if indeed he desired to win, he
+adopted the strangest tactics to accomplish his desire. Not a question
+he asked the witnesses, not an observation he made to the judge, but
+tended to fix more surely the prisoner's degradation, and gradually
+there stole into Gautran's heart a deadly hatred and animosity against
+his defender.
+
+"He defends me to ruin me," this was Gautran's thought; "he is seeking
+to destroy me, body and soul."
+
+His own replies to the questions put to him by the judge were
+sufficient to convict him. He equivocated and lied in the most
+barefaced manner, and when he was exposed and reproved, evinced no
+shame--preserving either a dogged silence, or obstinately exclaiming
+that the whole world was leagued against him. Apart from the question
+whether he was lying or speaking the truth, there was a certain
+consistency in his method which would have been of service to him had
+his cause been good. This was especially noticeable when he was being
+interrogated with respect to his relations with the murdered girl.
+
+"You insist," said the judge, "that Madeline accepted you as her
+lover?"
+
+"Yes," replied Gautran, "I insist upon it."
+
+"Evidence will be brought forward to prove that it was not so. What,
+then, will you answer?"
+
+"That whoever denies it is a liar."
+
+"And if a dozen or twenty deny it?"
+
+"They lie, the lot of them."
+
+"What should make them speak falsely instead of truly?"
+
+"Because they are all against me."
+
+"There is no other evidence except your bare statement that Madeline
+and you were affianced."
+
+"That is my misfortune. If she were alive she could speak for me."
+
+"It is a safe remark, the poor child being in her grave. It is the
+rule for young girls to love men whose appearance is not repulsive."
+
+"Is this," cried Gautran, smiting his face with his fist, "to stand as
+a witness against me, too?"
+
+"No; but a girl has generally a cause for falling in love. If the man
+be not attractive in appearance, it is almost certain he will possess
+some other quality to attract her. He may be clever, and this may win
+her."
+
+"I do not pretend to be clever."
+
+"His manners may be engaging. His nature may be kind and affectionate,
+and she may have had proof of it."
+
+"_My_ nature is kind and affectionate. It may have been that, if you
+are determined upon having a reason for her fondness for me."
+
+"She was fond of you?"
+
+"Aye."
+
+"Did she tell you so, and when?"
+
+"Always when we were alone."
+
+"We cannot have Madeline's evidence as to the feelings she entertained
+for you; but we can have the evidence of others who knew you both. Are
+you acquainted with Katherine Scherrer?"
+
+"Not too well; we were never very intimate."
+
+"She is a young woman a few years older than Madeline, and she warned
+Madeline against you. She herself had received instances of your
+brutality. Before you saw Madeline you made advances towards Katherine
+Scherrer."
+
+"False. She made advances towards me. She asked me to be her lover,
+and now she speaks against me out of revenge."
+
+"She has not spoken yet, but she will. Madeline told her that she
+trembled at the sight of you, and had entreated you not to follow her;
+but that you would not be shaken off."
+
+"It is my way; I will never be baulked."
+
+"It is true, therefore; you paid no attention to this poor girl's
+entreaties because it is your way not to allow yourself to be
+baulked."
+
+"I did not mean that; I was thinking of other matters."
+
+"Katherine Scherrer has a mother."
+
+"Yes; a woman of no account."
+
+"Some time ago this mother informed you, if you did not cease to
+pester Katherine with your insulting proposals, that she would have
+you beaten."
+
+"I should like to see the man who would have attempted it."
+
+"That is savagely spoken for one whose nature is kind and
+affectionate."
+
+"May not a man defend himself? I don't say I am kind and affectionate
+to men; but I am to women."
+
+"The murdered girl found you so. Hearing from her daughter that
+Madeline was frightened of you, and did not wish you to follow her,
+Katherine's mother desired you to let the girl alone."
+
+"She lies."
+
+"They all lie who utter a word against you?"
+
+"Every one of them."
+
+"You never courted Katherine Scherrer?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Her mother never spoke to you about either her daughter or Madeline?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Do you know the Widow Joseph?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Madeline lodged in her house."
+
+"What is that to me?"
+
+"Did she never speak to you concerning Madeline?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Attend. Four nights before Madeline met her death you were seen
+prowling outside Widow Joseph's house."
+
+"I was not there."
+
+"The Widow Joseph came out and asked you what you wanted."
+
+"She did not."
+
+"You said you must see Madeline. The Widow Joseph went into the house,
+and returned with the message that Madeline would not see you. Upon
+that you tried to force your way into the house, and struck the woman
+because she prevented you. Madeline came down, alarmed at the sounds
+of the struggle, and begged you to go away, and you said you would,
+now that you had seen her, as you had made up your mind to. What have
+you to say to this?"
+
+"A batch of lies. Twenty women could not have prevented me getting
+into the house."
+
+"You think yourself a match for twenty women?"
+
+"Aye."
+
+"And for as many men?"
+
+"For one man, whoever he may be. Give me the chance of proving it."
+
+"Do you know Heinrich Heitz?"
+
+"No."
+
+"He is, like yourself, a woodcutter."
+
+"There are thousands of woodcutters."
+
+"Did you and he not work together as partners?"
+
+"We did not."
+
+"Were you not continually quarrelling, and did he not wish to break
+the partnership?"
+
+"No."
+
+"In consequence of this, did you not threaten to murder him?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Did you not strike him with a weapon, and cut his forehead open?"
+
+"No."
+
+"How many women have you loved?"
+
+"One."
+
+"Her name?"
+
+"Madeline."
+
+"You never loved another?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Have you been married?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Have you ever lived with a woman who should have been your wife?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Did you not continually beat this poor woman until her life became a
+burden to her, and she was compelled to fly from you to another part
+of the country?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you expect to be believed in the answers you have given?"
+
+"No."
+
+"It is said that you possess great strength."
+
+"It has served me in good stead."
+
+"That you are a man of violent passions."
+
+"I have my feelings. I would never submit to be trampled on."
+
+"You were always kind to Madeline?"
+
+"Always."
+
+"On the night of her murder?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Witnesses will prove that you were heard to say, 'I will kill you! I
+will kill you!' Do you deny saying so?"
+
+"No."
+
+"How does that cruel threat accord with a mild and affectionate
+nature?"
+
+"I was asking her whether she had another lover, and I said if she
+had, and encouraged him, that I would kill her."
+
+"The handkerchief found round her neck was yours."
+
+"I gave it to her as a love-gift."
+
+"A terrible love-gift. It was not wound loosely round her neck; it was
+tight, almost to strangulation."
+
+"She must have made it so in her struggles, or----"
+
+"Or?"
+
+"The man who killed her must have attempted to strangle her with it."
+
+"That is your explanation?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Your face is bathed in perspiration; your eyes glare wildly."
+
+"Change places with me, and see how you would feel."
+
+"Such signs, then, are the signs of innocence?"
+
+"What else should they be?"
+
+During this long examination, Gautran's limbs trembled violently, and
+there passed over his face the most frightful expressions.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIV.
+
+                      THE EVIDENCE OF WITNESSES
+
+
+Among the first witnesses called was Heinrich Heitz, a wood-cutter,
+who had been for some time in partnership with Gautran, and of whom
+Gautran had denied any knowledge whatever.
+
+On his forehead was the red scar of a wound inflicted some time
+before.
+
+"Look at the prisoner. Do you know him?"
+
+"I have reason to."
+
+"His name?"
+
+"Gautran."
+
+"How did he get his living?"
+
+"By wood-cutting."
+
+"You and he were comrades for a time?"
+
+"We were."
+
+"For how long?"
+
+"For three years; we were partners."
+
+"During the time you worked with him, did he know you as Heinrich
+Heitz?"
+
+"By no other name. I never bore another."
+
+"Was the partnership an agreeable one?"
+
+"Not to me; it was infernally disagreeable. I never want another
+partner like him."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I don't want another savage beast for a partner."
+
+"You did not get along well with him?"
+
+"Quite the reverse."
+
+"For what reasons?"
+
+"Well, for one, I am a hard-working man; he is an indolent bully. The
+master he works for once does not want to employ him again. When we
+worked together on a task, the profits of which were to be equally
+divided between us, he shirked his share of the work, and left me to
+do the lot."
+
+"Did you endeavour to separate from him?"
+
+"I did; and he swore he would murder me; and once, when I was more
+than usually determined, he marked me on my forehead. You can see the
+scar; I shall never get rid of it."
+
+"Did he use a weapon against you?"
+
+"Yes; a knife."
+
+"His temper is ungovernable?"
+
+"He has not the slightest control over it."
+
+"He is a man of great strength?"
+
+"He is very powerful."
+
+"Possessed with an idea which he was determined to carry out, is it
+likely that anything would soften him?"
+
+"Nothing could soften him."
+
+"How would opposition affect him?"
+
+"It would infuriate him. I have seen him, when crossed, behave as if
+he were a mad tiger instead of a human being."
+
+"At such times, would it be likely that he would show any coolness or
+cunning?"
+
+"He would have no time to think; he would be carried away by his
+passion."
+
+"You were acquainted with him when he was a lad?"
+
+"I was."
+
+"Was he noted for his cruel disposition in his childhood?"
+
+"He was; it was the common talk."
+
+"Did he take a pleasure in inflicting physical pain upon those weaker
+than himself?"
+
+"He did."
+
+"And in prolonging that pain?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"In his paroxysms of fury would not an appeal to his humanity have a
+softening effect upon him?"
+
+"He has no humanity."
+
+"You were acquainted with Madeline?"
+
+"I was."
+
+"Was she an amiable girl?"
+
+"Most amiable."
+
+"She was very gentle?"
+
+"As gentle as a child."
+
+"But she was capable of being aroused?"
+
+"Of course she was."
+
+"She had many admirers?"
+
+"I have heard so."
+
+"You yourself admired her?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"You made love to her?"
+
+"I suppose I did."
+
+"Did she encourage you?"
+
+"I cannot say she did."
+
+"Did you ever attempt to embrace her?"
+
+The witness did not reply to this question, and upon its being
+repeated, still preserved silence. Admonished by the judge, and
+ordered to reply, he said:
+
+"Yes, I have attempted to embrace her."
+
+"On more than one occasion."
+
+"Only on one occasion."
+
+"Did she permit the embrace?"
+
+"No."
+
+"She resisted you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"There must have been a struggle. Did she strike you?"
+
+"She scratched my face."
+
+"She resisted you successfully?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Gentle as she was, she possessed strength?"
+
+"Oh yes, more than one would have supposed."
+
+"Strength which she would exert to protect herself from insult?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Her disposition was a happy one?"
+
+"That was easy to see. She was always singing to herself, and
+smiling."
+
+"You believe she was fond of life?"
+
+"Why yes--who is not?"
+
+"And would not have welcomed a violent and sudden death?"
+
+"Certainly not. What a question!"
+
+"Threatened with such a fate, she would have resisted?"
+
+"Aye, with all her strength. It would be but natural."
+
+"Knowing Madeline somewhat intimately, you must have known Pauline?"
+
+"Yes, I knew her."
+
+"It is unfortunate and inexplicable that we cannot call her as a
+witness, and are ignorant of the reason why she left Madeline alone.
+Can you furnish any clue, even the slightest, which might enable us to
+find her?"
+
+"I cannot; I do not know where she has gone."
+
+"Were they sisters, or mother and daughter?"
+
+"I cannot say."
+
+"Do you know where they came from?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+"Reflect. During your intimacy, was any chance word or remark made by
+either of the women which, followed up, might furnish the
+information?"
+
+"I can remember none. But something was said, a few days before
+Pauline left, which surprised me."
+
+"Relate it, and do not fear to weary the court. Omit nothing."
+
+"I made love to Madeline, as I have said, and she did not encourage
+me. Then, for perhaps a month or two, I said nothing more to her than
+good-morning or good-evening. But afterwards, when I was told that
+Gautran was following her up, I thought to myself, 'I am better than
+he; why should I be discouraged because she said "No" to me once?'
+Well, then it was that I mustered up courage to speak to Pauline,
+thinking to win her to my side. I did not, though. Pauline was angry
+and impatient with me, and as much as told me that when Madeline
+married it would be to a better man than I was. I was angry, also,
+because it seemed as if she looked down on me. 'You think she will
+marry a gentleman,' said I. 'It might be so,' she answered. 'A fine
+idea that,' said I, 'for a peasant. But perhaps she isn't a peasant:
+perhaps she is a lady in disguise.' I suppose I spoke scornfully, for
+Pauline fired up, and asked whether Madeline was not good enough, and
+pretty enough, and gentle enough for a lady; and said, too, that those
+who believed her to be a peasant might one day find out their mistake.
+And then all at once she stopped suddenly, with red fire in her face,
+and I saw she had said that which she had rather left unspoken."
+
+This last piece of evidence supplied a new feature of interest in the
+case. It furnished a clue to a tempting mystery as to the social
+position of Pauline and Madeline; but it was a clue which could not be
+followed to a satisfactory result, although another unexpected
+revelation was made in the course of the trial which appeared to have
+some connection with it. Much of the evidence given by Heinrich Heitz
+was elicited by the Advocate--especially those particulars which
+related to Gautran's strength and ferocity, and to Madeline's love of
+life and the way in which she met an insult. It was not easy to see
+what good could be done for Gautran by the stress which the Advocate
+laid upon these points.
+
+Katherine Scherrer was called and examined. She testified that Gautran
+had made advances towards her, and had pressed her to become his wife;
+that she refused him, and that he threatened her; that as he persisted
+in following her, her mother had spoken to him, and had warned him, if
+he did not cease persecuting her daughter, that she would have him
+beaten. This evidence was corroborated by Katherine's mother, who
+testified that she had cautioned Gautran not to persecute Madeline
+with his attentions and proposals. Madeline had expressed to both
+these women her abhorrence of Gautran and her fear of him, but nothing
+could induce him to relinquish his pursuit of her. The only evidence
+elicited from these witnesses by the Advocate related to Gautran's
+strength and ferocity.
+
+Following Katherine Scherrer and her mother came a witness whose
+appearance provoked murmurs of compassion. It was a poor, wretched
+woman, half demented, who had lived with Gautran in another part of
+the country, and who had been so brutally treated by him that her
+reason had become impaired. If her appearance provoked compassion, the
+story of her wrongs, as it was skilfully drawn from her by kindly
+examination, stirred the court into strong indignation, and threw a
+lurid light upon the character of the man arraigned at the bar of
+justice. In the presence of this poor creature the judge interrogated
+Gautran.
+
+"You denied having ever lived with a woman who should have been your
+wife. Do you still deny it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Shameless obstinacy! Look at this poor woman, whom your cruelty has
+reduced to a state of imbecility. Do you not know her?"
+
+"I know nothing of her."
+
+"You never lived with her?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"You will even go so far as to declare that you never saw her before
+to-day?"
+
+"Yes; I never saw her before to-day."
+
+"To question you farther would be useless. You have shown yourself in
+your true colours."
+
+To which Gautran made answer: "I can't help my colours. They're not of
+my choosing."
+
+The Widow Joseph was next called.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XV
+
+              THE WIDOW JOSEPH GIVES EVIDENCE RESPECTING
+                         A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR
+
+
+The appearance of this woman was looked forward to by the spectators
+with lively curiosity, and her evidence was listened to with deep
+attention.
+
+"Your name is Joseph?"
+
+"That was my husband's first name. While he lived I was known as
+Mistress Joseph; since his death I have been called the Widow Joseph."
+
+"The poor child, Madeline, and her companion, Pauline, lived in your
+house?"
+
+"Yes, from the first day they came into this part of the country. 'We
+have come a great distance,' said Pauline to me, 'and want a room to
+sleep in.' I showed her the room, and said it would be twelve francs a
+month. She paid me twelve francs, and remained with me till she left
+to go on a journey."
+
+"Did you ask her where she came from?"
+
+"Yes; and she answered that it was of no consequence."
+
+"Did she pay the rent regularly?"
+
+"Yes; and always without being asked for it."
+
+"Did she tell you she was poor?"
+
+"She said she had but little money."
+
+"Did they have any settled plan of gaining a livelihood?"
+
+"I do not think they had at first. Pauline asked me whether I thought
+it likely they could earn a living by selling flowers. I looked at
+Madeline, and said that I thought they were certain to do well."
+
+"You looked at Madeline. Why?"
+
+"She was a very pretty girl."
+
+"And you thought, because she was very pretty, that she would have a
+greater chance of disposing of her flowers."
+
+"Yes. Gentlemen like to buy of pretty girls."
+
+"That is not said to Madeline's disparagement?"
+
+"No. Madeline was a good girl. She was full of gaiety, but it was
+innocent gaiety."
+
+"What were your impressions of them? As to their social position? Did
+you believe them to be humbly born?"
+
+"Pauline certainly; she was a peasant the same as myself. But there
+was something superior about Madeline which puzzled me."
+
+"How? In what way?"
+
+"It was only an impression. Yet there were signs. Pauline's hands were
+hard and coarse; and from remarks she made from time to time I knew
+that she was peasant-born. Madeline's hands were soft and delicate,
+and she had not been accustomed to toil, which all peasants are, from
+their infancy almost."
+
+"From this do you infer that they were not related to each other?"
+
+"I am sure they were related to each other. Perhaps few had the
+opportunities of judging as well as I could. When they were in a quiet
+mood I have seen expressions upon their faces so exactly alike as to
+leave no doubt that they were closely related."
+
+"Sisters?"
+
+"I cannot say."
+
+"Or mother and daughter?"
+
+"I wish to tell everything I know, but to say nothing that might be
+turned into a reproach against them."
+
+"We have every confidence in you. Judgment can be formed from the
+bearing of persons towards each other. Pauline loved Madeline?"
+
+"Devotedly."
+
+"There is a distinctive quality in the attachment of a loving mother
+for her child which can scarcely be mistaken; it is far different, in
+certain visible manifestations--especially on occasions where there is
+any slight disagreement--between sisters. Distinctive, also, is the
+tenderness which accompanies the exercise of a mother's authority.
+Bearing this in mind, and recalling to the best of your ability those
+particulars of their intercourse which came within your cognisance,
+which hypothesis would you be the more ready to believe--that they
+were sisters or mother and child?"
+
+"That they were mother and child."
+
+"We recognise your anxiety to assist us. Pauline's hands, you say,
+were coarse, while Madeline's were soft and delicate. Ordinarily, a
+peasant woman brings up her child as a peasant, with no false notions;
+in this instance, however, Pauline brought Madeline up with some idea
+that the young girl was superior to her own station in life. Else why
+the unusual care of the child? Supposing this line of argument to be
+correct, it appears not to be likely that the attentions of a man like
+Gautran would be encouraged."
+
+"They were not encouraged."
+
+"Do you know that they were not encouraged from statements made to you
+by Pauline and Madeline?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then Gautran's declaration that he was Madeline's accepted lover is
+false?"
+
+"Quite false."
+
+"He speaks falsely when he says that Madeline promised to marry him?"
+
+"It is impossible."
+
+"Four nights before Madeline met her death, was Gautran outside your
+house?"
+
+"Yes; he was prowling about there with his evil face, for a long
+time."
+
+"Did you go to him, and ask him what he wanted?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did he tell you that he must see Madeline?"
+
+"Yes, and I went into the house, and informed the girl. She said she
+would not see him, and I went down to Gautran and told him so. He then
+tried to force himself into the house, and I stood in his way. He
+struck me, and Madeline, frightened by my cries, ran to the door, and
+begged him to go away."
+
+"It is a fact that he was often seen in Madeline's company?"
+
+"Yes; do what they would, they could not get rid of him; and they were
+frightened, if they angered him too much, that he would commit an act
+of violence."
+
+"As he did?"
+
+"As he did. It is written on Madeline's grave."
+
+"Had the poor girl any other lovers?"
+
+"None that I should call lovers. But she was greatly admired."
+
+"Was any one of these lovers especially favoured?"
+
+"Not that I knew of."
+
+"Did any of them visit the house?"
+
+"No--but may I speak?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"It was not what I should call a visit. A gentleman came once to the
+door, and before I could get there, Pauline was with him. All that I
+heard was this: 'It is useless,' Pauline said to him; 'I will not
+allow you to see her, and if you persecute us with your attentions I
+will appeal for help to those who will teach you a lesson.' 'What is
+your objection to me?' he asked, and he was smiling all the time he
+spoke. 'Am I not a gentleman?' 'Yes,' she answered; 'and it is because
+of that, that I will not permit you to address her. Gentlemen! I have
+had enough of gentlemen!' 'You are a foolish woman,' he said, and he
+went away. That is all, and that is the only time--except when I saw
+Pauline in conversation with a man. He might have been a gentleman,
+but his clothes were not the clothes of one; neither were they the
+clothes of a peasant. They were conversing at a little distance from
+the house. I did not hear what they said, not a word, and half an hour
+afterwards Pauline came home. There was a look on her face such as I
+had never observed--a look of triumph and doubt. But she made no
+remark to me, nor I to her."
+
+"Where was Madeline at this time?"
+
+"In the house."
+
+"Did you see this man again?"
+
+"A second time, two evenings after. A third time, within the same
+week. He and Pauline spoke together very earnestly, and when anyone
+approached them always moved out of hearing. During the second week he
+came to the house, and inquired for Pauline. She ran downstairs and
+accompanied him into the open road. This occurred to my knowledge five
+or six times, until Pauline said to me, 'To-morrow I am going on a
+journey. Before long I may be able to reward you well for the kindness
+you have shown us.' The following day she left, and I have not seen
+her since."
+
+"Did she say how long she would be likely to be away?"
+
+"I understood not longer than three weeks."
+
+"That time has passed, and still she does not appear. Since she left,
+have you seen the man who was so frequently with her?"
+
+"No."
+
+"He has not been to the house to make inquiries?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Is it not possible that he may have been Pauline's lover?"
+
+"There was nothing of the lover in his manner towards her."
+
+"There was, however, some secret between them?"
+
+"Evidently."
+
+"And Madeline--was she acquainted with it?"
+
+"It is impossible to say."
+
+"You have no reason to suppose, when Pauline went away, that she had
+no intention of returning?"
+
+"I am positive she intended to return."
+
+"And with good news, for she promised to reward you for your
+kindness?"
+
+"Yes, she did so."
+
+"Is it not probable that she, also, may have met with foul play?"
+
+"It is probable; but Heaven alone knows!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVI
+
+                  THE CONCLUSION OF THE PROSECUTION
+
+
+It length the case for the prosecution was concluded, with an
+expression of regret on the part of counsel at the absence of Pauline,
+who might have been able to supply additional evidence, if any were
+needed, of the guilt of the prisoner.
+
+"Every effort has been made," said counsel, "to trace and produce this
+woman, but when she parted from the murdered girl no person knew
+whither she was directing her steps; even the Widow Joseph, the one
+living person besides the mysterious male visitor who was in frequent
+consultation with her, can furnish us with no clue. The victim of this
+foul and horrible crime could most likely have told us, but her lips
+are sealed by the murderer's hand, the murderous wretch who stands
+before you.
+
+"It has been suggested that Pauline has met with foul play. It may be
+so; otherwise, it is humanly impossible to divine the cause that could
+keep her from this trial.
+
+"Neither have we been able to trace the man who was in her confidence,
+and between whom and herself a secret of a strange nature existed.
+
+"In my own mind I do not doubt that this secret related to Madeline,
+but whether it did do so or not cannot affect the issue of this trial;
+neither can the absence of Pauline and her mysterious friend affect
+it. The proofs of the cruel, ruthless murder are complete and
+irrefragable, and nothing is wanting, not a link, in the chain of
+evidence to enable you to return a verdict which will deprive
+of the opportunity of committing further crime a wretch as infamous
+as ever walked the earth. He declares his innocence; if the value
+of that declaration is to be gauged by the tissue of falsehoods
+he has uttered, by his shameless effrontery and denials, by his
+revolting revelations of the degradation of his nature, he stands
+self-convicted.
+
+"But it needs not that; had he not spoken, the issue would be the
+same; for painful and shocking as is the spectacle, you have but to
+glance at him to assure yourself of his guilt. If that is not
+sufficient to move you unhesitatingly to your duty, cast him from your
+thoughts and weigh only the evidence of truth which has been laid
+unfolded to you.
+
+"As I speak, a picture of that terrible night, in the darkness of
+which the fearful deed was committed, rises before me.
+
+"I see the river's bank in a mist of shadows; I see two forms moving
+onward, one a monster in human shape, the other that of a child who
+had never wronged a fellow creature, a child whose spirit was joyous
+and whose amiable disposition won every heart.
+
+"It is not with her willing consent that this monster is in her
+company. He has followed her stealthily until he finds an opportunity
+to be alone with her, at a time when she is least likely to have
+friends near her; and in a place where she is entirely at his mercy.
+He forces his attentions upon her; she repulses him. She turns towards
+her home; he thrusts her roughly back. Enraged at her obstinacy, he
+threatens to kill her; his threats are heard by persons returning home
+along the river's bank, and, until the sound of their footsteps has
+died away and they are out of hearing, he keeps his victim silent by
+force.
+
+"Being alone with her once more, he renews his infamous suit. She
+still repulses him, and then commences a struggle which must have made
+the angels weep to witness.
+
+"In vain his victim pleads, in vain she struggles; she clings to him
+and begs for her life in tones that might melt the stoniest heart; but
+this demon has no heart. He winds his handkerchief round her neck, he
+beats and tears her, as is proved by the bruises on her poor body. The
+frightful struggle ends, and the deed is accomplished which condemns
+the wretch to life-long torture in this world and to perdition in the
+next.
+
+"Do not lose sight of this picture and of the evidence which
+establishes it; and let me warn you not to be diverted by sophistry or
+specious reasoning from the duty which you are here to perform.
+
+"A most vile and horrible crime has been committed; the life of a
+child has been cruelly, remorselessly, wickedly sacrificed; her blood
+calls for justice on her murderer; and upon you rests the solemn
+responsibility of not permitting the escape of a wretch whose guilt
+has been proven by evidence so convincing as to leave no room for
+doubt in the mind of any human being who reasons in accordance with
+facts.
+
+"I cannot refrain from impressing upon you the stern necessity of
+allowing no other considerations than those supplied by a calm
+judgment to guide you in the delivery of your verdict. I should be
+wanting in my duty if I did not warn you that there have been cases in
+which the guilty have unfortunately escaped by the raising of side
+issues which had but the remotest bearing upon the crimes of which
+they stood accused. It is not by specious logic that a guilty man can
+be proved innocent. Innocence can only be established by facts, and
+the facts laid before you are fatal in the conclusion to be deduced
+from them. Bear these facts in mind, and do not allow your judgment to
+be clouded even by the highest triumphs of eloquence. I know of no
+greater reproach from which men of sensibility can suffer than that
+which proceeds from the consciousness that, in an unguarded moment,
+they have allowed themselves to be turned aside from the performance
+of a solemn duty. May you have no cause for such a reproach! May you
+have no cause to lament that you have allowed your judgment to be
+warped by a display of passionate and fevered oratory! Let a sense of
+justice alone be your guide. Justice we all desire, nothing more and
+nothing less. The law demands it of you; society demands it of you.
+The safety of your fellow citizens, the honour of young girls, of your
+sisters, your daughters, and others dear to you, depend upon your
+verdict. For if wretches like the prisoner are permitted to walk in
+our midst, to pursue their savage courses, to live their evil lives,
+unchecked, life and honour are in fatal peril. The duty you have to
+perform is a sacred duty--see that you perform it righteously and
+conscientiously, and bear in mind that the eyes of the Eternal are
+upon you."
+
+This appeal, delivered with intense earnestness, produced a profound
+impression. In the faces of the jury was written the fate of Gautran.
+They looked at each other with stern resolution. Under these
+circumstances, when the result of the trial appeared to be a foregone
+conclusion, it might have been expected, the climax of interest having
+apparently been reached, that the rising of the Advocate to speak for
+the defence would have attracted but slight attention. It was not so.
+At that moment the excitement reached a painful pitch, and every
+person in the court, with the exception of the jury and the judges,
+leant forward with eager and absorbed expectation.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVII
+
+                  THE ADVOCATES DEFENCE--THE VERDICT
+
+
+He spoke in a calm and passionless voice, the clear tones of which
+had an effect resembling that of a current of cold air through an
+over-heated atmosphere. The audience had been led to expect a display
+of fevered and passionate oratory; but neither in the Advocate's
+speech nor in his manner of delivering it was there any fire or
+passion; it was chiefly remarkable for earnestness and simplicity.
+
+His first words were a panegyric of justice, the right of dispensing
+which had been placed in mortal hands by a Supreme Power which watched
+its dispensation with a jealous eye. He claimed for himself that the
+leading principle of his life, not only in his judicial, but in his
+private career, had been a desire for justice, in small matters as
+well as in great, for the lowliest equally with the loftiest of human
+beings. Before the bar of justice, prince and peasant, the most
+ignorant and the most highly cultured, the meanest and the most noble
+in form and feature, were equal. They had been told that justice was
+demanded from them by law and by society. He would supply a strange
+omission in this appeal, and he would tell them that, primarily and
+before every other consideration, the prisoner it was who demanded
+justice from them.
+
+"That an innocent girl has been done to death," said the Advocate, "is
+most unfortunately true, and as true that a man who inspires horror is
+charged with her murder. You have been told that you have but to
+glance at him to assure yourself of his guilt. These are lamentable
+words to be used in an argument of accusation. The facts that the
+victim was of attractive, and that the accused is of repulsive
+appearance, should not weigh with you, even by a hair's weight, to the
+prejudice of the prisoner. If it does, I call upon you to remember
+that justice is blind to external impressions. And moreover, if in
+your minds you harbour a feeling such as exists outside this court
+against the degraded creature who stands before you, I charge you to
+dismiss it.
+
+"All the evidence presented to you which bears directly upon the crime
+is circumstantial. A murder has been committed--no person saw it
+committed. The last person proved to have been in the murdered girl's
+company, is Gautran, her lover, as he declares himself to have been.
+
+"And here I would say that I do not expect you to place the slightest
+credence upon the statements of this man. His unblushing, astonishing
+falsehoods prove that in him the moral sense is deadened, if indeed it
+ever existed. But his own statement that, after the manner of his
+brutal nature, he loved the girl, may be accepted as probable. It has
+been sufficiently proved that the girl had other lovers, who were
+passionately enamoured of her. She was left to herself, deprived of
+the protection and counsel of a devoted woman, who, unhappily, was
+absent at the fatal crisis in her life. She was easily persuaded and
+easily led. Who can divine by what influences she was surrounded, by
+what temptations she was beset, temptations and influences which may
+have brought upon her an untimely death?
+
+"Gautran was hear to say, 'I will kill you--I will kill you!' He had
+threatened her before, and she lived to speak of it to her companions,
+and to permit him, without break or interruption in their intimacy, to
+continue to associate with her. What more probable than that this was
+one of his usual threats in his moments of passion, when he jealously
+believed that a rival was endeavouring to supplant him in her
+affections?
+
+"The handkerchief found about her neck belonged to Gautran. The gift
+of a handkerchief among the lower classes is not uncommon, and it is
+frequently worn round the neck. Easy, then, for any murderer to pull
+it tight during the commission of the crime. But apart from this, the
+handkerchief does not fix the crime of murder upon Gautran or any
+other accused, for you have had it proved that the girl did not die by
+strangulation, but by drowning. These are bare facts, and I present
+them to you in bare form, without needless comment. I do not base my
+defence upon them, but upon what I am now about to say.
+
+"If in a case of circumstantial evidence there is reasonable cause to
+believe that the evidence furnished is of insufficient weight to
+convict; and if on the other side, on the side of the accused,
+evidence is adduced which directly proves, according to the best
+judgment we are enabled to form of human action in supreme moments--as
+to the course it would take and the manner in which it would be
+displayed--that it is almost beyond the bounds of possibility and
+nature that the person can have committed the deed, you have no
+option, unless you yourselves are bent upon judicial murder, than to
+acquit that person, however vile his character may be, however
+degraded his career and antecedents. It is evidence of this
+description which I intend to submit to you at the conclusion of my
+remarks.
+
+"The character of Gautran has been exposed and laid bare in all its
+vileness; the minuteness of the evidence is surprising; not the
+smallest detail has been overlooked or omitted to complete the picture
+of a ferocious, ignorant, and infamous being. Guilty, he deserves no
+mercy; innocent, he is not to be condemned because he is vile.
+
+"In the world's history there are records of countries and times in
+which it was the brutal fashion to bring four-footed animals to the
+bar of justice, there solemnly to try them for witchcraft and evil
+deeds; and you will find upon examination of those records of man's
+incredible folly and ignorance, that occasionally even these beasts of
+the earth--pigs and such-like--have been declared innocent of the
+crimes of which they have been charged. I ask no more for Gautran than
+the principle involved in these trials. Judge him, if you will, as you
+would an animal, but judge him in accordance with the principles of
+justice, which neither extenuates nor maliciously and unreasonably
+condemns.
+
+"The single accusation of the murder of Madeline, a flower-girl, is
+the point to be determined, and you must not travel beyond it to other
+crimes and other misdeeds of which Gautran may have been guilty.
+
+"It has been proved that the prisoner is possessed of great strength,
+that he is violent in his actions, uncontrollable in his passions, and
+fond of inflicting pain and prolonging it. He has not a redeeming
+feature in his coarse, animal nature. Thwarted, he makes the person
+who thwarts him suffer without mercy. An appeal to his humanity would
+be useless--he has no humanity; when crossed, he has been seen to
+behave like a wild beast. All this is in evidence, and has been
+strongly dwelt upon as proof of guilt. Most important is this
+evidence, and I charge you not for one moment to lose sight of it.
+
+"I come now to the depiction of the murdered girl, as it has been
+presented to you. Pretty, admired, gentle in her manners, and poor.
+Although the fact of a person being poor is no proof of morality, we
+may accept it in this instance as a proof of the girl's virtue. She
+was fond of life: her disposition was a happy one; she was in the
+habit of singing to herself.
+
+"Thus we have the presentment of a young girl whose nature was joyous,
+and to whom life was sweet.
+
+"Another important piece of evidence must be borne in mind. She
+possessed strength, greater strength than would have been supposed in
+a form so slight. This strength she would use to protect herself from
+injury: it has been proved that she used it successfully to protect
+herself from insult. In the whole of this case nothing has been more
+forcibly insisted upon than that she resisted her murder, and that
+there was a long and horrible struggle in which she received many
+injuries, wounds, bruises, and scratches, and in which her clothes
+were rent and torn.
+
+"This struggle, in the natural order of things, could not have been a
+silent one; accompanying the conflict there must have been outcries,
+frenzied appeals for mercy, screams of terror and anguish. No witness
+has been called who heard such sounds, and therefore it must be a fact
+that the murder must have been committed some time after Gautran's
+threat, 'I will kill you, I will kill you!' was heard by persons who
+passed along the bank of the river in the darkness of that fatal
+night. Time enough for Gautran to have left her; time enough for
+another--lover or stranger--to meet her; time enough for murder by
+another hand than that of the prisoner who stands charged with the
+commission of the crime.
+
+"I assert, with all the force of my experience of human nature, that
+it is impossible that Gautran could have committed the deed. There was
+a long and terrible struggle--a struggle in which the murdered girl's
+clothes were torn, in which her face, her hands, her arms, her neck,
+her sides were bruised and wounded in a hundred cruel ways. Can you
+for one moment entertain the belief that, in this desperate fight in
+which two persons were engaged, only one should bear the marks of a
+contest so horrible? If you bring yourselves to this belief it must be
+by the aid of prejudice, not of reason. Attend to what follows.
+
+"On the very morning after the murder, within four hours of the body
+being discovered in the river, Gautran was arrested. He wore the same
+clothes he had worn for months past, the only clothes he possessed. In
+these clothes there was not a rent or tear, nor any indication of a
+recent rent having been mended. How, then, could this man have been
+engaged in a violent and prolonged hand-to-hand conflict? It is
+manifestly impossible, opposed to all reasonable conjecture, that his
+garments could have escaped some injury, however slight, at the hands
+of a girl to whom life was very sweet, who was strong and capable of
+resistance, and who saw before her the shadow of an awful fate.
+
+"Picture to yourselves this struggle already so vividly painted, so
+graphically portrayed. The unhappy girl clung to her destroyer, she
+clutched his dress, his hands, his body in her wild despair--a despair
+which inspired her with strength beyond her ordinary capacity. And of
+still greater weight is the fact that there was not to be found on any
+part of Gautran's body a scratch, a wound, or a bruise of any
+description.
+
+"What, then, becomes of the evidence of a terrible life and death
+struggle in which it is said he was engaged? Upon this point alone the
+entire theory of the prosecution breaks down. The absence from
+Gautran's clothes and person of any mark or identification of a
+physical contest is the strongest testimony of his innocence of this
+ruthless, diabolical crime; and, wretched and degraded as is the
+spectacle he presents, justice demands from you his acquittal.
+
+"Still one other proof of his innocence remains to be spoken of; I
+will touch upon it lightly, but it bears a very strange aspect, as
+though the prosecution were fearful that its introduction would
+fatally injure their case.
+
+"When Gautran was searched a knife was found upon him--the knife,
+without doubt, with which he inflicted upon the face of a comrade a
+wound which he will bear to the grave. Throughout the whole of the
+evidence for the prosecution I waited and looked for the production of
+that knife; I expected to see upon it a blood proof of guilt. But it
+was not produced; no mention has been made of it. Why? Because there
+is upon its blade no mark of blood.
+
+"Do you believe that a ruffian like Gautran would have refrained from
+using his knife upon the body of his victim, to shorten the terrible
+struggle? Even in light quarrels men in his condition of life threaten
+freely with their knives, and use them recklessly. To suppose that
+with so swift and sure a means at hand to put an end to the horrible
+affair, Gautran, in the heat and fury of the time, refrained from
+availing himself of it, is to suppose a thing contrary and opposed to
+reason.
+
+"Remember the answer given by one of the witnesses who knows the
+nature of the man well, when I asked him whether in his passionate
+moods Gautran would be likely to show coolness or cunning. 'He would
+have no time to think; he would be carried away by his passion.' His
+is the nature of a brute, governed by brute laws. You are here to try,
+not the prisoner's general character, not his repulsive appearance,
+not his brutish nature, but a charge of murder of which he is accused,
+and of which, in the clear light of human motive and action, it is
+impossible he can be guilty."
+
+The Advocate's speech, of which this is but a brief and imperfect
+summary, occupied seven hours, and was delivered throughout with a
+cold impressive earnestness and with an absence of passion which
+gradually and effectually turned the current which had set so fatally
+against the prisoner. The disgust and abhorrence he inspired were in
+no wise modified, but the Advocate had instilled into the minds of his
+auditors the strongest doubts of Gautran's guilt.
+
+Two witnesses were called, one a surgeon of eminence, the other a
+nurse in an hospital. They deposed that there were no marks of an
+encounter upon the prisoner's person, that upon his skin was no
+abrasion, that his clothes exhibited no traces of recent tear or
+repair, and that it was scarcely possible he could have been engaged
+in a violent personal struggle.
+
+Upon the conclusion of this evidence, which cross-examination did not
+shake, the jury asked that Gautran should be examined by independent
+experts. This was done by thoroughly qualified men, whose evidence
+strengthened that of the witnesses for the defence. The jury asked,
+also, that the knife found upon Gautran should be produced. It was
+brought into court, and carefully examined, and it was found that its
+blade was entirely free from blood-stain.
+
+The jury, astounded at the turn the affair had taken, listened
+attentively to the speech of the judge, who dwelt with great care upon
+every feature in the case. The court sat late to give its decision,
+and when the verdict was pronounced, Gautran was a free man.
+
+Free, to enjoy the sunlight, and the seasons as they passed; free, to
+continue his life of crime and shame; free, to murder again!
+
+
+
+
+
+                      BOOK II.--THE CONFESSION.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I
+
+                     A LETTER FROM JOHN VANBRUGH
+
+
+For a little while Gautran scarcely comprehended that he was at
+liberty to wander forth. He had so completely given himself up as lost
+that he was stupefied by the announcement that his liberty was
+restored to him. He gazed vacantly before him, and the announcement
+had to be twice repeated before he arrived at an understanding of its
+purport; then his attitude changed. A spasm of joy passed into his
+face, followed immediately by a spasm of fear; those who observed him
+would indeed have been amazed had they known what was passing through
+his mind.
+
+"Free, am I?" he asked.
+
+"You have been told so twice," a warder answered. "It astonishes you.
+Well, you are not the only one."
+
+As the warders fell from his side he watched them warily, fearing they
+were setting a trap which might prove his destruction.
+
+From where he stood he could not see the Advocate, who was preparing
+to depart. Distasteful as the verdict was to every person in court,
+with the exception of Gautran and his counsel, those members of the
+legal profession who had not taken an active part in the trial were
+filled with professional admiration at the skill the Advocate had
+displayed. An eminent member of the bar remarked to him:
+
+"It is a veritable triumph, the greatest and most surprising I have
+ever witnessed. None but yourself could have accomplished it. Yet I
+cannot believe in the man's innocence."
+
+This lawyer held too high and honourable a position for the Advocate
+to remain silent. "The man is innocent," he said.
+
+"You know him to be so?"
+
+"I know him to be so. I stake my reputation upon it."
+
+"You almost convince me. It would be fatal to any reputation were
+Gautran, after what has passed, to be proved guilty. But that, of
+course, is impossible."
+
+"Quite impossible," said the Advocate somewhat haughtily.
+
+"Exactly so. There can be no room for doubt, after your statement that
+you know the man to be innocent."
+
+With no wish to continue the conversation, the Advocate turned to
+leave the court when an officer presented himself.
+
+"He wishes to speak to you, sir."
+
+"He! Who?" asked the Advocate. He was impatient to be gone, his
+interest at the trial being at an end. The victory was gained; there
+was nothing more to be done.
+
+"The prisoner, sir. He desired me to tell you."
+
+"The prisoner!" said the Advocate. "You forget. The man is free."
+
+He walked towards Gautran, and for the first time during the long days
+of the trial gazed directly in his client's face. The magnetism in the
+Advocate's eyes arrested Gautran's speech. His own dilated, and he
+appeared to forget what he had intended to say. They looked at each
+other in silence for a few moments, the expression on the face of the
+Advocate cold, keen, and searching, that on the face of Gautran as of
+a man entranced; and then the Advocate turned sternly away, without a
+word having been spoken between them. When Gautran looked again for
+his defender he was gone.
+
+Gautran still lingered; the court was nearly empty.
+
+"Be off," said the warder, who had been his chief attendant in his
+cell; "we have done with you for the present."
+
+But Gautran made no effort to leave. The warder laid his hand upon the
+ruffian's shoulder, with the intention of expelling him from the
+court.
+
+Gautran shook him off with the snarl of a wild beast.
+
+"Touch me again," he cried, "and I'll strangle you! I can do it easily
+enough--two of you at a time!"
+
+And, indeed, so ferocious was his manner that it seemed as if he were
+disposed to carry his threat into execution.
+
+"Women are more in your way," said the warder tauntingly. "Look you,
+Gautran; if Madeline had been my daughter, your life would not be
+worth an hour's purchase, despite the verdict gained by your clever
+Advocate."
+
+"You would not dare to say that to me if you and I were alone,"
+retorted Gautran, scowling at the sullen faces of the officers about
+him.
+
+"Away with you!" exclaimed the warder, "at once, or we will throw you
+into the streets!"
+
+"I will go when I get my property."
+
+"What property?"
+
+"The knife you took from me when you dragged me to prison. I don't
+move without it."
+
+They deemed it best to comply with this demand, the right being on his
+side, and his knife was restored to him. It was an old knife, with a
+keen blade and a stout handle, and it opened and closed with a sharp
+click. Gautran tried it three or four times with savage satisfaction
+and then, with another interchange of threatening glances, he slunk
+from the court.
+
+The Advocate's carriage was at the door, ready to convey him to
+Christian Almer's villa. But after his long confinement in the close
+court, he felt the need of physical exercise, and he dismissed his
+coachman, saying he intended to walk home. As the carriage drove off,
+a person plucked him by the sleeve, and pressed a letter into his
+hand. It was dusk, and the Advocate, although he looked quickly
+around, could not discover the giver. His sight was short and strong,
+and standing beneath the light of a street-lamp he opened and read the
+letter.
+
+
+"Old Friend,
+
+"It will doubtless surprise you to see my handwriting, it is so long
+since we met. The sight of it may displease you, but that is of small
+consequence to me. When a man is in a desperate strait, he is
+occasionally driven to desperate courses. When needs must, as you are
+aware, the devil drives. I have been but an hour in Geneva, and
+I have heard of your victory; I congratulate you upon it. I must see
+you--soon. I know the House of White Shadows in the pretty valley
+yonder. At a short distance from the gates--but far enough off, and so
+situated as to enable a man to hide with safety if he desires--is a
+hill upon which I will wait for your signal to come to you, which
+shall be the waving of a white handkerchief from your study window.
+At midnight and alone will be best. You see how ready I am to oblige
+you. I shall wait till sunrise for the signal. If you are too busy
+to-night, let it be tomorrow night, or the next, or any night this
+week.
+
+                        "I am, as ever, your friend,
+
+                                       "John Vanbrugh."
+
+
+The Advocate placed the letter in his pocket, and murmured as he
+walked through the streets of Geneva:
+
+"John Vanbrugh! Has he risen from his grave? He would see me at
+midnight and alone! He must be mad, or drunk, to make such a request.
+He may keep his vigil, undisturbed. Of such a friendship there can be
+no renewal. The gulf that separates us is too wide to be bridged over
+by sentimental memories. John Vanbrugh, the vagabond! I can imagine
+him, and the depth to which he has sunk. Every man must bear the
+consequences of his actions. Let him bear his, and make the best, or
+the worst, of them."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                       A STARTLING INTERRUPTION
+
+
+The news of the acquittal of Gautran spread swiftly through the town,
+and the people gathered in front of the _cafés_ and lingered in the
+streets, to gaze upon the celebrated Advocate who had worked the
+marvel.
+
+"He has a face like the Sphynx," said one.
+
+"With just as much feeling," said another.
+
+"Do you believe Gautran was innocent?"
+
+"Not I--though he made it appear so."
+
+"Neither do I believe it, but I confess I am puzzled."
+
+"If Gautran did not murder the girl, who did?" asked one, a waverer,
+who formed an exception to the general rule.
+
+"That is for the law to find out."
+
+"It was found out, and the murderer has been set loose. We shall have
+to take care of ourselves on dark nights."
+
+"Would you condemn a man upon insufficient evidence?"
+
+"I would condemn such as Gautran on any evidence. When you want to get
+rid of vermin it does not do to be over particular."
+
+"The law must be respected."
+
+"Life must be protected. That is the first law."
+
+"Hush! Here he is. Best not let him overhear you."
+
+There was but little diversity of opinion. Even in the inn of The
+Seven Liars, to which Fritz the Fool--who had attended the court every
+day of the trial, and who had the fleetest foot of any man for a dozen
+miles round--had already conveyed the news of Gautran's acquittal, the
+discussion was loud and animated; the women regarding the result as an
+outrage on their sex, the men more disposed to put Gautran out of the
+question, and to throw upon the Advocate the opprobrium of the
+verdict.
+
+"Did I not tell you," said Fritz, "that he could turn black into
+white? A great man--a great man! If we had more like him, murdering
+would be a fine trade."
+
+There were, doubtless, among those who thronged the streets to see the
+Advocate pass, some sinners whose consciences tormented them, and who
+secretly hoped, if exposure ever overtook them, that Heaven would send
+them such a defender. His reception, indeed, partook of the character
+of an ovation. These tributes to his powers made no impression upon
+him; he pursued his way steadily onward, looking neither to the right
+nor to the left, and soon the gaily-lighted shops and _cafés_ of
+Geneva were far behind him.
+
+His thoughts were upon John Vanbrugh, who had been one of his boy
+friends, and whom for many years he had believed to be dead. In his
+lonely walk to the House of White Shadows he recalled the image of
+Vanbrugh, and dwelt, with idle curiosity, upon the recollection of
+their youthful lives. He had determined not to see Vanbrugh, and was
+resolved not to renew a friendship which, during its existence, had
+been lacking in those sterling qualities necessary for endurance. That
+it was pleasant while it lasted was the best that could be said of it.
+When he and Vanbrugh grew to manhood there was a wide divergence in
+their paths.
+
+One walked with firm unfaltering step the road which leads to honour
+and renown, sparing no labour, throwing aside seductive temptation
+when it presented itself to him, as it did in its most alluring forms,
+giving all his mental might to the cause to which he had devoted
+himself, studying by day and night so earnestly that his bright and
+strong intellect became stronger and clearer, and he could scarcely
+miss success. Only once in his younger days had he allowed himself,
+for a brief period, to be seduced from this path, and it was John
+Vanbrugh who had tempted him.
+
+The other threw himself upon pleasure's tide, and, blind to earnest
+duty, drank the sunshine of life's springtime in draughts so
+intemperate that he became intoxicated with poisonous fire, and,
+falling into the arms of the knaves who thrive on human weakness and
+depravity, his moral sense, like theirs, grew warped, and he ripened
+into a knave himself.
+
+Something of this, but not in its fulness, had reached the Advocate's
+ears, making but small impression upon him, and exciting no surprise,
+for by that time his judgment was matured, and human character was an
+open book to him; and when, some little while afterwards, he heard
+that John Vanbrugh was dead, he said, "He is better dead," and
+scarcely gave his once friend another thought.
+
+He was a man who had no pity for the weak, and no forgiveness for the
+erring.
+
+He walked slowly, with a calm enjoyment of the solitude and the quiet
+night, and presently entered a narrow lane, dotted with orchards.
+
+It was now dark, and he could not see a dozen yards before him. He was
+fond of darkness; it contained mysterious possibilities, he had been
+heard to say. There was an ineffable charm in the stillness which
+encompassed him, and he enjoyed it to its full. There were cottages
+here and there, lying back from the road, but no light or movement in
+them; the inmates were asleep. Soft sighs proceeded from the drowsy
+trees, and slender boughs waved solemnly, while the only sounds from
+the farmyards were, at intervals, a muffled shaking of wings, and the
+barking of dogs whom his footsteps had aroused. As he passed a high
+wooden gate, through the bars of which he could dimly discern a line
+of tall trees standing like sentinels of the night, the perfume of
+limes was wafted towards him, and he softly breathed the words:
+
+"My wife!"
+
+He yielded up his senses to the thralldom of a delicious languor, in
+which the only image was that of the fair and beautiful woman who was
+waiting for him in their holiday home. Had any person seen the tender
+light in his eyes, and heard the tone in which the words were
+whispered, he could not have doubted that the woman they referred to
+was passionately adored.
+
+Not for long was he permitted to muse upon the image of a being the
+thought of whom appeared to transform a passionless man into an ardent
+lover; a harsher interruption than sweet perfume floating on a breeze
+recalled him to his sterner self.
+
+"Stop!"
+
+"For what reason?"
+
+"The best. Money!"
+
+The summons proceeded from one in whom, as his voice betrayed, the
+worst passions were dominant.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III
+
+                         IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
+
+
+There lived not in the world a man more fearless than the Advocate. At
+this threatening demand, which meant violence, perhaps murder, he
+exhibited as little trepidation as he would have done at an
+acquaintance asking him, in broad daylight, for a pinch of snuff.
+Indeed, he was so perfectly unembarrassed that his voice assumed a
+lightness foreign to its usual serious tones. "Money, my friend! How
+much?"
+
+"All you've got."
+
+"Terse, and to the point. If I refuse?"
+
+"I am desperate. Look to yourself."
+
+The Advocate smiled, and purposely deepened the airiness of his tones.
+
+"This is a serious business, then?"
+
+"You'll find it so, if you trifle with me."
+
+"Are you hungry?"
+
+"I am starving."
+
+"You have a powerful voice for a starving man."
+
+"Don't play with me, master. I mean to have what I ask for."
+
+"How can you, if I do not possess it? How will you if, possessing it,
+I refuse to give it you?"
+
+The reply was a crashing blow at an overhanging branch, which broke it
+to the ground. It was evident that the man carried a stout weapon, and
+that he meant to use it, with murderous effect, if driven to extremes.
+They spoke at arm's-length; neither was quite within the other's
+grasp.
+
+"A strong argument," said the Advocate, without blenching, "and a
+savage one. You have a staff in your hand, and, probably, a knife in
+your pocket."
+
+"Ah, I have, and a sharp blade to it."
+
+"I thought as much. Would not that do your business more effectually?"
+
+"Perhaps. But I've learnt a lesson to-day about knives, which teaches
+me not to use mine too freely."
+
+The Advocate frowned.
+
+"Other scoundrels would run less risk of the gaol if their
+proceeding's were as logical. Do you know me?"
+
+"How should I?"
+
+"It might be, then," continued the Advocate, secretly taking a box of
+matches from his pocket, "that, like yourself, I am both a thief and a
+would-be murderer."
+
+As he uttered the last words he flung a lighted match straight at the
+man's face, and for a moment the glare revealed the ruffian's
+features. He staggered back, repeating the word "Murderer!" in a
+hoarse startled whisper. The Advocate strode swiftly to his side, and
+striking another match, held it up to his own face.
+
+"Look at me, Gautran," he said.
+
+The man looked up, and recognising the Advocate, recoiled, muttering:
+
+"Aye, aye--I see who it is."
+
+"And you would rob me, wretch!"
+
+"Not now, master, not now. Your voice--it was the voice of another
+man. I crave your pardon, humbly."
+
+"So--you recommence work early, Gautran. Have you not had enough of
+the gaol?"
+
+"More than enough. Don't be hard on me, master; call me mad if you
+like."
+
+"Mad or sane, Gautran, every man is properly made accountable for his
+acts. Take this to heart."
+
+"It won't do me any good. What is a poor wretch to do with nothing but
+empty pockets?"
+
+"You are a dull-witted knave, or you would be aware it is useless to
+lie to me. Gautran, I can read your soul. You wished to speak to me in
+the court. Here is your opportunity. Say what you had to say."
+
+"Give me breathing time. You've the knack of driving the thoughts
+clean out of a man's head. Have you got a bit of something that a poor
+fellow can chew--the end of a cigar, or a nip of tobacco?"
+
+"I have nothing about me but money, which you can't chew, and should
+not have if you could. Hearken, my friend. When you said you were
+starving, you lied to me."
+
+"How do you know it?"
+
+"Fool! Are there not fruit-trees here, laden with wholesome food,
+within any thief's grasp? Your pockets at this moment are filled with
+fruit."
+
+"You have a gift," said Gautran with a cringing movement of his body.
+"It would be an act of charity to put me in the way of it."
+
+"What would you purchase?" asked the advocate ironically. "Gold, for
+wine, and pleasure, and fine clothes?"
+
+"Aye, master," replied Gautran with eager voice.
+
+"Power, to crush those you hate, and make them smart and bleed?"
+
+"Aye, master. That would be fine."
+
+"Gautran, these things are precious, and have their price. What are
+you ready to pay for them?"
+
+"Anything--anything but money!"
+
+"Something of less worth--your soul?"
+
+Gautran shuddered and crossed himself.
+
+"No, no," he muttered; "not that--not that!"
+
+"Strange," said the Advocate with a contemptuous smile, "the value we
+place upon an unknown quantity! We cannot bargain, friend. Say now
+what you desire to say, and as briefly as you can."
+
+But it was some time before Gautran could sufficiently recover himself
+to speak with composure.
+
+"I want to know," he said at length, with a clicking in his throat,
+"whether you've been paid for what you did for me?"
+
+"At your trial?"
+
+"Aye, master."
+
+"I have not been paid for what I did for you."
+
+"When they told me yonder," said Gautran after another pause, pointing
+in the direction of Geneva, where the prison lay, "that you were to
+appear for me, they asked me how I managed it, but I couldn't tell
+them, and I'm beating my head now to find out, without getting any
+nearer to it. There must be a reason."
+
+"You strike a key-note, my friend."
+
+"Someone has promised to pay you."
+
+"No one has promised to pay me."
+
+"You puzzle and confuse me, master. You're a stranger in Geneva, I'm
+told."
+
+"It is true."
+
+"I've lived about here half my life. I was born in Sierre. My father
+worked in the foundry, my mother in the fields. You are not a stranger
+in Sierre."
+
+"I am a stranger there; I never visited the town."
+
+"My father was born in Martigny. You knew my father."
+
+"I did not know your father."
+
+"My mother--her father once owned a vineyard. You knew her."
+
+"I did not know her."
+
+Once more was Gautran silent. What he desired now to say raised up
+images so terrifying that he had not the courage to give it utterance.
+
+"You are in deep shadow, my friend," said the Advocate, "body and
+soul. Shall I tell you what is in your mind?"
+
+"You can do that?"
+
+"You wish to know if I was acquainted with the unhappy girl with whose
+murder you were charged."
+
+"Is there another in the world like you?" asked Gautran, with fear in
+his voice. "Yes, that is what I want to know."
+
+"I was not acquainted with her."
+
+Gautran retreated a step or two, in positive terror. "Then what," he
+exclaimed, "in the fiend's name made you come forward?"
+
+"At length," said the Advocate, "we arrive at an interesting point in
+our conversation. I thank you for the opportunity you afford me in
+questioning my inner self. What made me come forward to the assistance
+of such a scoundrel? Humanity? No. Sympathy? No. What, then, was my
+motive? Indeed, friend, you strike home. Shall I say I was prompted by
+a desire to assist the course of justice--or by a contemptible feeling
+of vanity to engage in a contest for the simple purpose of proving
+myself the victor? It was something of both, mayhap. Do you know,
+Gautran, a kind of self-despisal stirs within me at the present
+moment? You do not understand me? I will give you a close
+illustration. You are a thief."
+
+"Yes, master."
+
+"You steal sometimes from habit, to keep your hand in as it were, and
+you feel a certain satisfaction at having accomplished your theft in a
+workmanlike manner. We are all of us but gross and earthly patches. It
+is simply a question of degree, and it is because I am in an idle
+mood--indeed, I am grateful to you for this playful hour--that I make
+a confession to you which would not elevate me in the eyes of better
+men. You were anxious to know whether I have been paid for my
+services. I now acknowledge payment. I accept as my fee the recreation
+you have afforded me."
+
+"I shall be obliged to you, master," said Gautran, "if you will leave
+your mysteries, and come back to my trial."
+
+"I will oblige you. I read the particulars of the case for the first
+time on my arrival here, and it appeared to me almost impossible you
+could escape conviction. It was simply that. I examined you, and saw
+the legal point which, villain as you are, proclaimed your innocence.
+That laugh of yours, Gautran, has no mirth in it. I am beginning to be
+dangerously shaken. I will do, I said then, for this wretch what I
+believe no other man can do. I will perform a miracle."
+
+"You have done it!" cried Gautran, falling on his knees in a paroxysm
+of fear, and kissing the Advocate's hand, which was instantly snatched
+away. "You are great--you are the greatest! You knew the truth!"
+
+"The truth!" echoed the Advocate, and his face grew ashen white.
+
+"Aye, the truth--and you were sent to save me. You can read the soul;
+nothing is hidden from you. But you have not finished your work. You
+can save me entirely--you can, you can! Oh, master, finish your work,
+and I will be your slave to the last hour of my life!"
+
+"Save you! From what?" demanded the Advocate. He was compelled to
+exercise great control over himself, for a horror was stealing upon
+him.
+
+The trembling wretch rose, and pointed to the opposite roadside.
+
+"From shadows--from dreams--from the wild eyes of Madeline! Look
+there--look there!"
+
+The Advocate turned in the direction of Gautran's outstretched
+trembling hand. A pale light was coining into the sky, and weird
+shadows were on the earth.
+
+"What are you gazing on?"
+
+"You ask me to torture me," moaned Gautran. "She dogs me like my
+shadow--I cannot shake her off! I have threatened her, but she does
+not heed me. She is waiting--there--there--to follow me when I am
+alone--to put her arms about me--to breathe upon my face, and turn my
+heart to ice! If I could hold her, I would tear her piecemeal! You
+_must_ have known her, you who can read what passes in a man's
+soul--you who knew the truth when you came to me in my cell! She will
+not obey me, but she will you. Command her, compel her to leave me, or
+she will drive me mad!"
+
+With amazing strength the Advocate placed his hands on Gautran's
+shoulders, and twisted the man's face so close to his own that not an
+inch of space divided them. Their eyes met, Gautran's wavering and
+dilating with fear, the Advocate's fixed and stern, and with a fire in
+them terrible to behold.
+
+"Recall," said the Advocate, in a clear voice that rang through the
+night like a bell, "what passed between you and Madeline on the last
+night of her life. Speak!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                            THE CONFESSION
+
+
+"I sought her in the Quartier St. Gervais," said I Gautran, speaking
+like a man in a dream, "and found her at eight o'clock in the company
+of a man. I watched them, and kept out of their sight.
+
+"He was speaking to her softly, and some things he said to her made
+her smile; and every time she showed her white teeth I swore that she
+should be mine and mine alone. They remained together for an hour, and
+then they parted, he going one way, Madeline another.
+
+"I followed her along the banks of the river, and when no one was near
+us I spoke to her. She was not pleased with my company, and bade me
+leave her, but I replied that I had something particular to say to
+her, and did not intend to go till it was spoken.
+
+"It was a dark night; there was no moon.
+
+"I told her I had been watching her, and that I knew she had another
+lover. 'Do you mean to give me up?' I said, and she answered that she
+had never accepted me, and that after that night she would never see
+me again. I said it might happen, and that it might be the last night
+we should ever see each other. She asked me if I was going away, and I
+said no, it might be her that was going away on the longest journey
+she had ever taken. 'What journey?' she asked, and I answered, a
+journey with Death for the coachman, for I had sworn a dozen times
+that night that if she would not swear upon her cross to be true and
+faithful to me, I would kill her.
+
+"I said it twice, and some persons passed and turned to look at us,
+but there was not light enough to see us clearly.
+
+"Madeline would have cried to them for help, but I held my hand over
+her mouth, and whispered that if she uttered a word it would be her
+last, and that she need not be frightened, for I loved her too well to
+do her any harm.
+
+"But when we were alone again, and no soul was near us, I told her
+again that as sure as there was a sky above us I would kill her,
+unless she swore to give up her other lover, and be true to me. She
+said she would promise, and she put her little hand in mine and
+pressed it, and said:
+
+"'Gautran, I will be only yours; now let us go back.'
+
+"But I told her it was not enough; that she must kneel, and swear upon
+the holy cross that she would have nothing to do with any man but me.
+I forced her upon her knees, and knelt by her side, and put the cross
+to her lips; and then she began to sob and tremble. She dared not put
+her soul in peril, she said; she did not love me--how could she swear
+to be true to me?
+
+"I said it was that or death, and that it would be the blackest hour
+of my life to kill her, but that I meant to do it if she would not
+give in to me. I asked her for the last time whether she would take
+the oath, and she said she daren't. Then I told her to say a prayer,
+for she had not five minutes to live. She started to her feet and ran
+along the bank. I ran after her, and she stumbled and fell to the
+ground, and before she could escape me again I had her in my arms to
+fling her into the river.
+
+"She did not scratch or bite me, but clung to me, and her tears fell
+all about my face. I said to her:
+
+"'You love me, kissing me so; swear then; it is not too late!'
+
+"But she cried:
+
+"No, no! I kiss you so that you may not have the heart to kill me!'
+
+"Soon she got weak, and her arms had no power in them, and I lifted
+her high in the air, and flung her far from me into the river.
+
+"I waited a minute or two, and thought she was dead, but then I heard
+a bubbling and a scratching, and, looking down, saw that by a miracle
+she had got back to the river's brink, and that there was yet life in
+her. I pulled her out, and she clung to me in a weak way, and
+whispered, nearly choked the while, that the Virgin Mary would not let
+me kill her.
+
+"Will you take the oath?' I asked, and she shook her head from side to
+side.
+
+"'No! no! no!'
+
+"I took my handkerchief, and tied it tight round her neck, and she
+smiled in my face. Then I lifted her up, and threw her into the river
+again.
+
+"I saw her no more that night!"
+
+
+                             *  *  *  *  *  *
+
+
+The Advocate removed his eyes, with a shudder, from the eyes of the
+wretch who had made this horrible confession, and who now sank to the
+ground, quivering in every limb, crying:
+
+"Save me, master, save me!"
+
+"Monster!" exclaimed the Advocate. "Live and die accursed!"
+
+But the terror-stricken man did not hear the words, and the Advocate,
+upon whose features, during Gautran's narration, a deep gloom had
+settled, strode swiftly from him through the peaceful narrow lane,
+fragrant with the perfume of limes, at the end of which the lights in
+the House of White Shadows were shining a welcome to him.
+
+
+
+
+
+                   BOOK III.--THE GRAVE OF HONOUR.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I
+
+                      PREPARATIONS FOR A VISITOR
+
+
+At noon the same day the old housekeeper, Mother Denise, and her
+pretty granddaughter Dionetta were busily employed setting in order
+and arranging the furniture in a suite of rooms intended for an
+expected visitor. There were but two floors in the House of White
+Shadows, and the rooms in which Mother Denise and Dionetta were busy
+were situated on the upper floor.
+
+"I think they will do now," said Mother Denise, wiping imaginary dust
+away with her apron.
+
+"All but the flowers." said Dionetta. "No, grandmother, that desk is
+wrong; it is my lady's own desk, and is to be placed exactly in this
+corner, by the window. There--it is right now. Be sure that everything
+is in its proper place, and that the rooms are sweet and bright--be
+sure--be sure! She has said that twenty times this week."
+
+"Ah," said Mother Denise testily, "as if butterflies could teach bees
+how to work! My lady is turning your head, Dionetta, it is easy to see
+that; she has bewitched half the people in the village. Here is
+father, with the flowers. Haste, Martin, haste!"
+
+"Easy to say, hard to do," grumbled Martin, entering slowly with a
+basket of cut flowers. "My bones get more obstinate every day. Here's
+my lady been teasing me out of my life to cut every flower worth
+looking at. She would have made the garden a wilderness, and spoilt
+every bed, if I had not argued with her."
+
+"And what did she say," asked Mother Denise, "when you argued with
+her?"
+
+"Say? Smiled, and showed all her white teeth at once. I never saw
+such teeth in my young days, nor such eyes, nor such hair, nor such
+hands--enough to drive a young man crazy."
+
+"Or an old one either," interrupted Mother Denise. "She smiled as
+sweet as honey--you silly old man--and wheedled you, and wheedled you,
+till she got what she wanted."
+
+"Pretty well, pretty well. You see, Dionetta, there are two ways of
+getting a thing done, a soft way and a hard way."
+
+"There, there, there!" cried Mother Denise impatiently. "Do your work
+with a still tongue, and let us do ours. Get back to the garden, and
+repair the mischief my lady has caused you to do. What does a man want
+with a room full of roses?" she muttered, when Martin, quick to obey
+his domestic tyrant, had gone.
+
+"It is a welcome home," said Dionetta. "If I were absent from my place
+a long, long while, it would make me feel glad when I returned, to see
+my rooms as bright as this. It is as though the very roses remembered
+you."
+
+"You are young," said Mother Denise, "and your thoughts go the way of
+roses. I can't blame you, Dionetta."
+
+"It was ten years since the master was here, you have told me,
+grandmother."
+
+"Yes, Dionetta, yes, ten years ago this summer, and even then he did
+not sleep in the house. Christian Almer hates the place, and of all
+the rooms in the villa, this is the room he would be most anxious to
+avoid."
+
+"But why, grandmother?" asked Dionetta, her eyes growing larger and
+rounder with wonder; "and does my lady know it?"
+
+"My lady is a headstrong woman; she would not listen to me when I
+advised her to select other rooms for the young master, and she
+declares--in a light way to be sure, but these are not things to make
+light of--that she is very disappointed to find that the villa is not
+haunted. Haunted! I have never seen anything, nor has Martin, nor you,
+Dionetta."
+
+"Oh, grandmother!" said the girl, in a timid voice, "I don't know
+whether I have or not. Sometimes I have fancied----"
+
+"Of course you have fancied, and that is all; and you have woke up in
+the night, and been frightened by nothing. Mark me, Dionetta, if you
+do no wrong, and think no wrong, you will never see anything of the
+White Shadows of this house."
+
+"I am certain," said Dionetta, more positively, "when I have been
+almost falling asleep, that I have heard them creeping, creeping past
+the door. I have listened to them over and over again, without daring
+to move in bed. Indeed I have."
+
+"I am certain," retorted Mother Denise, "that you have heard nothing
+of the kind. You are a foolish, silly girl to speak of such things.
+You put me quite out of patience, child."
+
+"But Fritz says----"
+
+"Fritz is a fool, a cunning, lazy fool. If I were the owner of this
+property I would pack him off. There's no telling which master he
+serves--Christian Almer or Master Pierre Lamont. He likes his bread
+buttered on both sides, and accepts money from both gentlemen. That is
+not the conduct of a faithful servant. If I acted in such a manner I
+should consider myself disgraced."
+
+"I am sure," murmured Dionetta, "that Fritz has done nothing to
+disgrace himself."
+
+"Let those who are older than you," said Mother Denise, in a sharp
+tone, "be judges of that. Fritz is good for nothing but to chatter
+like a magpie and idle round the place from morning to night. When
+there's work to do, as there has been this week, carrying furniture
+and moving heavy things about, he must run away to the city, to the
+court-house where that murderer is being tried. Dionetta, I am not in
+love with the Advocate or his lady. The Advocate is trying to get a
+murderer off; it may be the work of a clever man, but it is not the
+work of a good man. If I had a son, I would sooner have him good than
+clever; and I would sooner you married a good man than a clever one, I
+hope you are not thinking of marrying a fool."
+
+"Oh, grandmother, whoever thinks of marrying?"
+
+"Not you, of course, child--would you have me believe that? When I was
+your age I thought of nothing else, and when you are my age you will
+see the folly of it. No, I am not in love with the Advocate. He is
+performing unholy work down there in Geneva. The priest says as much.
+If that murderer escapes from justice, the guilt of blood will weigh
+upon the Advocate's soul."
+
+"Oh, grandmother! If my lady heard you she would never forgive you."
+
+"If she hears it, it will not be from my tongue. Dionetta, it was a
+young girl who was murdered, about the same age as yourself. It might
+have been you--ah, you may well turn white--and this clever lawyer,
+this stranger it is, who comes among us to prevent justice being done
+upon a murderous wretch. He will be punished for it, mark my words."
+
+Dionetta, who knew how useless it was to oppose her grandmother's
+opinions, endeavoured to change the subject by saying:
+
+"Tell me, grandmother, why Mr. Almer should be more anxious to avoid
+this room than any other room in the house? I think it is the
+prettiest of all."
+
+Mother Denise did not reply. She looked round her with the air of a
+woman recalling a picture of long ago.
+
+"The story connected with this part of the house," she presently said,
+"gave to the villa the name of the House of White Shadows. You are old
+enough to hear it. Let me see, let me see. Christian Almer is now
+thirty-one years old--yes, thirty-one on his last birthday. How time
+passes! I remember well the day he was born----"
+
+"Hush, grandmother," said Dionetta, holding up her hand. "My lady."
+
+The Advocate's wife had entered the room quietly, and was regarding
+the arrangements with approval.
+
+"It is excellently done," she said, "exactly as I wished. Dionetta, it
+was you who arranged the flowers?"
+
+"Yes, my lady."
+
+"You have exquisite taste, really exquisite. Mother Denise, I am
+really obliged to you."
+
+"I have done nothing," said Mother Denise, "that it was not my duty to
+do."
+
+"Such an unpleasant way of putting it; for there is a way of doing
+things----"
+
+"Just what grandfather said," cried Dionetta, gleefully, "a hard way
+and a soft way." And then becoming suddenly aware of her rudeness in
+interrupting her mistress, she curtsied, and with a bright colour in
+her face, said, "I beg your pardon, my lady."
+
+"There's no occasion, child," said Adelaide graciously. "Grandfather
+is quite right, and everything in this room has been done
+beautifully." She held a framed picture in her hand, a coloured
+cabinet photograph of herself, and she looked round the walls to find
+a place for it. "This will do," she said, and she took down the
+picture of a child which hung immediately above her desk, and put her
+own in its stead. "It is nice," she said to Mother Denise, smiling,
+"to see the faces of old friends about us. Mr. Almer and I are very
+old friends."
+
+"The picture you have taken down," said Mother Denise, "is of
+Christian Almer when he was a child."
+
+"Indeed! How old was he then?"
+
+"Five years, my lady."
+
+"He was a handsome boy. His hair and eyes are darker now. You were
+speaking of him, Mother Denise, as I entered. You were saying he was
+thirty-one last birthday, and that you remember the day he was born."
+
+"Yes, my lady."
+
+"And you were about to tell Dionetta why this villa was called the
+House of White Shadows. Give me the privilege of hearing the story."
+
+"I would rather not relate it, my lady."
+
+"Nonsense, nonsense! If Dionetta may hear it, there can be no
+objection to me. Mr. Almer would be quite angry if he knew you refused
+me so simple a thing. Listen to what he says in his last letter," and
+Adelaide took a letter from her pocket, and read: "'Mother Denise, the
+housekeeper, and the most faithful servant of the house, will do
+everything in her power to make you comfortable and happy. She will
+carry out your wishes to the letter--tell her, if necessary, that it
+is my desire, and that she is to refuse you nothing.' Now, you dear
+old soul, are you satisfied?"
+
+"Well, my lady, if you insist----"
+
+"Of course I insist, you dear creature. I am sure there is no one in
+the village who can tell a story half as well as you. Come and stand
+by me, Dionetta, for fear of ghosts."
+
+She seated herself before the desk, upon which she laid the picture of
+the lad, and Mother Denise, who was really by no means loth to recall
+old reminiscences, and who, as she proceeded, derived great enjoyment
+herself from her narration, thus commenced:
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                       A LOVE STORY OF THE PAST
+
+
+"I was born in this house, my lady; my mother was housekeeper here
+before me. I am sixty-eight years old, and I have never slept a night
+away from the villa; I hope to die here. Until your arrival the house
+has not been inhabited for more than twenty years. I dare say if Mr.
+Christian Almer, the present master, had the power to sell the estate,
+he would have done so long ago, but he is bound by his father's will
+not to dispose of it while he lives. So it has been left to our care
+all these years.
+
+"Christian Almer's father lived here, and courted his young wife here;
+a very beautiful lady. That is her portrait hanging on the wall. It
+was painted by M. Gabriel, and is a faithful likeness of Mr. Christian
+Almer's mother. His father, perhaps he may have told you, was a
+distinguished author; there are books upon the library shelves written
+by him. I will speak of him, if you please, as Mr. Almer, and my
+present master I will call Master Christian; it will make the story
+easier to tell.
+
+"When Mr. Almer came into his property, which consisted of this villa
+and many houses and much land in other parts, all of which have been
+sold--this is the only portion of the old estates which remains in the
+family--there were at least twenty servants employed here. He was fond
+of passing days and nights shut up with his books and papers, but he
+liked to see company about him. He had numerous friends and
+acquaintances, and money was freely spent; he would invite a dozen,
+twenty at a time, who used to come and go as they pleased, living in
+the house as if it were their own. Mr. Almer and his friends
+understood each other, and the master was seldom intruded upon. In his
+solitude he was very, very quiet, but when he came among his guests he
+was full of life and spirits. He seemed to forget his books, and his
+studies, and it was hard to believe he was the same gentleman who
+appeared to be so happy when he was in solitude. He was a good master,
+and although he appeared to pay no attention to what was passing
+around him, there was really very little that escaped his notice.
+
+"At the time I speak of he was not a young man; he was forty-five
+years of age, and everybody wondered why he did not marry. He laughed,
+and shook his head when it was mentioned, and said sometimes that he
+was too old, sometimes that he was happy enough with his books,
+sometimes that if a man married without loving and being loved he
+deserved every kind of misfortune that could happen to him; and then
+he would say that, cold as he might appear, he worshipped beauty, and
+that it was not possible he could marry any but a young and beautiful
+woman. I have heard the remark made to him that the world was full of
+young and beautiful women, and have heard him reply that it was not
+likely one would fall at the feet of a man of his age.
+
+"My mother and I were privileged servants--my mother had been his
+nurse, and he had an affection for her--so that we had opportunities
+of hearing and knowing more than the others.
+
+"One summer there came to the villa, among the visitors, an old
+gentleman and his wife, and their daughter. The young lady's name was
+Beatrice.
+
+"She was one of the brightest beings I have ever beheld, with the
+happiest face and the happiest laugh, and a step as light as a
+fairy's. I do not know how many people fell in love with her--I think
+all who saw her. My master, Mr. Almer, was one of these, but, unlike
+her other admirers, he shunned rather than followed her. He shut
+himself up with his books for longer periods, and took less part than
+ever in the gaieties and excursions which were going on day after day.
+No one would have supposed that her beauty and her winning ways had
+made any impression upon him.
+
+"It is not for me to say whether the young lady, observing this, as
+she could scarcely help doing, resolved to attract him to her. When
+we are young we act from impulse, and do not stop to consider
+consequences. It happened, however, and she succeeded in wooing him
+from his books. But there was no love-making on his part, as far as
+anybody could see, and his conduct gave occasion for no remarks; but I
+remember it was spoken of among the guests that the young lady was in
+love with our master, and we all wondered what would come of it.
+
+"Soon afterwards a dreadful accident occurred.
+
+"The gentlemen were out riding, and were not expected home till
+evening, but they had not been away more than two hours before Mr.
+Almer galloped back in a state of great agitation. He sought Mdlle.
+Beatrice's mother, and communicated the news to her, in a gentle
+manner you may be sure. Her husband had been thrown from his horse,
+and was being carried to the villa dreadfully hurt and in a state of
+insensibility. Mr. Almer's great anxiety was to keep the news from
+Mdlle. Beatrice, but he did not succeed. She rushed into the room and
+heard all.
+
+"She was like one distracted. She flew out of the villa in her white
+dress, and ran along the road the horsemen had taken. Her movements
+were so quick that they could not stop her, but Mr. Almer ran after
+her, and brought her back to the house in a fainting condition. A few
+minutes afterwards the old gentleman was brought in, and the house was
+a house of mourning. No dancing, no music, no singing; all was
+changed; we spoke in whispers, and moved about slowly, just as if a
+funeral was about to take place. The doctors gave no hopes; they said
+he might linger in a helpless state for weeks, but that it was
+impossible he could recover.
+
+"Of course this put an end to all the festivities, and one after
+another the guests took their departure, until in a little while the
+only visitors remaining were the family upon whom such a heavy blow
+had fallen.
+
+"Mr. Almer no longer locked himself up in his study, but devoted the
+whole of his time to Mdlle. Beatrice and her parents. He asked me to
+wait upon Mdlle. Beatrice, and to see that her slightest wish was
+gratified. I found her very quiet and very gentle; she spoke but
+little, and the only thing she showed any obstinacy in was in
+insisting upon sitting by her father's bedside a few hours every day.
+I had occasion, not very long afterwards, to learn that when she set
+her mind upon a thing, it was not easy to turn her from it. These
+gentle, delicate creatures, sometimes, are capable of as great
+determination as the strongest man.
+
+"'Denise,' said Mr. Almer to me, 'the doctors say that if Mdlle.
+Beatrice does not take exercise she will herself become seriously ill.
+Prevail upon her to enjoy fresh air: walk with her in the garden an
+hour or so every day, and amuse her with light talk; a nature like
+hers requires sunshine.'
+
+"I did my best to please Mr. Almer; the weather was fine, and not a
+day passed that Mdlle. Beatrice did not walk with me in the grounds.
+And here Mr. Almer was in the habit of joining us. When he came, I
+fell back, and he and Mdlle. Beatrice walked side by side, sometimes
+arm in arm, and I a few yards behind.
+
+"I could not help noticing the wonderful kindness of his manner
+towards her; it was such as a father might show for a daughter he
+loved very dearly. 'Well, well!' I thought. I seemed to see how it
+would all end, and I believed it would be a good ending, although
+there were such a number of years between them--he forty-five, and she
+seventeen.
+
+"A month passed in this way, and the old gentleman's condition became
+so critical that we expected every moment to hear of his death. The
+accident had deprived him of his senses, and it was only two days
+before his death that his mind became clear. Then a long private
+interview took place between him and Mr. Almer, which left my master
+more than ever serious, and more than ever gentle towards Mdlle.
+Beatrice.
+
+"I was present when the old gentleman died. He had lost the power of
+speech; his wife was sitting by his bedside holding his hand; his
+daughter was on her knees with her face buried in the bed-clothes; Mr.
+Almer was standing close, looking down upon them; I was at the end of
+the room waiting to attend upon Mdlle. Beatrice. She was overwhelmed
+with grief, but her mother's trouble, it appeared to me, was purely
+selfish. She seemed to be thinking of what would become of her when
+her husband was gone. The dying gentleman suddenly looked into my
+master's face, and then turned his eyes upon his daughter, and my
+master inclined his head gravely, as though he was answering a
+question. A peaceful expression came upon the sufferer's face, and in
+a very little while he breathed his last."
+
+Here Mother Denise paused and broke off in her story, saying:
+
+"I did not know it would take so long a-telling; I have wearied you,
+my lady."
+
+"Indeed not," said the Advocate's wife; "I don't know when I have been
+so much interested. It is just like reading a novel. I am sure there
+is something startling to come. You must go on to the end, Mother
+Denise, if you please."
+
+"With your permission, my lady," said Mother Denise, and smoothing
+down her apron, she continued the narrative.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III
+
+                      A MOTHER'S TREACHERY
+
+
+"Two days after Mdlle. Beatrice's father was buried, Mr. Almer said to
+me:
+
+"'Denise, I am compelled to go away on business, and I shall be absent
+a fortnight at least. I leave Mdlle. Beatrice in your care. As a mark
+of faithful service to me, be sure that nothing is left undone to
+comfort both her and her mother in their great trouble.'
+
+"I understood without his telling me that it was really Mdlle.
+Beatrice he was anxious about; everyone who had any experience of the
+old lady knew that she was very well able to take care of herself.
+
+"On the same day a long conversation took place between my master and
+the widow, and before sundown he departed.
+
+"It got to be known that he had gone to look after the affairs of the
+gentleman who died here, and that the ladies, instead of being rich,
+as we had supposed them to be, were in reality very poor, and likely
+to be thrown upon the world in a state of poverty, unless they
+accepted assistance from Mr. Almer. They were much worse off than poor
+people; having been brought up as ladies, they could do nothing to
+help themselves.
+
+"While Mr. Almer was away, Mdlle. Beatrice and I became almost
+friends, I may say. She took great notice of me, and appeared to be
+glad to have me with her. The poor young lady had no one else, for
+there was not much love lost between her and her mother. The selfish
+old lady did nothing but bewail her own hard fate, and spoke to her
+daughter as if the young lady could have nothing to grieve at in being
+deprived of a father's love.
+
+"But sorrow does not last forever, my lady, even with the old, and the
+young shake it off much more readily. So it was, to my mind, quite
+natural, when Mr. Almer returned, which he did after an absence of
+fifteen days, that he should find Mdlle. Beatrice much more cheerful
+than when he left. He was pleased to say that it was my doing, and
+that I should have no cause to regret it to the last day of my life. I
+had done so little that the great store he set upon it made me think
+more and more of the ending to it all. There could be but one natural
+ending, a marriage, and yet never for one moment had I seen him
+conduct himself toward Mdlle. Beatrice as a lover. He brought bad news
+back with him, and when he communicated it to the old lady she walked
+about the grounds like a distracted person, moaning and wringing her
+hands.
+
+"I got to know about it, through my young lady. We were out walking in
+the lanes when we overtook two wretched-looking women, one old and one
+young. They were in rags, and their white faces and slow, painful
+steps, as they dragged one foot after another, would have led anybody
+to suppose that they had not eaten a meal for days. They were truly
+misery's children.
+
+"Mdlle. Beatrice asked in a whisper, as they turned and looked
+pitifully at her:
+
+"'Who are they, Denise?'
+
+"'They are beggars,' I answered.
+
+"She took out her purse, and spoke to them, and gave them some money.
+They thanked her gratefully, and crawled away, Mdlle. Beatrice looking
+after them with an expression of thoughtfulness and curiosity in her
+lovely face.
+
+"Denise,' she said presently, 'Mr. Almer, who, before my father's
+death, promised to look after his affairs, has told us we are
+beggars.'
+
+"I was very, very sorry to hear it, but I could not reconcile the
+appearance of the bright young creature standing before me with that
+of the wretched beings who had just left us; and although she spoke
+gravely, and said the news was shocking, she did not seem to feel it
+as much as her words would have led one to believe. It was a singular
+thing, my lady, that Mdlle. Beatrice wore black for her father for
+only one day. There was quite a scene between her and her mother on
+the subject, but the young lady had her way, and only wore her black
+dress for a few hours.
+
+"'I hate it,' she said; 'it makes me feel as if I were dead.'
+
+"I am sure it was not because she did not love her father that she
+refused to put on mourning for him. Never, except on that one day, did
+I see her wear any dress but white, and the only bits of colour she
+put on were sometimes a light pink or a light blue ribbon. That is how
+it got to be said, when she was seen from a distance walking in the
+grounds:
+
+"'She looks like a white shadow.'
+
+"So when she told me she was a beggar, and stood before me, fair and
+beautiful, dressed in soft white, with a pink ribbon at her throat,
+and long coral earrings in her ears, I could not understand how it was
+possible she could be what she said. It was true, though; she and her
+mother had not a franc, and Mr. Almer, who brought the news, did not
+seem to be sorry for it. The widow cried for days and days--did
+nothing but cry and cry, but that, of course, could not go on forever,
+and in time she became, to all appearance, consoled. No guests were
+invited to the villa, and my master was alone with Mdlle. Beatrice and
+her mother.
+
+"It seemed to me, after a time, that he made many attempts to get back
+into his old groove; but he was not his own master, and could not do
+as he pleased. Now it was Mdlle. Beatrice who wanted him, now it was
+her mother, and as they were in a measure dependent upon him he could
+not deny himself to them. He might have done so had they been rich; he
+could not do so as they were poor. I soon saw that when Mdlle.
+Beatrice intruded herself upon him it was at the instigation of her
+mother, and that, had she consulted her own inclination, she would
+have retired as far into the background as he himself desired to be.
+The old lady, however, had set her heart upon a scheme, and she left
+no stone unturned to bring it about. Oh, she was cunning and clever,
+and they were not a match for her, neither her daughter, who knew
+nothing of the world, nor Mr. Almer, who, deeply read as he was, and
+clever, and wise in many things, knew as little of worldly ways as the
+young lady he loved and was holding aloof from. For this was clear to
+me and to others, though I dare say our master had no idea that his
+secret was known--indeed, that it was common talk.
+
+"One morning I had occasion to go into Geneva to purchase things for
+the house, which I was to bring back with me in the afternoon. As I
+was stepping into the waggon, Mdlle. Beatrice came out of the gates
+and said:
+
+"'Denise, will you pass the post-office in Geneva?'
+
+"'Yes, mademoiselle,' I replied.
+
+"'Here is a letter,' she then said, 'I have just written, and I want
+it posted there at once. Will you do it for me?'
+
+"'Certainly I will,' I said, and I took the letter.
+
+"'Be sure you do not forget, Denise,' she said, as she turned away.
+
+"'I will not forget, mademoiselle,' I said.
+
+"There was no harm in looking at the envelope; it was addressed to a
+M. Gabriel. I was not half a mile on the road to Geneva before I heard
+coming on behind me very fast the wheels of a carriage. We drove aside
+to let it pass; it was one of our own carriages, and the old lady was
+in it.
+
+"'Ah, Denise,' she said, are you going to Geneva?'
+
+"'Yes, my lady.'
+
+"'I shall be there an hour before you; I am going to the post-office
+to get some letters.' As she said that I could not help glancing at
+the letter Mdlle. Beatrice had given me, which I held in my hand for
+safety. 'It is a letter my daughter has given you to post,' she said.
+
+"'Yes, my lady,' I could say nothing else.
+
+"'Give it to me,' she said, 'I know she wants it posted immediately.
+It does not matter who posts a letter.'
+
+"She said this impatiently and haughtily, for I think I was
+hesitating. However, I could do nothing but give her the letter, and
+as I did not suspect anything wrong I said nothing of the adventure to
+Mdlle. Beatrice, especially as she did not speak of the letter to me.
+Had she done so, I might have explained that her mother had taken it
+from me to post, and quite likely--although I hope I am mistaken--the
+strange and dreadful events that occurred before three years passed by
+might have been avoided.
+
+"'The old lady was very civil to me after this, and would continually
+question me about my master.
+
+"'He has a great deal of property?' she asked.
+
+"'Yes, madame.'
+
+"'He is very rich, Denise?'
+
+"'Yes, madame.'
+
+"'And comes from an old family?'
+
+"'Yes, madame.'
+
+"'It is a pity he writes books; but he is highly respected, is he not,
+Denise?'
+
+"'No gentleman stands higher, madame.'
+
+"'His nature, Denise--though it is exceedingly wrong in me to ask, for
+I have had experience of it--his nature is very kind?'
+
+"'Very kind, madame, and very noble.'
+
+"A hundred questions of this kind were put to me, sometimes when the
+young lady was present, sometimes when the mother and I were alone.
+While this was going on, I often noticed that Mdlle. Beatrice came
+from her mother's room in great agitation. From a man these signs can
+be hidden; from a woman, no; man is too often blind to the ways of
+women. I am sure Mr. Almer knew nothing of what was passing between
+mother and daughter; but even if he had known he would not have
+understood the meaning of it--I did not at the time.
+
+"Well, all at once the old lady made her appearance among us with a
+face in which the greatest delight was expressed. She talked to the
+servants quite graciously, and nodded and smiled, and didn't know what
+to do to show how amiable she was. 'What a change in the weather!' we
+all said. The reason was soon forthcoming. Our master and her daughter
+were engaged to be married.
+
+"We were none of us sorry; we all liked Mdlle. Beatrice, and it was
+sad to think that a good old race would die out if Mr. Almer remained
+single all the days of his life. Yes, we talked over the approaching
+marriage, as did everybody in the village, with real pleasure, and if
+good feeling and sincere wishes could bring happiness, Mr. Almer and
+his young and beautiful wife that was to be could not have failed to
+enjoy it.
+
+"'It is true, mademoiselle, is it not?' I asked of her. 'I may
+congratulate you?'
+
+"'I am engaged to be married to Mr. Almer,' she said, 'if that is what
+you mean.'
+
+"'You will have a good man for your husband, mademoiselle,' I said;
+'you will be very happy.'
+
+"But here was something in her manner that made me hope the
+approaching change in her condition would not make her proud. It was
+cold and distant--different from the way she had hitherto behaved to
+me.
+
+"So the old house was gay again; improvements and alterations were
+made, and very soon we were thronged with visitors, who came and went,
+and laughed and danced, as though life were a perpetual holiday.
+
+"But Mdlle. Beatrice was not as light-hearted as before; she moved
+about more slowly, and with a certain sadness. It was noticed by many.
+I thought, perhaps, that the contemplation of the change in her life
+made her more serious, or that she had not yet recovered the shock of
+her father's death. The old lady was in her glory, ordering here and
+ordering there, and giving herself such airs that one might have
+supposed it was she who was going to get married, and not her
+daughter.
+
+"Mr. Almer gave Mdlle. Beatrice no cause for disquiet; he was entirely
+and most completely devoted to her, and I am sure that no other woman
+in the world ever had a more faithful lover. He watched her every
+step, and followed her about with his eyes in a way that would have
+made any ordinary woman proud. As for presents, he did not know how to
+do enough for the beautiful girl who was soon to be his wife. I never
+saw such beautiful jewelry as he had made for her, and he seemed to be
+continually studying what to do to give her pleasure. If ever a woman
+ought to have been happy, she ought to have been."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                           HUSBAND AND WIFE
+
+
+"Well, they were married, and the day was never forgotten in the
+village. Mr. Almer made everybody merry, the children, the grown-up
+people, the poor, and the well-to-do. New dresses, ribbons, flags,
+flowers, music and feasting from morning to night--there was never
+seen anything like it. The bride, in her white dress and veil, was as
+beautiful as an angel, and Mr. Almer's face had a light in it such as
+I had never seen before--it shone with pride, and joy, and happiness.
+
+"In the afternoon they departed on their honeymoon tour, and the
+old lady was left mistress of the villa during the absence of the
+newly-married pair. She exercised her authority in a way that was not
+pleasing to us. No wonder, therefore, that we looked upon her with
+dislike, and spoke of it as an evil day when she came among us; but
+that did not lessen our horror at an accident which befell her, and
+which led to her death.
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. Almer had been absent barely three weeks when the old
+lady going into a distant part of the grounds where workmen were
+employed in building up some rocks to serve as an artificial
+waterfall, fell into a pit, and was so frightfully bruised and shaken
+that, when she was taken up, the doctors declared she could not live
+another twenty-four hours. Letters were immediately sent off to Mr.
+Almer, but there was no chance of his receiving them before the
+unfortunate old lady breathed her last. We did everything we could for
+her, and she took it into her head that she would have no one to
+attend to her but me.
+
+"'My daughter is fond of you,' she said on her deathbed, 'and will be
+pleased that I have chosen you before the other servants. Keep them
+all away from me.'
+
+"It was many hours before she could be made to believe that there was
+no hope for her, and when the conviction was forced upon her, she
+cried, in a tone of great bitterness:
+
+"'This is a fatal house! First my husband--now me! Will Beatrice be
+the next?'
+
+"And then she bemoaned her hard fate that she should have to die just
+at the time that a life of pleasure was spread before her. Yes, she
+spoke in that way, just as if she was a young girl, instead of an old
+woman with white hair. A life of pleasure! Do some people never think
+of another life, a life of rewards and punishments, according to their
+actions in this world? The old lady was one of these, I am afraid.
+Three or four hours before she died she said she must speak to me
+quite alone, and the doctors accordingly left the room.
+
+"'I want you to tell me the truth, Denise,' she said; I had to place
+my ear quite close to her lips to hear her.
+
+"'I will tell you,' I said.
+
+"'It would be a terrible sin to deceive a dying woman,' she said.
+
+"I answered I knew it was, and I would not deceive her.
+
+"'Beatrice ought to be happy,' she said; 'I have done my best to make
+her so--against her own wishes! But is it likely she should know
+better than her mother? You believe she will be happy, do you not,
+Denise?'
+
+"I replied that I could not doubt it; that she had married a good man,
+against whom no person could breathe a word, a man who commanded
+respect, and who was looked upon by the poor as a benefactor--as
+indeed he was.
+
+"'That is what I thought,' said the dying woman; 'that is what I told
+her over and over again. A good man, a kind man, a rich man, very rich
+man! And then we were under obligations to him; had Beatrice refused
+him he might have humiliated us. There was no other way to repay him.'
+
+"I could not help saying to her then that when Mr. Almer rendered a
+service to anyone he did not look for repayment.
+
+"'Ah,' she said impatiently, 'but we are of noble descent, and we
+never receive a favour without returning it. All I thought of was my
+daughter's happiness. And there was the future--hers as well as
+mine--it was dreadful to look forward to. Denise, did my daughter ever
+complain to you?'
+
+"'Never!' I answered.
+
+"'Did she ever say I was a hard mother to her--that I was leading her
+wrong--that I was selfish, and thought only of myself? Did she? Answer
+me truly.'
+
+"'Never,' I said, and I wondered very much to hear her speak in that
+way. 'She never spoke a single word against you. If she had any such
+thoughts it would not have been proper for her to have confided them
+to me. I am only a servant.'
+
+"'That is true,' she muttered. 'Beatrice has pride--yes, thank God,
+she has pride, and if she suffers can suffer in silence. But why
+should she suffer? She has everything--everything! I torment myself
+without cause. You remember the letter my daughter gave you to
+post--the one to M. Gabriel?'
+
+"'Yes, madame; you took it from me on the road. I hope I did not do
+wrong in parting with it. Mademoiselle Beatrice desired me to post it
+with my own hands.'
+
+"'You did right,' she said. 'It does not matter who posts a letter.
+You did not tell my daughter I took it from you?'
+
+"'No, madame.'
+
+"'You are faithful and judicious,' she said, but her praise gave me no
+pleasure. 'If I had lived I would have rewarded you. You must not
+repeat to my daughter or to Mr. Almer what I have been saying to you.
+Promise me.'
+
+"I gave her the promise, and then she said that perhaps she would give
+me a message to deliver to her daughter, her last message; but she
+must think of it first, and if she forgot it I was to ask her for it.
+After that she was quiet, and spoke to no one. A couple of hours
+passed, and I asked the doctors whether she had long to live. They
+said she could not live another hour. I then told them that she had
+asked me to remind her of a message she wished me to give to her
+daughter, and whether it was right I should disturb her. They said
+that the wishes of the dying should be respected, and that I should
+try to make her understand that death was very near. I put my face
+again very close to hers.
+
+"'Can you hear me?' I asked.
+
+"'Who are you?' she said.
+
+"Her words were but a breath, and I could only understand them by
+watching the movements of her lips.
+
+"'I am Denise.'
+
+"'Ah, yes,' she replied. 'Denise, that my daughter is fond of.'
+
+"'You wished to give me a message to your daughter.'
+
+"'I don't know what it was. I have done everything for the best--yes,
+everything. And she was foolish enough to rebel, and to tell me that I
+might live to repent my work; but see how wrong she was. And presently
+she said: 'Denise, when my daughter comes home ask her to forgive me.'
+
+"These were her last words. Before the sun rose the next morning she
+was dead.
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. Almer arrived at the villa before she was buried. It was
+a shocking interruption to their honeymoon, and their appearance
+showed how much they suffered. It was as if the whole course of their
+lives had been turned; tears took the place of smiles, sorrow of joy.
+And how different was the appearance of the village! No feasting, no
+music and dancing; everybody was serious and sad.
+
+"And all within one short month!
+
+"I gave Mrs. Almer her mother's dying message. When she heard the
+words such a smile came upon her lips as I hope never again to see
+upon a human face, it was so bitterly scornful and despairing.
+
+"'It is too late for forgiveness,' she said, and not another word
+passed between us on the subject.
+
+"Mrs. Almer did not wear mourning for her mother, nor did her husband
+wish her to do so. I remember his saying to her:
+
+"With some races, white is the emblem of mourning; not for that
+reason, Beatrice, but because it so well becomes you, I like you best
+in white.'
+
+"Now, as time went on, we all thought that the sadness which weighed
+upon Mrs. Almer's heart, and which seemed to put lead into her feet,
+would naturally pass away, but weeks and months elapsed, and she
+remained the same. There used to be colour in her cheeks; it was all
+gone now--her face was as white as milk. Her eyes used to sparkle and
+brighten, but now there was never to be seen any gladness in them; and
+she, who used to smile so often, now smiled no more. She moved about
+like one who was walking slowly to her grave.
+
+"Mr. Almer made great efforts to arouse her, but she met him with
+coldness, and when he spoke to her she simply answered 'yes' or 'no,'
+and she did nothing whatever to make his home cheerful and happy.
+
+"This weighed upon his spirits, as it would upon the spirits of any
+man, and during those times I often saw him gazing upon her from a
+distance, when she was walking in the grounds, with a look in his eyes
+which denoted how troubled he was. Then, as if some thought had
+suddenly occurred to him, he would join her, and endeavour to entice
+her into conversation; but she answered him only when she was
+compelled, and he became so chilled by her manner that soon he would
+himself grow silent, and they would pace the garden round and round
+for an hour together in the most complete silence. It hurt one to see
+it. They were never heard to quarrel, and the little they said to each
+other was said in a gentle way; but that seemed to make matters worse.
+Much better to have spoken outright, so that they might have known
+what was in each other's minds. A storm now and then is naturally
+good; it clears the air, and the sun always shines when it is over;
+but here a silent storm was brooding which never burst, and the only
+signs of it were seen in the sad faces of those who were suffering,
+and who did not deserve to suffer.
+
+"Imagine what the house was, my lady, and how we all felt, who loved
+our master, and would have loved our lady too, if she had allowed us.
+Cold as she was to us, we could not help pitying her. For my own part
+I used to think I would rather live in a hut with a quarrelsome
+husband who would beat and starve me, than lead such a life as my
+master and mistress were leading.
+
+"Once more, after many months has passed in this dreadful way, my
+master suddenly resolved to make another attempt to alter things for
+the better. He locked up his study, and courted his wife with the
+perseverance and the love of a lover. It was really so, my lady.
+He gathered posies for her, and placed them on her desk and
+dressing-table; he spoke cheerfully to her, taking no apparent notice
+of her silence and reserve; he strove in a thousand little delicate
+ways to bring pleasure into her life.
+
+"'We will ride out to-day,' he would say.
+
+"'Very well,' she would answer.
+
+"He would assist her into the saddle, and they would ride away, they
+two alone, he animated by but one desire--to make her happy; and they
+would return after some hours, the master with an expression of
+suffering in his face which he would strive in vain to hide, and she,
+sad, resigned, and uncomplaining. But that silence of hers! That voice
+so seldom heard, and, when heard, so gentle, and soft, and pathetic! I
+would rather have been beaten with an oak stick every day of my life
+than have been compelled to endure it, as he was compelled. For there
+was no relief or escape for him except in the doing of what it was not
+in his nature to do--to be downright cruel to her, or to find another
+woman to love him. He would have had no difficulty in this, had he
+been so minded.
+
+"Still he did not relax his efforts to alter things for the better. He
+bought beautiful books, and pictures, and dresses, and pet animals for
+her; he forgot nothing that a man could possibly thing of to please a
+woman. He had frequently spoken to her of inviting friends to the
+villa, but she had never encouraged him to do so. Now, however,
+without consulting her, he called friends and acquaintances around
+him, and in a short time we were again overrun with company. She was
+the mistress of the house, and it would have been sinful in her to
+have neglected her duties as Mr. Almer's wife. Many young people came
+to the villa, and among them one day appeared M. Gabriel, the artist
+who painted the picture."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V
+
+                      THE GATHERING OF THE STORM
+
+
+"At about this time it was generally known that Mr. Almer expected to
+become a father within three or four months, and some people
+considered it strange that he should have selected the eve of an event
+so important for the celebration of social festivities. For my own
+part I thought it a proof of his wisdom that he should desire his wife
+to be surrounded by an atmosphere of cheerfulness on such an occasion.
+Innocent laughter, music, pleasant society--what better kind of
+medicine is there in the world? But it did not do my lady good. She
+moved about listlessly, without heart and without spirit, and not
+until M. Gabriel appeared was any change observable in her. The manner
+in which she received him was sufficiently remarkable. My lady was
+giving me some instructions as Mr. Almer and a strange gentleman came
+towards us.
+
+"'Beatrice,' said Mr. Almer, 'let me introduce M. Gabriel to you. A
+friend whom I have not seen for years.'
+
+"She looked at M. Gabriel, and bowed, and when she raised her head,
+her face and neck were crimson; her eyes, too, had an angry light in
+them. M. Gabriel, also, whose natural complexion was florid, turned
+deathly white as his eyes fell upon her.
+
+"Whether Mr. Almer observed these signs I cannot say; they were plain
+enough to me, and I did not need anyone to tell me that those two had
+met before.
+
+"My lady turned from her husband and M. Gabriel in silence, and taking
+my arm walked into a retired part of the grounds. She could not have
+walked without assistance, for she was trembling violently; the moment
+we were alone her strength failed her, and she swooned dead away. I
+thought it prudent not to call or run for assistance, and I attended
+to her myself. Presently she recovered, and looking around with a
+frightened air, asked if any person but myself had seen her swoon. I
+answered 'No,' and for a moment I thought she had some intention of
+confiding in me, but she said nothing more than 'Thank you, Denise; do
+not speak of my fainting to any person; it is only that I am weak, and
+that the least thing overcomes me. Be sure that no one hears of it.'
+'No one shall from me, my lady,' I said. She thanked me again, and
+pressed my hand, and then we went into the house.
+
+"After that, there was no perceptible difference in her manner toward
+M. Gabriel than towards her other guests, but I, whose eyes were in a
+certain way opened, could not help observing that M. Gabriel watched
+with anxiety her every movement and every expression. The summer-house
+in which all those pictures are stored away was given to M. Gabriel
+for a studio, and there he painted and passed a great deal of his
+time. Mr. Almer often joined him there, and if appearances went for
+anything, they spent many happy hours together. About three weeks
+after M. Gabriel came to the villa my master took his wife into the
+studio, and they remained there for some time. It was understood that
+my lady had been prevailed upon to allow M. Gabriel to paint her
+portrait. From that time my lady's visits to the summer-house were
+frequent, at first always in her husband's company, but afterwards
+occasionally alone. One day she said to me:
+
+"'Denise, I have often wished to ask you a question, but till lately
+have not thought it worth while.'
+
+"'I am ready to answer anything, my lady,' I said.
+
+"'One morning,' she said, after a pause, 'shortly after my dear father
+died, I gave you a letter to post for me in Geneva.'
+
+"'Yes, my lady,' I said, and it flashed upon me like a stroke of
+lightning that the letter she referred to was addressed to M. Gabriel.
+Never till that moment had I thought of it.
+
+"'Did you post the letter for me, Denise, as I desired you? Did you do
+so with your own hands? Do not tremble. Mistakes often happen without
+our being able to prevent them--even fatal mistakes sometimes. I saw
+you drive away with the letter in your hand. You did not lose it?'
+
+"'No, my lady; but before I had gone a mile on the road to Geneva,
+your mother overtook me, and said she knew you had given it to
+me to post immediately in Geneva, and that as she would be at the
+post-office a good hour before me--which was true--she would put it
+into the post with other letters.'
+
+"'And you gave her the letter, Denise?'
+
+"'Yes, my lady.'
+
+"'Did my mother desire you not to mention to me that she had taken the
+letter from you?'
+
+"'No, my lady, but on her deathbed----'
+
+"I hesitated, and my mistress said. 'Do not fear, Denise; you did no
+wrong. How should you know that a mother would conspire against her
+daughter's happiness? On her deathbed my mother spoke to you of that
+letter?'
+
+"'Yes, my lady, and asked me if I had told you that she had taken it
+from me. I answered no, and she said I had done right. My lady, in
+telling you this. I am breaking the promise I gave her; I hope to be
+forgiven.'
+
+"'It is right that you should tell me the truth, when I desire you,
+about an affair I entrusted to you. Had you told me of your own
+account, it might have been a sin.'
+
+"'I can see, my lady, that I should not have parted with the letter. I
+am truly sorry.'
+
+"'The fault was not yours, Denise: the wrong-doing was not yours. I
+should have instructed you not to part with the letter to anyone;
+although even then it could not have been prevented; you could not
+have refused my mother. The past is lost to us forever.' Her eyes
+filled with tears, and she said, 'We will not speak of this again,
+Denise.'
+
+"And it was never mentioned again by either of us, though we both
+thought of it often enough.
+
+"It was easy for me to arrive at an understanding of it. M. Gabriel
+and my mistress had been lovers, and had been parted and kept apart by
+my lady's mother. The old lady had played a false and treacherous part
+towards her daughter, and by so doing had destroyed the happiness of
+her life.
+
+"Whether my young lady thought that Mr. Almer had joined in the plot
+against her--that was what puzzled me a great deal at the time; but I
+was certain that he was innocent in the matter, as much a victim to
+the arts and wiles of a scheming old woman as the unfortunate lady he
+had married.
+
+"The motive of the treachery was plain enough. M. Gabriel was poor, a
+struggling artist, with his place to make in the world. My master was
+rich; money and estates were his, and the old woman believed she would
+live to enjoy them if she could bring about a marriage between him and
+her daughter.
+
+"She succeeded--too well did she succeed, and she met with her
+punishment. Though she was dead in her grave I had no pity for her,
+and her daughter, also, thought of her with bitterness. What misery is
+brought about by the mad worship of money which fills some persons'
+souls! As though hearts count for nothing!
+
+"I understood it all now--my lady's unhappiness, her silence, the
+estrangement between her and her husband. How often did I repeat the
+sad words she had uttered! 'The past is lost to us forever.' Yes, it
+was indeed true. Sunshine had fled; a gloomy future was before her.
+Which was the most to be pitied--my lady, or her innocent, devoted
+husband, who lived in ignorance of the wrong which had been done?
+
+"After the conversation I have just related, the behaviour of my
+mistress toward M. Gabriel underwent a change; she was gracious and
+familiar with him, and sometimes, as I noticed with grief, even
+tender. They walked frequently together; she was often in his studio
+when her husband was absent. Following out in my mind the course of
+events, I felt sure that explanations had passed between them, and
+that they were satisfied that neither had been intentionally false to
+the other. It was natural that this should have happened; but what
+good could come of this better understanding? Mischief was in the air,
+and no one saw it but myself.
+
+"My lady recovered her cheerfulness; the colour came back to her face;
+her eyes were brighter, life once more appeared enjoyable to her. Mr.
+Almer was delighted and unsuspicious; but behind these fair clouds I
+seemed to hear the muttering of the thunder, and I dreaded the moment
+when my master's suspicions should be aroused.
+
+"As my lady's time to become a mother drew near, many of the guests
+took their departure; but M. Gabriel remained. He and Mr. Almer were
+the closest friends, and they would talk with the greatest animation
+about pictures and books. M. Gabriel was very clever; the rapidity
+with which he would paint used to surprise us; his sketches were
+beautiful, and were hung everywhere about the house. Everybody sang
+his praises. He had a very sweet voice, he was a fine musician, there
+was not a subject he was not ready to converse upon. If it came to
+deep scholarship and learning I have no doubt that Mr. Almer held the
+first place, but my master was never eager, as M. Gabriel was, to
+display his gifts, and to show off his brilliant qualities in society.
+Certainly he could not win ladies' hearts as easily as M. Gabriel.
+These things are in the nature of a man, and one will play for the
+mere pleasure of winning, while another does not consider it worth his
+while to try. Of two such men I know which is the better and more
+deserving of love.
+
+"Rapid worker as M. Gabriel was with his paintings and sketches, my
+lady's portrait hung upon his hands; he did not seem to be able to
+satisfy himself, and he was continually making alterations. When
+Master Christian was born, his mother's picture was still unfinished
+in M. Gabriel's studio."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+                         THE GRAVE OF HONOUR
+
+
+"The birth of the heir was now the most important event; everything
+gave way to it. Congratulations poured in from all quarters, and it
+really seemed as if a better era had dawned. I believe I was the only
+one who mistrusted appearances; I should have been easier in my mind
+had M. Gabriel left the villa. But he remained, and as long as he and
+my lady were near each other I knew that the storm-clouds were not far
+off.
+
+"In a few weeks my lady got about again; she was never strong, and now
+she was so delicate and weak that the doctors would not allow her to
+nurse her child. I was very sorry for this; had her baby drawn life
+from her breast it might have diverted her attention from M. Gabriel.
+
+"It is hard to believe that so joyful an event as the birth of her
+first child should not have softened her heart towards her husband. It
+is the truth, however; they were no nearer to each other than they had
+been before. Mr. Almer was not to blame; he did all in his power to
+win his wife to more affectionate ways, but he might as well have
+hoped for a miracle as to hope to win a love that was given to
+another.
+
+"The child throve, and it was not till he was a year old that the
+portrait of his mother was finished--the picture that is hanging on
+the wall before me. It was greatly admired, and my master set great
+store upon it.
+
+"'It is in every way your finest work,' he said to M. Gabriel. 'Were
+it not that I object to my wife's beauty being made a subject of
+criticism, I should persuade you to exhibit the portrait.'
+
+"Not long afterwards, M. Gabriel was called away. I thanked God for
+it. The danger I feared was removed; but he returned in the course of
+a few weeks, and began to paint again in the summer-house. While he
+was absent my lady fell into her former habits of listlessness; when
+he returned she became animated and joyous. Truly he was to her as the
+sun is to the flower. This change in her mood, from sadness to gaiety,
+was so sudden that it frightened me, for I felt that Mr. Almer must be
+the blindest of the blind if it did not force itself upon his
+attention. It did not escape his notice; I saw that, from a certain
+alteration in his manner toward his wife and his friend. It was not
+that he was colder or less friendly; but when he looked at them he
+seemed to be pondering upon something which perplexed him. He said
+nothing to them, however, to express disapproval of their intimacy. He
+was not an impulsive man, and I never knew him to commit himself to an
+important act without deliberation.
+
+"In the midst of his perplexity the storm burst. I was an accidental
+witness of the occurrence which led to the tragic events of which I
+have yet to speak.
+
+"There was at this time among our guests an old dowager, who did
+nothing but tittle-tattle from morning till night about her friends
+and acquaintances, and who seemed to be always hunting for an
+opportunity to make ill-natured remarks. A piece of scandal was a
+great delight to her. Heaven save me from ever meeting with another
+such a lady.
+
+"I was in one of the wooded walks at some distance from the house,
+gathering balsam for a fellow-servant whose hand had been wounded,
+when the voice of this old dowager reached my ears. She was speaking
+to a lady companion, and I should not have stopped to listen had not
+Mrs. Almer's name been mentioned in a tone which set my blood
+tingling.
+
+"'It is scandalous, my dear,' the old dowager was saying, 'the way she
+goes on with M. Gabriel. Of course, I wouldn't mention it to another
+soul in the world but you, for it is not my affair. Not that it is not
+natural, for she is young, and he is young, and Mr. Almer is old
+enough to be their father; but they really should be more discreet. I
+can't make up my mind whether Mr. Almer sees it, and considers it best
+to take no notice, or whether he is really blind to what is going on.
+Anyway, that does not alter the affair, so far as his wife and M.
+Gabriel are concerned. Such looks at each other, my dear!--such
+pressing of hands!--such sighs! One can almost hear them. It is easy
+to see they are in love with each other.'
+
+"And a great deal more to the same effect until they walked away from
+the spot and were out of hearing.
+
+"I was all of a tremble, and I was worrying myself as to what it was
+best to do when I heard another step close to me.
+
+"It was my master, who must also have been within hearing. His face
+was stern and white, and there was blood on his lips as though he had
+bitten them through.
+
+"He walked my way and saw me.
+
+"'How long have you been here, Denise?' he asked.
+
+"I could not tell him a falsehood, and I had not the courage to answer
+him.
+
+"'It is enough,' he said; 'you have heard what I have heard. Not to a
+living being must a word of what you have heard pass your lips. I have
+always believed that you had a regard for the honour of my house and
+name, and it is for that reason I have placed confidence in you. I
+shall continue to trust you until you give me cause to doubt your good
+faith. Hasten after that lady and her companion who have been
+conversing here, and ask them to favour me with an interview. While I
+speak to them, remain out of hearing.'
+
+"I obeyed him in silence, and conducted the ladies to my master's
+presence. I am in ignorance of what he said to them, but that evening
+an excuse was made for their sudden departure from the villa. They
+left, and did not appear again.
+
+"Grateful as I was at the removal of this source of danger, I soon saw
+that the time I dreaded had arrived. My master was in doubt whether
+his wife was faithful to him.
+
+"A more cruel suspicion never entered the mind of man, and as false as
+it was cruel. Mrs. Almer was a pure woman; basely wronged as she had
+been, she was a virtuous wife. As I hope for salvation this is my firm
+belief.
+
+"But how can I blame my master? Smarting with a grief which had sucked
+all the light out of his days, which had poisoned his life and his
+hopes, trusting as he had trusted, deceived as he had been deceived,
+with every offer of love refused and despised, and with, as he
+believed, dishonour staring him in the face--he might well be pardoned
+for the doubt which now took possession of him.
+
+"He planned out a course, and steadily followed it. Without betraying
+himself, he watched his wife and his friend, and he could not fail to
+see that the feelings they entertained for each other were stronger
+than the ordinary feelings of friendship which may properly be allowed
+between a man and a woman. I know, also, that he discovered that my
+lady, before she married him, had accepted M. Gabriel as her lover.
+This in itself was sufficient for him.
+
+"Under such circumstances it was, in his opinion, a sin for any woman
+to plight her faith and duty to another. To my master the words used
+at the altar were, in the meaning they conveyed, most sacred, solemn
+and binding. For a woman to utter them, with the image of another man
+in her heart, was a fearful and unpardonable crime.
+
+"These perjuries are common enough, I believe, in the great world
+which moves at a distance from this quiet spot, but that they are
+common does not excuse them. Mr. Almer had strict and stern views of
+the duties of life, and roused as he was roused, he carried them out
+with cruel effect.
+
+"Gradually he got rid of all his guests, with the exception of M.
+Gabriel; and then, one fatal morning, he surprised my lady and M.
+Gabriel as they sat together in the summer-house. There was no guilt
+between them; they were conversing innocently enough, but my lady was
+in tears, and M. Gabriel was endeavouring to console her. Sufficient,
+certainly, to work a husband into a furious state.
+
+"None of us knew what passed or what words were spoken; something
+terrible must have been uttered, for my lady, with a face like the
+face of death, tottered from the summer-house to this very room, where
+she lay in a fainting condition for hours. Her husband did not come
+near her, nor did he make any inquiries after her, but in the course
+of an hour he gave me instructions to have every sketch and painting
+made by M. Gabriel taken from the walls of the villa, and conveyed to
+the summer-house. I obeyed him, and all were removed except this
+portrait of my lady; it seemed to me that I ought not to allow it to
+be touched without her permission, and she was not in a fit condition
+to be disturbed.
+
+"While this work was being accomplished no servant but myself was
+allowed to enter the studio. Two strange men carried the pictures into
+the summer-house, and these men, who had paint-pots and brushes with
+them, remained with Mr. Almer the whole of the afternoon.
+
+"Dinner was served, but no one sat down to it. My lady was in her
+chamber, her husband was still in the summer-house, and M. Gabriel was
+wandering restlessly about. In the evening he addressed me.
+
+"'Where is Mr. Almer?' he asked.
+
+"'In the summer-house,' I replied.
+
+"'Go to him,' he said, 'and say I desire to have a few words with
+him.'
+
+"In a few minutes they confronted each other on the steps which led to
+the studio.
+
+"'Enter,' said my master; 'you also, Denise, so that you may hear what
+I have to say to M. Gabriel, and what he has to say to me.'
+
+"I entered with them, and could scarcely believe my eyes. The walls of
+the studio had been painted a deep black. Not only the walls, but the
+woodwork of the windows which gave light to the room. The place
+resembled a tomb.
+
+"M. Gabriel's face was like the face of a corpse as he gazed around.
+
+"'This is your doing,' he said to my master, pointing to the black
+walls.
+
+"'Pardon me,' said my master; 'it is none of my work. _You_ are the
+artist here, and this is the picture you have painted on my heart and
+life. Denise, are all M. Gabriel's sketches and paintings in this
+studio?'
+
+"'They are all here, sir,' I replied.
+
+"There was a sense of guilt at my heart, for I thought of my lady's
+portrait. Fortunately for me my master did not refer to it.
+
+"'M. Gabriel,' said my master to the artist, 'these paintings are your
+property, and are at your disposal for one week from this day. Within
+that time remove them from my house. You will have no other
+opportunity. At the end of the week this summer-house will be securely
+locked and fastened, and thereafter, during my lifetime, no person
+will be allowed to enter it. For yourself a carriage is now waiting
+for you at the gates. I cannot permit you to sleep another night under
+my roof.'
+
+"'I had no intention of doing so,' said M. Gabriel, 'nor should I have
+remained here so long had it not been that I was determined not to
+leave without an interview with you.'
+
+"'What do you require of me?'
+
+"'Satisfaction.'
+
+"'Satisfaction!' exclaimed my master, with a scornful smile. 'Is it
+not I rather should demand it?'
+
+"'Demand it, then,' cried M. Gabriel. 'I am ready to give it to you.'
+
+"'I am afraid,' said my master coldly, 'that it is out of your power
+to afford me satisfaction. Were you a man of honour events might take
+a different course. It is only lately that I have seen you in your
+true colours; to afford you the satisfaction you demand would be, on
+my part, an admission that you are my equal. You are not; you are the
+basest of cowards. Depart at once, and do not compel me to call my
+servants to force you from my gates.'
+
+"'Endeavour to evade me,' said M. Gabriel, as he walked to the door,
+'in every way you can, you shall not escape the consequences of your
+conduct.'
+
+"He carried it with a high hand, this fine gentleman who had brought
+misery into this house; had I been a man I should have had a
+difficulty in preventing myself from striking him.
+
+"When he was gone my master said:
+
+"'You are at liberty to repeat to your lady what has passed between me
+and M. Gabriel.'
+
+"I did not repeat it: there was such a dreadful significance in the
+black walls, and in my master's words, that that was the picture M.
+Gabriel had painted on his heart and life, that I could not be so
+cruel to my lady as to tell her what had passed between the two
+gentlemen who held her fate in their hands.
+
+"But she herself, on the following day, questioned me:
+
+"'You were present yesterday,' she said, 'at an interview between M.
+Gabriel and my husband?'
+
+"'Yes, my lady,' I answered.
+
+"'Did they meet in anger, Denise?'
+
+"'M. Gabriel was angry, my lady,' I said.
+
+"'And my husband?' she asked.
+
+"'Appeared to be suffering, my lady.'
+
+"'Did they part in anger?'
+
+"'On M. Gabriel's side, my lady, yes.'
+
+"'Is M. Gabriel in the villa?'
+
+"'No, my lady. He departed last night.
+
+"'Of his own accord?'
+
+"'My master bade him go, and M. Gabriel said he intended to leave
+without being bidden.'
+
+"'It could not be otherwise. My husband is here?'
+
+"'Yes, my lady.'
+
+"That was all that was said on that day. The next day my lady asked me
+again if her husband was in the villa and I answered 'Yes.' The next
+day she asked me the same question, and I gave the same reply. The
+fourth day and the fifth she repeated the question, and my reply that
+my master had not been outside the gates afforded her relief. The fear
+in her mind was that my master and M. Gabriel would fight a duel, and
+that one would be killed.
+
+"During these days my lady did not leave her chamber, nor did her
+husband visit her.
+
+"From the window of this room the summer-house can be seen, and my
+lady for an hour or two each day sat at the window, gazing vacantly
+out.
+
+"On the evening of the fifth day my lady said:
+
+"'Denise, there have been workmen busily engaged about the
+summer-house. What are they doing?'
+
+"I bore in mind my master's remark to me that I was at liberty to
+repeat to my lady what had been said by him and M. Gabriel in their
+last interview. It was evident that he wished her to be made
+acquainted with it, and it was my duty to be faithful to him as well
+as to my lady. I informed her of my master's resolve to fasten the
+doors of the summer-house and never to allow them to be opened during
+his lifetime.
+
+"'There are only two more days,' she said, 'to-morrow and the next.'
+
+"I prayed silently that she would not take the fancy in her head to
+visit the summer-house before it was fastened up, knowing the shock
+that the sight of the black walls would cause her.
+
+"The next day she did not refer to the subject, but the next, which
+was the last, she sat at the window watching the workmen bring their
+tools and bars and bolts to complete the work for which they had been
+engaged.
+
+"'Come with me, Denise,' she said. 'A voice whispers to me that there
+is something concealed in the summer-house which I must see before it
+is too late.'
+
+"'My lady,' I said, trembling, 'I would not go if I were in your
+place.'
+
+"I could not have chosen worse words.
+
+"'You would not go if you were in my place!' she repeated. 'Then there
+_is_ something concealed there which it is necessary for me to see.
+Unless,' she added, looking at me for an answer, 'my husband prohibits
+it.'
+
+"'He has not prohibited it, my lady.'
+
+"'And yet you would not go if you were in my place! Cannot you see
+that I should be false to myself if I allowed that place to be sealed
+forever against me, before making myself acquainted with something
+that has taken place therein? You need not accompany me, Denise,
+unless you choose.'
+
+"'I will go with you, my lady,' I said, and we went out of the villa
+together.
+
+"We entered the summer-house, my lady first, I a few steps behind her.
+
+"She placed her hands upon her eyes and shuddered, the moment she saw
+the black walls. She understood what was meant by this sign.
+
+"But there was more to come, of which, up to that day, I had been
+ignorant. On one of the walls was painted in white, the words,
+
+
+                          "'The Grave Of Honour.'
+
+
+"It was like an inscription on a tomb.
+
+"When my lady opened her eyes they fell upon these cruel words. For
+many minutes she stood in silence, with eyes fixed on the wall, and
+then she turned towards me, and by a motion of her hand, ordered me to
+leave the place with her. Never, never, had I seen such an expression
+of anguish on a face as rested on hers. It was as though her own
+heart, her own good name, her own honour, were lying dead in that
+room! There are deeds which can never be atoned for. This deed of my
+master's was one."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VII
+
+                           HUSBAND AND WIFE
+
+
+"Remain with me, Denise,' said my lady, as we walked back to the
+house. 'I am weak, and may need you."
+
+"Then, for the first time, I noticed what gave me hope. She took her
+baby boy in her arms, and pressed him passionately to her bosom,
+murmuring:
+
+"'I have only you--I have only you!'
+
+"It was not that hitherto she had been wanting in tenderness, but that
+in my presence she had never so yearningly displayed it. It gladdened
+me also to think that her child was a comfort to her in this grave
+crisis.
+
+"But the hope I indulged in was doomed to disappointment. In the
+evening my lady bade me ascertain whether her husband was in the
+villa.
+
+"I went to him, and made the inquiry.
+
+"'Tell my wife,' he said, in a gentle tone, 'that I am ready to wait
+upon her whenever she desires it.'
+
+"It was late in the night when my lady called me to assist her to
+dress. I did so, wondering at the strange proceeding. She chose her
+prettiest dress, one which she had worn in her maiden days. She wore
+no ornaments, or flowers or ribbons of any colour. Simply a white
+dress, with white lace for her head and shoulders.
+
+"'Now go to your master,' she said, 'and say I desire to see him.'
+
+"I gave him the message, and he accompanied me to this room, where my
+lady was waiting to receive him, with as much ceremony as if he had
+been a stranger guest.
+
+"I am here at your bidding,' he said, and turning to me, 'You can go,
+Denise.'
+
+"'You will stay, Denise,' said my lady.
+
+"The manner of both was stern, but there was more decision in my
+lady's voice than in his. I hesitated, not knowing which of them to
+obey.
+
+"'Stay, then, Denise,' said my master, 'as your mistress desires it.'
+
+"I retreated to a corner of the room, as far away from them as I could
+get. I was really afraid of what was coming. Within the hearts of
+husband and wife a storm was raging, all the more terrible because of
+the outward calm with which they confronted each other.
+
+"'You know,' said my lady, 'for what reason I desired to see you.'
+
+"'I know,' he replied,' that I expected you would send for me. If you
+had not, I should not have presented myself.'
+
+"'You have in your mind,' she said, 'matters which concern us both, of
+which it is necessary you should speak.'
+
+"'It is more than necessary--it is imperative that I should speak of
+the matters you refer to.'
+
+"'The opportunity is yours. I also have something to say when you have
+finished. The sooner our minds are unburdened the better it will
+be--for you and me.'
+
+"'It were preferable,' he added, 'that what we say to each other
+should be said without witnesses. Consider whether it will not be best
+that Denise should retire.'
+
+"'There is no best or worst for me,' she rejoined; 'my course is
+decided, and no arguments of yours can alter it. Denise will remain,
+as I bade her, and what you have to say must be spoken in her
+presence.'
+
+"'Be it so. Denise is the most trusted servant of my house; I have
+every confidence in her. Otherwise, I should insist upon her leaving
+the room.'
+
+"'It is right,' said my lady, 'that you should be made acquainted with
+a resolution I have come to within the last few hours. After this
+night I will never open my lips to you, nor, willingly, will I ever
+listen to your voice. I swear most solemnly that I am in earnest--as
+truly in earnest as if I were on my death-bed!'
+
+"I shuddered; her voice and manner carried conviction with them. My
+master turned to me, and said:
+
+"'What you hear must never pass your lips while your mistress and I
+are alive.'
+
+"'It never shall,' I said, shaking like a leaf.
+
+"'When we are dead, Denise, you can please yourself.' He stood again
+face to face with his wife. 'Madame, it is necessary that I should
+recall the past. When I spoke to your lady mother on the subject of my
+love for you--being encouraged and in a measure urged to do so by
+herself--I was frank and open with her. There was nothing in my life
+which I concealed, which I had occasion to conceal. I had grave doubts
+as to the suitability of a marriage with you, doubts which did not
+place you at a disadvantage. I had not the grace of youth to recommend
+me; there was a serious difference in our ages; my habits of life were
+staid and serious. You were fit to be the wife of a prince; your
+youth, your beauty, your accomplishments, entitled you to more than I
+could offer--which was simply a life of ease and the homage of a
+faithful heart. Only in one respect were we equal--in respect of
+birth. Had I not been encouraged by your mother, I should not have had
+the temerity to give expression to my feelings; but I spoke, and for
+me there was no retreating. I begged your lady mother not to encourage
+me with false hopes, but to be as frank with me as I was with her. Of
+the doubts which disturbed me, one was paramount. You had moved in the
+world--you had been idolised in society--and it scarcely seemed
+possible that your heart could be disengaged. In that case, I informed
+your lady mother that no earthly consideration could induce me to step
+between you and your affections; nay, with all the force which
+earnestness could convey, I offered to do all in my power--if it were
+possible that my services could avail-- to aid in bringing your life
+to its happiest pass. At such a moment as this, a solemn one, madame,
+which shall never be forgotten by you or by me, I may throw aside
+false delicacy, and may explain the meaning of these last words to
+your mother. Having had in my hands the settlement of your father's
+affairs, I knew that you were poor, and my meaning was, that if any
+money of mine could assist in bringing about a union between you and
+the object of your affections--did any such exist--it was ready,
+cheerfully offered and cheerfully given for such a purpose. I made but
+one stipulation in the matter--that it should never, directly or
+indirectly, be brought to your knowledge.'
+
+"He paused, in the expectation that his wife would speak, and she said
+coldly:
+
+"'You are doubtless stating the truth.'
+
+"'The simple truth, madame, neither more nor less; and believe it or
+not, as you will, it was your welfare, not mine, that was uppermost in
+my mind. Your lady mother assured me that before you came to the villa
+your heart was entirely free, but that since you honoured me by
+becoming my guest, you had fixed your affections upon myself. My
+astonishment was great; I could scarcely believe the evidence of my
+senses. I entreated your lady mother not to mislead me, and she proved
+to me--to me, to whom the workings of a woman's heart were as a sealed
+book--in a hundred different ways, which she said I might have
+discovered for myself if I had had the wit--that you most truly loved
+me. She professed to be honoured by my proposal, which she accepted
+for you, and which she said you would joyfully accept for yourself.
+But she warned me not to be disappointed in the manner in which you
+would receive me; that your pride and shame might impel you to
+appear reluctant instead of joyful, and that it behoved me, as a wise
+man--Heaven help me!--to put a right and sensible construction on the
+natural maidenly reserve of a young girl. The rest you know. The wise
+man, madame, has been sadly at fault; it has been fatally proved to
+him that he knows little of the workings of the human heart.'
+
+"She held up her hand as a sign that she wished to speak, and he
+paused. A little thing struck me at the time, which has never passed
+out of my mind. She held up her hand in front of the lamp, and the
+light shone through the thin, delicate fingers. Seldom do I think of
+my lady without seeing that slight, beautiful hand, with the pink
+light shining through it.
+
+"'My mother,' she said, 'did not speak the truth. M. Gabriel and I
+were affianced before I became your guest.'
+
+"'Your information comes too late,' said my master; 'you should have
+told me so much when I offered you my name. It would have been
+sufficient. I should not have forced myself upon you, and shame and
+sin would have been avoided.'
+
+"'There has been no sin,' said my lady, 'and who links me with shame
+brings shame upon himself. I have been wronged beyond the hope of
+reparation in this life. Before you spoke to me of marriage I
+wrote to M. Gabriel frequently from this villa. My letters were
+intercepted----'
+
+"He interrupted her. 'To my knowledge no letters were intercepted; I
+had no suspicion of such a proceeding.'
+
+"I do not say you had; I am making you acquainted with a fact. Hurt
+and vexed at receiving no reply to my letters, and being able to
+account for it only on the supposition that they had not come into his
+possession, I wrote one and gave it to Denise to post for me. That
+also, as I learnt after my mother's death, was intercepted, and never
+reached its destination. In the meantime, false information was given
+to me respecting M. Gabriel; shameful stories were related to me, in
+which he was the principal actor. He was vile and false, as I was led
+to believe; and you were held up to me as his very opposite, as noble,
+chivalrous, generous, disinterested----'
+
+"'In all of which you will bear in mind, I was in no way inculpated,
+being entirely ignorant of what was going on under my roof.'
+
+"'And I was, besides, led to believe by my mother that you had laid us
+under such obligations that there was but one repayment of them----'
+
+"'Plainly speaking,' he interposed, 'that, in any kindness I had
+shown, I was deliberately making a purchase, that in every friendly
+office I performed, I had but one cowardly end in view. It needed this
+to complete the story.'
+
+"'My heart was almost broken,' she continued, making no comment on his
+bitter interruption; 'but it was pointed out to me that I could at
+least answer the call of gratitude and duty. Doubly did my mother
+deceive me.'
+
+"'And doubly,' said my master, 'did you deceive me.'
+
+"'When, some time after our unhappy marriage, you introduced M.
+Gabriel into this house, I was both angry and humiliated. It
+looked as though you intended to insult me, and Denise was a witness
+of my agitation. It was not unnatural that, remaining here, your
+guest--bidden by you, not by me--for so long a time explanations
+should pass between M. Gabriel and myself. Then it was that my eyes
+were really opened to the pit into which I had been deliberately
+dragged.'
+
+"'Not by me were you dragged into this pit.'
+
+"'Let it pass for a moment,' she said, in a disdainful voice. 'When my
+eyes were opened to the truth, how was I to know that you had not
+shared in the plot against me? How am I to know it now?'
+
+"'By my denial. Doubt me if you will, and believe that I tricked to
+obtain you. I shall not attempt to undeceive you. No good purpose
+would be served by a successful endeavour to soften your feelings
+towards me; I do not, indeed, desire that they should be softened, for
+no link of love can ever unite us. It never did, and never can, and I
+am not a man to live upon shams. If I tricked to obtain you, you will
+not deny that I have my reward--a rich reward, the rank fruit of which
+will cling to me and abide with me till the last moment of my life.'
+
+"'I went into the summer-house this afternoon,' she said.
+
+"'I know it.'
+
+"'It was your intention that I should visit it.'
+
+"'It was not exactly my intention; I left it to chance.'
+
+"'You have made it a memorial of shame, of a cruel declaration against
+me!'
+
+"'I have made it a memorial of my own deep unhappiness. That studio
+will never again be opened during your life and mine. Madame, in all
+that you have said--and I have followed you attentively--you have not
+succeeded in making me believe that I have anything to reproach myself
+for. My blindness was deplorable, but it is not a reproach. My actions
+were distinguished at least by absolute candour and frankness. Can you
+assert the same? You loved M. Gabriel before you met me--was I to
+blame for that? You were made to believe he was false to you--was I to
+blame for that? You revenged yourself upon him by accepting my hand,
+and I, unversed in woman's ways, believed that no pure-minded woman
+would marry a man unless she loved him. I still believe so. When we
+stood before the altar, I was happy in the belief that your heart was
+mine; and certainly from that moment, your faith, your honour, were
+pledged to me, as mine was pledged to you. M. Gabriel was my friend. I
+was a man when he was a boy, and I became interested in him, and
+assisted him in his career. We had not met for years: he knew that I
+had married----'
+
+"'But he did not know,' interrupted my lady, 'that you had married
+_me!_'
+
+"'Granted. Was I to blame for that? After our marriage you fell into
+melancholy moods, which I at first ascribed to the tragic fate of your
+parents. Most sincerely did I sympathise with you. Day after day,
+night after night, did I ponder and consider how I could bring the
+smile to your lips, how I could gladden your young heart. Reflect upon
+this, madame, in the days that are before you, and reflect upon the
+manner in which you received my attentions. At one time, when I had
+invited to the villa a number of joyous spirits in the hope that their
+liveliness and gaiety would have a beneficial effect upon you, I
+received a letter from M. Gabriel with reference to a picture he was
+painting. I invited him here, and he came. What was his duty, what was
+yours, when you and he met in my presence, when I introduced you to
+each other, for the first time as I thought? Madame, if not before
+him, at least before you, there was but one honest course. Did you
+pursue it? No; you received M. Gabriel as a stranger, and you
+permitted me to rest in the belief that until that day you had been
+unconscious of his existence. Without referring to my previous
+sufferings--which, madame, were very great--in what position did I,
+the husband, stand in relation to my wife and friend, who, in that
+moment of introduction, tacitly conspired against my honour, and who,
+after explanations had passed between them, met and conversed as
+lovers? Their guilt was the more heinous because of its secrecy--and
+utterly, utterly unpardonable because of their treachery towards him
+who trusted in them both. A double betrayal! But at length the
+husband's suspicions were aroused. In a conversation which he
+accidentally overheard between two ladies who were visiting him--the
+name of his wife--your name, madame--was mentioned in connection with
+that of M. Gabriel; and from their conversation he learnt that their
+too friendly intimacy had become a subject for common talk. Jealous of
+his honour, and of his name, upon which there had hitherto been no
+blot, he silenced the scandal-mongers; but from that day he more
+carefully observed his wife and his friend, until the truth was
+revealed. Then came retribution, and a black chapter in the lives of
+three human beings was closed--though the book itself is not yet
+completed.'
+
+"He paused, a long time as it seemed to me, before he spoke again. The
+silence was awful, and in the faces of the husband and the wife there
+were no signs of relenting. They bore themselves as two persons might
+have done who had inflicted upon each other a mortal wrong for which
+there was no earthly forgiveness. From my heart I pitied them both."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII
+
+                             THE COMPACT
+
+
+"You sent for me, madame,' he said presently, 'because it was
+necessary that some explanation should be given of the occurrences
+that have taken place in my family, of which you are a member. Each of
+us has reason to regret an alliance which has caused us so much
+suffering. Unfortunately for our happiness and our peace of mind the
+truth has been spoken too late; but it were idle now to waste time in
+lamentations. There are in life certain bitter trials which must be
+accepted; in that light I accept the calamity which has fallen upon
+us, and which, had I known before our marriage what I know now, would
+most surely have been averted. It was in your power to avert it; you
+did not do so, but led me blindly into the whirlpool. You have
+informed me that, after this night, you will never open your lips to
+me, nor ever again listen to my voice.'
+
+"'Nor will I,' she said, 'from the rising of to-morrow's sun.'
+
+"'I shall do nothing to woo you from that resolve. But you bear my
+name, and to some extent my honour is still in your keeping.'
+
+"'Have you, then,' she asked, 'any commands to give me?'
+
+"'It will depend,' he replied, 'upon what I hear from you. So far as
+my honour is concerned I intend to exercise control over you; no
+farther.'
+
+"'Your honour is safe with me, as it has always been."
+
+"'I will not debate the point with you. You say that you have decided
+on your course, and that no arguments of mine will turn you from it.'
+
+"'Yes; my course is decided. Am I free to go from your house?'
+
+"'You are not free to go. Only one thing shall part us--death!'
+
+"'We have a child,' she said, and her voice, for that moment,
+insensibly softened.
+
+"'Is he asleep?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"He went into the inner room, and remained there for several minutes,
+and my lady, with a white and tearless face, waited for his return.
+
+"I thought I heard the sound of kisses in the bedroom, but I could not
+be sure. There was, however, a tender light in my master's eyes when
+he came back, a light which showed that his heart was touched.
+
+"'Our child shall remain with you,' he said to my lady, 'if you wish.'
+
+"'I do wish it," she said.
+
+"'I will not take him from you, only that I must sometimes see him.'
+
+"'He shall be brought to you every day.'
+
+"'I am content. Let him grow up to love me or hate me, as the
+prompting of his nature and your teaching shall direct. From my lips
+he shall never hear a disparaging word of his mother.'
+
+"'Nor shall he, from my lips, of his father.'
+
+"He bowed to her as he would have bowed to a princess, and said:
+
+"'I thank you. But little, then, remains to be said. We are bound to
+each other irrevocably, and we cannot part without disgrace. We have
+brought our griefs upon ourselves, and we must bear them in silence.
+The currents of my life are changed, and these gates shall never again
+be opened to friends. I have done with friendship as I have done with
+love. I ask you what course you have determined upon?'
+
+"'I propose,' said my lady, 'to make these rooms my home, if you will
+give them to me to live in.'
+
+"'They are yours,' he replied. 'Unless I am compelled by duty, or by
+circumstances which I do not at present foresee, I will never enter
+them during your lifetime.'
+
+"'It is as I would have it,' she said. 'In daylight I shall not leave
+them. If I walk in the grounds it shall be at nightfall. Outside your
+gates I will never more be seen, nor will I allow a friend or an
+acquaintance to visit me. Will you allow Denise to wait upon me?'
+
+"'She is your servant, and yours only, from this moment. I am pleased
+that you have selected her.'
+
+"'Denise,' said my lady to me, 'are you willing to serve me?'
+
+"'Yes, my lady,' I answered. I was almost choked with sobs, while they
+were outwardly calm and unmoved.
+
+"'Then there is nothing more to be said--except farewell.' And my lady
+looked towards the door.
+
+"He did not linger a moment. He bowed to her ceremoniously, and left
+the room.
+
+"When he was gone I felt as if some sudden and fearful shock must
+surely take place, as if a thunderbolt would fall and destroy us, or
+as if my lady would fall dead at my feet, the silence that ensued was
+so unearthly. But nothing occurred, and when I had courage to look up
+I saw my lady sitting in a chair, white and still, with a resigned and
+determined expression on her face. It would have been a great relief
+to me if she had cried, but there was not a tear in her eyes.
+
+"'Do you believe me guilty, Denise?' she asked.
+
+"'The saints forbid,' I cried, 'that such a wicked thought should
+enter my mind! I know you to be an innocent, suffering lady.'
+
+"'You will do as you have been bidden to do, Denise. While my husband
+and I are living you will not speak of what has passed within this
+room.'
+
+"'I will not, my lady.'
+
+"And never again was the subject referred to by either of us. She did
+not make the slightest allusion to it, and I did not dare to do so."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IX
+
+            MOTHER DENISE HAS STRANGE FANCIES IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+"A new life now commenced for us--a new and dreadful life. Mr. Almer
+gave orders that no person was to be admitted to the villa without his
+express permission. He denied himself to every chance visitor, and
+from that time until you came, my lady, no friend of the family,
+except a great banker, and occasionally Master Pierre Lamont, both of
+whom came upon business, ever entered the gates. The doctor, of
+course, when he was needed; but no one else.
+
+"Mr. Almer passed most of his time in his study, writing and reading,
+and pacing to and fro as he used to do in times gone by. He did not
+make any enquiries about my lady, nor did she about him. She lived in
+these rooms, and, in my remembrance, did not stir out of them during
+the day. Master Christian slept in the inner room there, and was free
+to roam about as he pleased.
+
+"Every morning I took the child to his father, who sometimes would
+kiss him and send him back to my lady, and sometimes would say:
+
+"'You can leave him with me, Denise, for an hour.'
+
+"Then he would take the child into the study, and lock the door, and
+nurse and sing to him. I was in the habit of seeing him thus engaged
+as I walked backwards and forwards in the grounds in front of the
+study, waiting for his summons to carry master Christian to his
+mother.
+
+"His was not a happy childhood, for when he began ta speak and think,
+the estrangement between his parents puzzled him deeply, and made him
+sad. He was continually asking questions to which he received replies
+which perplexed him more and more. With childlike, innocent cunning he
+strove to draw them to each other. When he was with my lady, it was:
+
+"'Mamma, why do you not go and speak to papa? There he is walking in
+the garden. Come out with me, mamma--come quickly, or papa will be
+gone.'
+
+"And when he was with his father he would say:
+
+"'Papa, I have a message for you.'
+
+"'Yes, Christian,' my master would say.
+
+"'You are to take hold of my hand, and come with me immediately to
+mamma. Yes, papa, indeed, immediately! She wants to speak to you.'
+
+"Mr. Almer knew that this was nothing but invention on the child's
+part.
+
+"What they learnt of each other's health and doings came through
+Master Christian; it is very hard, my lady, to stop a child's innocent
+prattle.
+
+"'Papa, I wish to tell you something.'
+
+"'Tell me, Christian.'
+
+"'Mamma has a bad headache--such a bad, bad headache! I have been
+smoothing her forehead with my hand, but it will not go away for me.
+You cured my headache last week; come and cure mamma.'
+
+"And at another time:
+
+"'Papa, is not this beautiful?'
+
+"'Yes, Christian, it is very pretty.'
+
+"'Mamma painted it for me. Do you know, papa, she has painted me--yes,
+my portrait, and has put it in a book. It is exactly like--you could
+not tell it from me myself. Shall I ask her to give it to you--or will
+you come and ask for it yourself?'
+
+"With my lady it was the same.
+
+"'Mamma, papa has been writing all day long. I peeped through the
+window, and he looked so tired--just as you look sometimes. Now,
+mamma, tell me--do you think papa is happy?'
+
+"'Mamma, see what papa has given me--a musical-box! Only because I
+said to him I should like a musical-box! Is he not good?'
+
+"And so it went on day after day, week after week, but the child's
+eager, anxious love brought them no nearer to each other.
+
+"In the dark nights when the weather permitted, my lady walked in the
+grounds. At first I offered to accompany her, but she refused my
+company.
+
+"'I will walk alone, Denise.'
+
+"The servants used to say, as the moonlight fell on her white dress:
+
+"'She looks like a white ghost.'
+
+"And at other times:
+
+"'She is like a white shadow moving in the moon's light.'
+
+"Her husband was careful to keep out of her sight when she indulged in
+these lonely rambles. They would not make the slightest advance to
+each other.
+
+"I must not forget to tell you what occurred about a month after this
+estrangement. The duties of my attendance on my lady did not keep me
+with her during the night unless she was ill, and was likely to
+require my services. Generally I waited till I saw her abed and
+asleep. She retired early, and this afforded me an opportunity of
+looking after the room occupied by my husband and myself.
+
+"I remember that on this night I drew the blind aside after I was
+undressed, and looked toward my master's study. There were lights in
+the windows, as usual. I was not surprised, for Mr. Almer frequently
+sat up the whole night through.
+
+"I went to bed, and soon fell asleep.
+
+"Quite contrary to my usual habit, I woke up while it was dark, and
+heard the sound of the clock striking the hour. I counted the strokes,
+from one to twelve. It was midnight.
+
+"I was such a good sleeper--seldom waking till the morning, when it
+was time to get up--that I wondered to myself what it was that awoke
+me. The striking of the clock? Hardly--for that was no new sound.
+What, then? Gusts of wind were sweeping round the walls of the villa.
+'Ah,' I thought, 'it was the wind that disturbed me;' and I settled
+myself for sleep again, when suddenly another sound--an unusual one
+this time--made me jump up in bed. The sound was like that of a heavy
+object jumping, or falling, from a height within the grounds.
+
+"'Can it be robbers,' I thought, 'who have climbed the gates, and
+missed their footing?'
+
+"The thought alarmed me, and I woke my husband, and told him what I
+had heard. He rose, and looked out of the window.
+
+"'Mr. Almer is up and awake,' said he. 'If there were any cause for
+alarm he would not be sitting quietly in his study, poring over his
+books. What you heard is the wind. Robbers, indeed! I pity the thief
+who tries to pass our dogs; he would be torn to pieces. There! let me
+get to sleep, and don't disturb me again with your foolish fancies;
+and get to sleep yourself as quick as you can. Now your head is
+stirring, you'll be imagining all sorts of things.'
+
+"That was all the satisfaction I could get out of him; the next moment
+he was fast asleep again.
+
+"It was no easy thing for me to follow his example. I lay thinking and
+thinking for an hour or more. I was glad my husband had mentioned the
+dogs; in my alarm I had forgotten them. Martin was quite right. Any
+stranger who attempted to pass them would have been torn to pieces.
+
+"Well, but there _was_ somebody walking on the gravelpaths! I heard
+soft footsteps crunching the stones, stepping cautiously, as though
+fearful of disturbing the people in the house. These sounds came to my
+ears between the gusts of wind, which were growing stronger and
+stronger.
+
+"I was on the point of rousing my husband again when it occurred to me
+that it might be my master, who, restless as usual, was walking about
+the grounds.
+
+"This explanation quieted me, and I was soon asleep. For how long I
+cannot say, for suddenly I found myself sitting up in bed, wide awake,
+listening to the wind, which was shaking the house to its foundations.
+And yet the impression was so strong upon me that it was not the storm
+that had frightened me, that I went to the window and looked out,
+expecting to see Heaven only knows what. Nothing was to be seen, and
+presently I reasoned myself out of my fears, and was not again
+disturbed during the night.
+
+"In the morning a strange discovery was made. A servant came running
+to me before I was dressed, with the information that our two dogs
+were dead. I hurried to the kennel and saw their bodies stretched out,
+cold and stiff.
+
+"Mr. Almer was very fond of these dogs, and I went to him and told him
+what had occurred. There was a strange, wild look in his eyes which I
+attributed to want of sleep. But stranger than this weary, wild
+expression was the smile on his lips when he heard the news.
+
+"He followed me to the kennel, and stooped down.
+
+"'They are quite dead, Denise,' he said.
+
+"'Yes, sir,' I said, 'but who could have done such a cruel thing?'
+
+"'The dogs have been poisoned,' he said, 'here is the meat that was
+thrown to them. There is still some white powder upon it.'
+
+"'Poisoned!' I cried. 'The wretches.'
+
+"'Whoever did this deed,' said my master, 'deserved to die. It is as
+bad as killing a human creature in cold blood.'
+
+"'Are you sure, sir,' I said, 'there has been nothing stolen from the
+house?'
+
+"'You can go and see, Denise.'
+
+"I made an examination of the rooms. Nothing had been taken from them.
+I tried the door of my master's study to examine that room also, but
+it was locked. When I returned my master was still kneeling by the
+dogs.
+
+"'It does not appear that anything has been taken,' I said, 'but the
+sounds I heard in the night prove that there have been robbers here.'
+
+"'What sounds did you hear?' asked my master, looking up.
+
+"I told him of my alarm, and of my waking my husband, and of my
+fancies.
+
+"'Fancies!' he said; 'yes--it could have been nothing but imagination.
+I have been up the whole night, and had there been an attempt at
+robbery, I must surely have known it. Were any of the other servants
+disturbed?"
+
+"'No, sir.'
+
+"I had already questioned them, but they had all slept soundly and had
+heard nothing. I had been also with my lady for a few moments, but she
+had not been disturbed during the night by anything but the howling of
+the wind.
+
+"'Let the matter rest,' said my master; 'it will be best. It is my
+wish that you do not speak of it. The dogs are dead, and nothing can
+restore them to life. Evil deeds carry their own punishment with them!
+The next time you are frightened by fancies in the night, and see a
+light in my study, you may be satisfied that all is well.'
+
+"So the dogs were buried, and no action was taken to punish their
+murderers; and in a little while the whole affair was forgotten."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER X
+
+                     CHRISTIAN ALMER'S CHILD-LIFE
+
+
+"The years went by in the lonely villa without any change, except that
+my lady grew into the habit of taking her walks in the grounds later
+in the night. Not a word was exchanged between her and her husband;
+had seas divided them they could not have been further apart from each
+other.
+
+"A dreadful, dreary monotony of days. The direction and control of the
+house was left entirely to me; my master took not the slightest
+interest in what was going on. I should have asked to be relieved from
+the service, had it not been for my affection for my mistress. To live
+with her--as I did for years, attending upon her daily--without loving
+her was not possible. Her gentleness, her resignation, her resolution,
+her patience, were almost beyond belief with those who were not
+constant witnesses of her lonely, blameless, suffering life.
+
+"She never wrote or received a letter. She severed herself entirely
+from the world, and these rooms were her living grave.
+
+"She loved her child, but she did not give way to any violent
+demonstration of feeling. I observed, as the lad grew up, that he
+became more and more perplexed by the relations which existed between
+his parents. Had one or the other been unkind to him, he might have
+been able to put a reasonable construction upon the estrangement, but
+they were equally affectionate, equally tender towards him. He
+continued to exercise the prettiest cunning to bring them together,
+but without avail. Without avail, also, the entreaties he used.
+
+"'Mamma, the sun is shining beautifully. Do come out with me and speak
+to papa. Do, mamma, do! See, he is walking in the garden.'
+
+"'Mamma, may I bring papa into your room? Say yes. I am sure he would
+be glad.'
+
+"'Papa, mamma is really very ill. I do so wish you would see her and
+speak to her! There, papa, I have hold of your hand. Come, papa,
+come!'
+
+"It was heart-breaking to hear the lad, who loved both, who received
+love from both.
+
+"'Mamma,' he said, 'are you rich?'
+
+"'In what way, dear child?' she asked, I have no doubt wondering at
+his question; 'in money? Do you mean that?'
+
+"'Yes, mamma, I mean that.'
+
+"'We are not in want of money, Christian.'
+
+"'Then you can buy whatever you want, mamma.'
+
+"'I want very little, Christian.'
+
+"'But if you wanted a great deal,' he persisted, 'you have money to
+pay for it?'
+
+"'Yes, Christian.'
+
+"'And papa, too?'
+
+"'Yes, and papa too.'
+
+"'I can't make it out,' he said. 'Yesterday, I saw a poor little girl
+crying. I asked her what she was crying for, and she said her mamma
+was in great trouble because they had no money. I asked her if money
+would make her mamma happy, and she said yes. Then why does it not
+make you happy?'
+
+"'Would you like some money, Christian,' said my lady, 'to give to
+this poor girl's mamma?'
+
+"'Yes, mamma.'
+
+"Here is my purse. Denise will go with you at once.'
+
+"We went to the cottage, and found that the family were in deep
+distress. The father was in arrears with his rent, having been unable
+to work, through illness, for a good many weeks; he was now strong
+enough to return to his employment, but he was plunged into such
+difficulties that all his courage had deserted him. The mother was
+weak with overpowering anxiety, and the children were in want of food.
+
+"I saw that the family were deserving of assistance, and I directed
+Master Christian what to give them. He visited them daily for a week
+and more, and the roses came back to the children's cheeks, and the
+hearts of the father and mother were filled with hope and gladness.
+
+"'Mamma,' said Master Christian, 'you have no idea how happy they
+are--and all because I gave them a little money. They play and sing
+together--yes, mamma, all of them; it is beautiful to see them. They
+call me their good angel.'
+
+"'I am very glad you have made them happy, my dear,' said my lady.
+
+"'Mamma, they are happy because they love each other, and because they
+laugh and sing together. Let me be your good angel, mamma, and papa's.
+Tell me what to do, so that we may live like those poor people!'
+
+"These were hard things for parents to hear, and harder because no
+answers could be given to them.
+
+"We went out for a stroll every fine day for an hour or so, and when
+Master Christian saw a child walking between father and mother, who
+smiled at each other and their little one, and spoke pleasantly and
+kindly one to the other, his eyes would fill with tears. He would peep
+through cottage windows--nay, he would go into the cottages, where he
+was always welcome, and would furnish himself with proofs of domestic
+happiness which never gladdened his heart in his own home. With scanty
+food, with ragged clothes, the common peasant children were enjoying
+what was denied to him.
+
+"He had one especial friend, a delicate child, who at length was laid
+on a bed of sickness from which he never rose. Master Christian, for a
+few weeks before this child died, visited him daily in my company, and
+took the poor little fellow many comforting things, for which the
+humble family were very grateful. My young master would stand by the
+bedside of the sick child, and witness, in silent pain, the evidences
+of paternal love which lightened the load of the little sufferer.
+
+"The day before the child died we approached the cottage, and Master
+Christian peeped through the window. The child was dying, and by his
+bedside sat the sorrowing parents. The man's arm was round the woman's
+waist, and her head was resting on her husband's shoulder. We entered
+the cottage, and remained an hour, and as we walked home Master
+Christian said:
+
+"'If I were dying, would my mamma and papa sit like that?'
+
+"I could find no words to answer this question, which showed what was
+passing in Master Christian's mind.
+
+"'Cannot you tell me,' said Master Christian, 'whether my rich parents
+would do for me what that little boy's poor parents are doing for him?
+It is so very much, Denise--so very, very much! It is more than money,
+for money is no use in Heaven, where he is going to. I wish my mamma
+and papa had been poor; then they would have lived together and have
+loved each other. Denise, tell me what it all means.'
+
+"'Hush, Master Christian,' I said, trying to soothe him, for his
+little bosom was swelling with grief. 'When you are a man you will
+understand.'
+
+"'I want to understand now--I want to understand now!' he cried.
+'There is something very wicked about our house. I hate it--I hate
+it!'
+
+"And he stamped his foot, and broke into a fit of sobbing so charged
+with sorrow that I could not help sobbing with him.
+
+"Something of this must have reached his parents' ears, and how they
+suffered only themselves could have known. My master grew thin and
+wan; dark circles came round his eyes, and they often had a wild look
+in them which made me fear he was losing his senses. And my lady
+drooped and drooped, like a flower planted in unwholesome soil. Paler
+and quieter she grew every day; sweeter and more resigned, if that
+were possible, with every setting of the sun; so weak at last that she
+could not take her walk in the grounds.
+
+"Sitting by the window, looking at the lovely sky, she said to me one
+peaceful evening:
+
+"'I shall soon be there, Denise.'
+
+"'Oh, my lady!' was all I could say.
+
+"'It rejoices me to think,' she said, 'that this long agony is coming
+to an end. I pray that the dear child I shall leave behind me will not
+suffer as I have suffered, that his life may be happy, and his end be
+peaceful. Denise, my mother is in that invisible spirit-land to which
+I am going. When she sees me coming, will she not be frightened to
+meet me? for, if it had not been for her, all this misery would have
+been averted.'
+
+"'My lady,' I said--so saint-like was her appearance that I could have
+knelt to her, 'let me go to my master and bring him to you.'
+
+"'He would not come,' she said, 'at your bidding, Denise. Has he not
+been often entreated by our child?'
+
+"Believing that this was a sign of relenting on her part, I said:
+
+"'He knows that I dare not deceive him. He will come if I say you sent
+for him.'
+
+"'Perhaps, perhaps,' she said; 'but I would not have him come yet.
+When I summon him here he will not refuse me.'
+
+"'You will send for him one day, my lady?'
+
+"'Yes, Denise, unless I die suddenly in my sleep--an end I have often
+prayed for. But this great blessing may be denied to me.'
+
+"Ah, how sad were the days! It fills me with grief, even now, to speak
+of them. All kinds of strange notions entered my head during that
+time. I used to think it would be a mercy if a terrible flood were to
+come, or if someone would set fire to the villa. It would bring these
+two unhappy beings together for a few minutes at least. But nothing
+happened; the days were all alike, except that I saw very plainly that
+my lady could not live through another summer. She was fading away
+before my eyes.
+
+"The end came at last, when Master Christian was nearly nine years
+old."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XI
+
+              BEATRICE ALMER GIVES A PROMISE TO HER SON
+
+
+"It was a spring morning, and my lady was alone. Master Christian was
+in the woods with his father; he was to be home at noon, and my lady
+was watching for him at her window.
+
+"Exactly at noon the lad returned, beaming with delight; the hours he
+spent with his father were memorable hours in his life.
+
+"'You have enjoyed yourself, Christian,' said my lady, drawing her boy
+to her side, and smoothing his hair. 'It does you good to go out with
+papa.'
+
+"'Yes, mamma,' said the lad, in his eager, excited voice. 'There is no
+one in the world like papa--no man, I mean. He knows everything--yes,
+mamma, everything! There isn't a thing you ask him that he can't tell
+you all about it. We have had such a beautiful walk; the forests are
+full of birds and squirrels. Papa knows the name of every bird and
+flower. See, mamma, all these are wild flowers--papa helped me to
+gather them, and showed me where some of the prettiest are to be
+found. You should hear him talk about the flowers! He has told me such
+wonderful, wonderful things about them! I believe they live, as we do,
+and that they have a language of their own. Papa smiled when I said I
+thought the flowers were alive, and he told me that the world was full
+of the loveliest mysteries, and that, although men thought themselves
+very wise, they really knew very little. Perhaps it is so--with all
+men but papa. It is because he isn't vain and proud that he doesn't
+set himself above other men. In the middle of the woods papa stopped
+and said, as he waved his hand around, "This, Christian, is Nature's
+book. Not all the wisdom of all the men in all the world could write
+one line of it. That little bird flying in the air to the nest which
+it has built for its young, and which is so small that I could hold it
+in the palm of my hand, is in itself a greater and more marvellous
+work than the united wisdom of all mankind shall ever be able to
+produce." There, mamma, you would hardly believe that I should
+remember papa's words; but I repeated them to myself over and over
+again as we walked along--they sounded so wonderful! Mamma, are there
+flowers in heaven?'
+
+"'Yes, my dear,' she answered, gazing upwards, 'forever blooming.'
+
+"'Then it is always summer there, mamma?'
+
+"'Yes, dear child--it is the better land on which we dwell in hope.
+Peace is there, and love.'
+
+"'We shall all go there, mamma?'
+
+"'Yes, dear child--one day.'
+
+"'And shall live there in peace and love?'
+
+"'Yes, Christian.'
+
+"'Mamma,' said the child solemnly, 'I shall be glad when the day comes
+on which you and papa and I shall be together there, in peace and
+love. Mamma, you are crying. I have not hurt you, have I?'
+
+"'No, dear child, no. To hear you speak gives me great joy.'
+
+"'Ah, but I can't speak like papa. He has told me of that better
+world, and though I can't understand all he says, I know it must be
+very beautiful. Papa is a good man. I love him more than any other
+man--and I love you, mamma, better than any other woman. Papa is a
+good man, is he not, mamma?'
+
+"'Yes, my child,' said my lady, 'your father is a good and a just
+man.'
+
+"My heart leapt into my throat as I heard her speak these words of her
+husband. Was it possible that this dreadful estrangement was to end,
+and that my master and his wife would at length be reconciled, after
+all these weary years?
+
+"My lady was lying back in her chair, gazing now at her boy, now at
+the bright clouds which were floating in the heavens. Ah, my lady, if
+we were but to follow God's teaching, and learn the lessons He sends
+us every day and every hour, how much unhappiness should we be spared!
+But it seems as if there was a wicked spirit within us which is
+continually dropping poison into the fairest things, for the mere
+pleasure of destroying their beauty and making us wretched.
+
+"There was an angelic expression on my lady's face as she encouraged
+her boy to speak of his father.
+
+"'I have often wished to tell you,' said Master Christian, 'that papa
+is not strong--not as strong as I am. He soon gets tired, while I can
+run about all day. This morning he often stopped to rest, and once he
+threw himself upon the ground, and fell fast asleep. I sat by his side
+and listened to the birds, who were all so happy, while papa's face
+was filled with pain. Yes, mamma, he was in great pain, and he sighed,
+oh, so heavily! as though sleep was hurting him instead of doing him
+good. And he spoke in his sleep, and his words made me tremble. "I
+call God to witness"--that was what he said, mamma--"I call God to
+witness that there was in my mind no design to do wrong." And then he
+said something about sin and sorrow springing from the flower of
+innocence. A bird was flying near us, stopping to look at us, and not
+at all frightened, because I was so very, very quiet. "Little bird," I
+whispered, "that my father could hold in the palm of his hand, do you
+know what he is dreaming of, and will you, because he is my father and
+a good man, do something to make him happy?" Oh, mamma, the bird at
+that very moment began to sing, and papa smiled in his sleep, and all
+the pain in his face disappeared. That bird, mamma, was a fairy-bird,
+and knew that papa ought not to suffer. And presently papa awoke, and
+folded me tight in his arms, and we sat there quite still, for a long,
+long time, listening to the singing of the bird. Oh, mamma, mamma! why
+will you not love papa as I do?'
+
+"Who could resist such pleading? My lady could not.
+
+"'My child,' she said, 'I will send for papa to-morrow.'
+
+"'You will--you will!' cried the child. 'Oh, how glad I am! Papa will
+be here to-morrow, and we shall live together as poor people do, and
+be happy, as they are!' He sprang from her side, ready to fly out of
+the room. 'Shall I go and tell papa now? Yes, I may, I may--say that I
+may, mamma!'
+
+"'Not till to-morrow, Christian. Come and sit quietly by me, and talk
+to me.'
+
+"He obeyed her, though it was difficult for him to control himself,
+his joy was so great. He devised numberless schemes in which he and
+his parents were to take part. They were to go here, and to go
+there--always together. His friends were to be their friends, and they
+were to share each other's pleasures. Rambles in the woods, hunting
+for wild flowers, visits to poor cottages--he planned all these things
+in the delight of his heart.
+
+"So they passed the day, the mother and child, and when night came he
+begged again to be allowed to go to his father and tell him what was
+in store for him. But my lady was firm.
+
+"'No, Christian,' she said, 'you must wait yet for a few hours. They
+will soon pass away. You are tired, dear child. Go to bed and sleep
+well.'
+
+"Good mamma! beautiful mamma!' said the lad, caressing his mother and
+stroking her face. 'I shall dream all night long of to-morrow!'
+
+"She never kissed her child with deeper tenderness than she did on
+this night. He knelt at her knees and said his prayers, and of his own
+accord ended with the words: 'And make my papa and my mamma love each
+other to-morrow!'
+
+"'Good-night, dear child.'
+
+"'Good-night, dear mamma. I want to-morrow to come quickly.
+Good-night, Denise.'
+
+"'Good-night, Master Christian.'
+
+"In a few minutes he was asleep. Then my lady called me to her, and
+spoke gratefully of the manner in which I had performed my services to
+her.
+
+"'You have been a good and faithful servant to me,' she said, 'and you
+have helped to comfort me. Your duties have been difficult, and you
+have performed them well.'
+
+"'My lady,' I said sobbing; I could not keep back my tears, she was so
+gracious and sweet. 'I have done nothing to deserve such thanks. If
+what you have said to Master Christian comes true I shall be very
+happy. Forgive me for asking, but is it really true that you will send
+for my master to-morrow?'
+
+"'It will be so, Denise, unless God in His mercy takes me to-night. We
+are in His hands, and I wait for His summons. His will be done!
+Denise, wear this cross in remembrance of me. I kiss it before I give
+it to you--and I kiss you, Denise!'
+
+"And as she put the cross round my neck, which she took from her own,
+she kissed me on the lips. Her touch was like an angel's touch.
+
+"Then she said, pointing to the posy which had been gathered in the
+woods by her husband and her child:
+
+"'Give me those flowers, you faithful woman.'
+
+"Do not think me vain or proud for repeating the words she spoke to
+me. They were very, very precious to me, and the sweetness has not
+died out of them, though she who uttered them is dust.
+
+"I gave her the flowers, and she held them to her heart, and
+encouraged me to sit with her later than usual. Two or three times in
+the midst of our conversation, she asked me to go to Master
+Christian's room to see if he was asleep, and when I told her he was
+sleeping beautifully, and that he looked like an angel, she smiled,
+and thanked me.
+
+"'He will grow into a noble man,' she said, 'and will, I trust, think
+of me with tenderness. I often look forward and wonder what his life
+will be.'
+
+"'A happy one, I am sure,' I said.
+
+"'I pray that it may be so, and that he will meet with a woman who
+will truly and faithfully love him.'
+
+"Then she asked me if there was a light in her husband's study, and
+going out into the balcony to look, I said there was, and said,
+moreover, that my master often sat up the whole night through, reading
+and studying.
+
+"'You have been in his service a long time, Denise,' said my lady.
+
+"'Yes, my lady. I was born in this house, and my mother lived and died
+here.'
+
+"'Was your master always a student, Denise?'
+
+"Always, my lady. Even when he was a boy he would shut himself up with
+his books. He is not like other men. From his youngest days we used to
+speak of him with wonder.'
+
+"'He is very learned,' said my lady. 'How shall one be forgiven for
+breaking up his life?'
+
+"'Ah, my lady,' I said, 'if I dared to speak!'
+
+"'Speak freely, Denise!'
+
+"And then I described to her what a favourite my master was when he
+was a lad, and how everybody admired him, although he held himself
+aloof from people. I spoke of his gentleness, of his kindness, of his
+goodness to the poor, whom he used to visit and help in secret. I told
+her that never did woman have a more faithful and devoted lover than
+my master was to her, nor a man with a nobler heart, nor one who stood
+more highly in the world's esteem.
+
+"She listened in silence, and did not chide me for my boldness, and
+when I was done, she said she would retire to rest. But she was so
+weak that she could scarcely rise from her chair.
+
+"'I had best remain with you to-night, my lady,' I said; 'you may need
+my services.'
+
+"'It is not necessary," she said; 'I shall require nothing, and I
+shall be better to-morrow.'
+
+"I considered it my duty to make my master acquainted with his wife's
+condition, but I did not tell him of her intention to ask him to come
+to her to-morrow for fear that she should alter her mind. There had
+been disappointment and vexation enough in the house, and I would not
+add to it.
+
+"I could not rest, I was so anxious about my lady, and an hour after I
+was abed, I rose and dressed myself and went to her room. She was on
+her knees, praying by the bedside of her child, and I stole softly
+away without disturbing her.
+
+"Again, later in the night, I went to her room. She was sleeping
+calmly, but her breathing was so light that I could scarcely hear it.
+In the morning I helped her to dress, and afterwards assisted her to
+her favourite seat by the window.
+
+"Master Christian was already up and about, and shortly after his
+mother was dressed he came in loaded with flowers, to make the room
+look beautiful, he said, on this happy day.
+
+"It was a day he was never to forget."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XII
+
+                 THE LAST MEETING BETWEEN HUSBAND AND WIFE
+
+
+"The morning passed, and my lady made no sign. Master Christian,
+flitting restlessly in and out and about the room, waited impatiently
+for his mother's instructions to bring her husband to her. I offered
+her food, but she could not eat it. On the previous day the doctor,
+who regularly attended her, had said that his services were required
+at a great distance from the villa, and that he should not be able to
+visit my lady on the morrow. She had replied:
+
+"'Do not trouble, doctor; you can do nothing for me.'
+
+"And, indeed, there appeared to be no special necessity for his
+presence. My lady was not in pain; she looked happy and contented. But
+she was so quiet, so very, very quiet! Not a word of complaint or
+suffering, not a moan, not a sigh. Why, therefore, did my heart sink
+as I gazed at her?
+
+"At length Master Christian was compelled to speak; he could no longer
+control his impatience.
+
+"'Mamma, do you like the way I have arranged the flowers? The room looks
+pretty, does it not?'
+
+"'Yes, my child.'
+
+"'I wanted it to look very bright to-day. So did you, did you not,
+mamma? Papa will be pleased when he comes.'
+
+"'I hope so, my dear.'
+
+"'And I shall tell him that it is not so every day, and that it is done
+for him. Shall I go for him now?'
+
+"'Presently, my dear. Wait yet a little while.'
+
+"'But, mamma, it was to be to-day, you know, and it is nearly afternoon.
+Just look at the clock, mamma, it is nearly two---- Ah, but you are
+tired, and I am worrying you! Now I will sit quite still, and when the
+clock strikes two, you shall tell me to go for papa. Say yes, or look
+it, mamma.'
+
+"'Yes, my dear, at two o'clock you shall go. Denise will accompany
+you, for perhaps, Christian, your papa will think that the message
+comes from your affectionate heart, and not from me.'
+
+"'That,' said Master Christian,' is because I have tried to bring papa
+to you before. But I did it out of love, mamma.'
+
+"'I know, my dear, I know. If, when you were a little baby, and could
+not speak or think of things, I had reflected, it might all have been
+different. Perhaps I have been to blame.'
+
+"'No, mamma, you shall not say that; I will not let you say that. You
+can't do anything wrong, and papa can't do anything wrong. Now I shall
+be quite still, and watch the clock, and I will not say another word
+till it strikes.'
+
+"He sat, as he had promised, quite still, with his eyes fixed on the
+clock, and I saw by the motion of his lips that he was counting the
+seconds. Slowly, oh, so slowly, the hands moved round till they
+reached the hour, and then the silver chimes were heard. First, the
+four divisions of the hour, then the hour itself. One, Two. In my ears
+it was like the chapel bell calling the people to prayer.
+
+"'Now, mamma!' cried Master Christian, starting up.
+
+"She took his pretty face between her hands, and drew it close to
+hers. She kissed his lips and his forehead, and then her hands fell to
+her side.
+
+"'May I go now, mamma?'
+
+"He saw in her eyes that she was willing he should bring his father,
+and he embraced her joyfully, and ran out of the room crying:
+
+"'Come, Denise, come! Papa, papa!'
+
+"He did not wait for me, and when I arrived at the study door, the
+father and son were standing together, and Master Christian was trying
+to pull my master along.
+
+"'This little fellow here,' said my master, striving to speak
+cheerfully, but his lips trembled, and his voice was husky, 'has a
+strong imagination, and his heart is so full of love that it runs away
+with his tongue.'
+
+"'It does not, papa, it does not,' cried Master Christian very
+earnestly. 'And it is not imagination. Mamma wants you to come and
+love her.'
+
+"My master turned his enquiring eyes to my face.
+
+"'My lady wishes you to come to her, sir,' I said simply.
+
+"I knew that the fewer words I spoke at such a time the better it
+would be.
+
+"He did not question me. He was satisfied that I spoke the truth.
+
+"His agitation was great, and he walked a few steps from me, holding
+Master Christian by the hand, and then stood still for quite a minute.
+Then he stooped and kissed his son, and suffered himself to be led to
+my lady's room.
+
+"I followed them at a little distance, and remained outside my lady's
+room, while they entered and closed the door behind them. It was not
+right that any eyes but theirs should witness so sacred a meeting; but
+though I denied myself the pleasure of being present, my heart was in
+my ears. It was proper that I should be within call. In my lady's weak
+state, my services might be required.
+
+"From where I stood, I heard Master Christian's eager, happy voice:
+
+"'Mamma, mamma--here is papa! He is come at last, mamma! Speak to him,
+and love him, as I do! Papa, put your arms around mamma's neck, and
+kiss her.'
+
+"Then all was quiet--so quiet, so quiet! Not a sound, not a breath.
+Ah, Holy Mother! I can _hear_ the silence now:--I can _feel_ it about
+me! It was in this very room, and my lady was sitting in the chair in
+which you are seated.
+
+"Suddenly the silence was broken. My master was calling loudly for me.
+
+"'Denise--Denise! Where are you? Come quickly, for God's sake!'
+
+"Before the words were out of his lips, I was in the room. My master
+was looking wildly upon his wife and child. The lad, with his arms
+about his mother, was kissing her passionately, and crying over her.
+
+"'Mamma, mamma! why do you not speak? Here is papa waiting for you.
+Oh, mamma, say only one word!'
+
+"'Is it true,' my master whispered to me, 'that your lady sent you for
+me?'
+
+"'It is true, sir,' I replied in a low tone.
+
+"'What, then, is the meaning of this?' he asked, still in the same
+unnatural whisper. 'I have spoken to her--she will not answer me. She
+will not even look at me!'
+
+"A sudden fear smote my heart. I stepped softly to my lady's side. I
+gently unwound Master Christian's arms from his mother's neck. I took
+her hand in mine, and pressed it. The pressure was not returned. Her
+fingers, though still warm, were motionless.
+
+"'What is it, Denise?' my master asked hoarsely. 'The truth--the
+truth!'
+
+"He read the answer in my eyes. We were gazing on the face of a dead
+woman!
+
+"Yes, she was dead, and no word had been exchanged between them--no
+look of affection--no token of forgiveness. How truly, how
+prophetically, had she spoken to her husband in their last interview
+on this spot, eight years before! 'After this night I will never open
+my lips to you, nor, willingly, will I ever again listen to your
+voice!'
+
+"From that hour to this he had never heard the sound of her voice, and
+now that, after their long agony--for there is no doubt that his
+sufferings were as great as hers--she had summoned him to her, she was
+dead! Ah, if she had only lived to say:
+
+"'Mine was the fault; it was not only I who was betrayed; let there be
+peace and forgiveness between us!'
+
+"Did she know, when she called him to her, that he would look upon her
+dead face? Could she so measure her moments upon earth as to be
+certain that her heart would cease to beat as he entered the room at
+her bidding? No, it could not have been, for this premeditation would
+have proclaimed her capable of vindictive passion. She was full of
+tender feeling and sweet compassion, and the influence of her child
+_must_ have softened her heart towards the man who had loved and
+married her, and had done her no wrong.
+
+"That she knew she was dying was certain, and she was willing--nay
+more than willing, wishful to forgive and to ask forgiveness as she
+stood upon the brink of another world. The sight of his worn and
+wasted face may have shocked her and caused her sudden death. But it
+remained a mystery whether she had seen him--whether her spirit had
+not taken flight before her husband presented himself to her. It was a
+question none could answer.
+
+"I am aware that there are people who would say that my lady
+deliberately designed this last bitter blow to her husband. My master
+did not think so. When the first shock of his grief was spent, his
+face expressed nothing but sorrow and compassion. He kissed her
+once--on her forehead, not on her lips--and after her eyes were closed
+and she lay, white and beautiful, upon her bed, he sat by her side the
+whole of the day and night--for a great part of the time with Master
+Christian in his arms.
+
+"There were those in the villa who declared that on the night of her
+death the white shadow of my lady was seen gliding about the grounds,
+and from that day the place was supposed to be haunted. For my own
+part I knew that these were foolish fancies, but you cannot reason
+people out of them.
+
+"The next day my master made preparations for the funeral. His strange
+manner of conducting it strengthened the superstition. He would not
+have any of his old friends at the funeral, although many wrote to
+him. Only himself and Master Christian and the servants followed my
+lady to her grave. He would not allow any black crape to be worn, and
+all the female servants of the house were dressed in white.
+
+"It caused a great deal of talk, a good many people saying that it was
+a sinful proceeding on the part of my master, and that it was a sign
+of joy at his wife's death. They must have been blind to the grief in
+his face--so plainly written there that the tears came to my eyes as I
+looked at it--when they uttered this slander. And yet, if the truth
+were told, if it were deeply searched for among the ashes in his
+heart, it is not unlikely that my master was sorrowfully grateful that
+his wife's martyrdom was at an end. For her sake, not for his own, did
+he experience this sad feeling of gratitude. It was entirely in
+accordance with his stern sense of justice--in the exercise of which
+he was least likely to spare himself of all people in the world--that,
+while he was bowed down to the earth in grief, he should be glad that
+his wife was dead.
+
+"All kinds of rumours were afloat concerning the house and the family.
+The gossips declared that on certain nights the grounds were filled
+with white shadows, mournfully following each other in a long funeral
+train. That is how the villa grew to be called The House of Shadows.
+
+"It was like a tomb. Not a person was permitted to pass the gates. Not
+a servant could be prevailed upon to stop. All of them left, with the
+exception of Martin and myself, and my daughter, Dionetta's mother.
+Dionetta was not born at the time. We were glad to take Fritz the Fool
+into the place, to run of errands and do odd jobs. He was a young lad
+then, an orphan, and has been hanging about ever since. But for all
+the good he is, he might as well be at the other end of the world.
+
+"The rumours spread into distant quarters, and one day a priest, who
+had travelled scores of miles for the purpose of seeing my master,
+presented himself at the gates, which were always kept locked by my
+master's orders. I asked the priest what he wanted, and he said he
+must speak to Mr. Almer. I told him that no person was admitted, and
+that my master would see none, but he insisted that I should give his
+errand. I did so, and my master accompanied me to the gates.
+
+"'You have received your answer from my servant,' said my master. 'Why
+do you persist in your attempts to force yourself upon me?'
+
+"'My errand is a solemn one,' said the priest; 'I am bidden by Heaven
+to come to you.'
+
+"My master smiled scornfully. 'What deeds in my life,' he said, 'I
+shall be called upon to answer for before a divine tribunal, concern
+me, and me only. Were you an officer of justice you should be
+admitted; but you are a priest, and I do not need you. I am my own
+priest. Begone.'
+
+"He was importunate, and was not so easily got rid of. Day after day,
+for two weeks, he made his appearance at the gates, but he could not
+obtain admittance, and at length he was compelled to forego his
+mission, whatever it might have been, and to leave without having any
+further speech with my master.
+
+"Soon after he left, my master took Master Christian to school, at a
+great distance from the village, and returning alone, resumed his
+solitary habits.
+
+"How well do I remember the evening on which he desired me not to
+disturb him on any account whatever, and to come to his study at four
+o'clock on the afternoon of the following day. At that hour, I knocked
+at the door, and received no answer. I knocked several times, and,
+becoming alarmed, tried the handle of the door. It was unlocked, and I
+stepped into the study, and said:
+
+"'It is I, sir, Denise; you bade me come at this hour.'
+
+"I spoke to deaf ears. On the floor lay my master stone dead!
+
+"He had not killed himself; he died a natural death, and must have
+been forewarned that his moments on earth were numbered.
+
+"That is all I have to tell, my lady."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIII
+
+                    THE ARRIVAL OF CHRISTIAN ALMER
+
+
+"And you have really told it very well, Mother Denise," said the
+Advocate's wife; "with such sentiment, and in such beautiful language!
+It is a great talent: I don't know when I have been so interested.
+Why, in some parts you actually gave me the creeps! And here is
+Dionetta, as white as a lily. What a comfort it must have been to the
+poor lady to have had a good soul like you about her! If such a
+misfortune happened to me, I should like to have just such a servant
+as you were to her."
+
+"Heaven forbid, my lady," said Mother Denise, raising her hands, "that
+such an unhappy lot should be yours!"
+
+"Well, to tell you the truth," said Adelaide, with a bright
+smile, "I do not think it at all likely to happen. Of course,
+there is no telling what one might have to go through. Men are
+such strange creatures, and lead such strange lives! They may do
+anything--absolutely anything!--fight, gamble, make love without the
+least sincerity, deceive poor women and forsake them--yes, they may do
+all that, and the world will smile indulgently upon them. But if one
+of us, Mother Denise, makes the slightest trip, dear me! what a fuss
+is made about it--how shocked everybody is! A perfect carnival for the
+scandal-mongers! 'Isn't it altogether too dreadful.' 'Did you ever
+hear of such a thing?' 'Would you have believed it of her?' That is
+what is said by all sorts of people. But if _I_ happened to be treated
+badly I should not submit to it tamely--nor between you and me, Mother
+Denise, in my opinion, did the lady whose story you have just
+related."
+
+"Everything occurred," said Mother Denise stiffly, "exactly as I have
+described it."
+
+"With a small allowance," said Adelaide archly, "for exaggeration, and
+with here and there a chapter left out. Come, you must admit that!"
+
+"I have omitted nothing, my lady. I am angry with myself for having
+told so much. I doubt whether I have not done wrong."
+
+"Mr. Christian Almer, whom I expect every minute"--and Adelaide looked
+at her watch--"would have been seriously annoyed with you if you had
+not satisfied my curiosity. Where is the harm? To be living here, with
+such an interesting tale untold, would have been inexcusable,
+perfectly inexcusable. But I am certain that you have purposely passed
+over more than one chapter, and I admire you for it. It is highly to
+your credit not to have told all you know, though it could hurt no one
+at this distance of time."
+
+"What do you think I have concealed, my lady?"
+
+"There was a certain M. Gabriel," said Adelaide, "who played a most
+important part in the story--a good many people would say, the most
+important part. If it had not been for him, there would have been no
+story to tell worth the hearing; there would have been no quarrel
+between husband and wife, and the foolish young lady would not have
+died, and I should not be here, listening to her story, and ready to
+cry my eyes out in pity for her. M. Gabriel must have been a very
+handsome young fellow, or there would not have been such a fuss made
+about him. There! I declare you have never even given me a description
+of him. Of course he was handsome."
+
+She was full of vivacity, and as she leaned forward towards the old
+housekeeper, it appeared as if, in her estimation, nothing connected
+with the story she had heard was of so much importance as this
+question, which she repeated anxiously, "Tell me, Mother Denise, was
+he handsome?"
+
+"He was exceedingly good-looking," Mother Denise was constrained to
+reply, "but not so distinguished in his bearing as my unhappy master."
+
+"Tall?"
+
+"Yes, tall, my lady."
+
+"Dark or fair? But I think you gave me the impression that he was
+dark."
+
+"Yes, my lady, he was dark," replied Mother Denise, coldly, more and
+more displeased at the frivolity of the questions.
+
+"And young, of course--much younger than Mr. Almer?"
+
+"Much younger, my lady."
+
+"There would be no sense in the matter otherwise; anyone might guess
+that he was young and handsome and fascinating. Well, as I was about
+to say--I hope you will forgive me for flying off as I do; my head
+gets so full of ideas that they tumble over one another--all at once
+this M. Gabriel drops clean out of the story, and we hear nothing more
+of him. If there is one thing more inexplicable than another in the
+affair, it is that nothing more should be heard of M. Gabriel."
+
+"We live out of the gay world, my lady; far removed from it, I am
+happy to think. It is not at all strange that in this quiet village we
+should not know what became of him."
+
+"That is assuming that M. Gabriel went back into the gay world, as you
+call it, which is not such a bad place, I assure you, Mother Denise."
+
+"He could not have stopped in the village, my lady, without its being
+known."
+
+"Probably not; but, you dear old soul!" said Adelaide, her manner
+becoming more animated as that of Mother Denise became more frigid,
+"you dear old soul, they always come back! When lovers are dismissed,
+as M. Gabriel was, they always come back. They think they never
+will--they vow they never will--but they cannot help themselves. They
+are not their own masters. It is the story of the moth and the candle
+over again."
+
+"You mean, my lady," said Mother Denise, very gravely, "that M.
+Gabriel returned to the villa."
+
+"That is my meaning exactly. What else could he do?"
+
+"I will not say whether I am glad or sorry to disappoint you, my lady,
+but M. Gabriel, after the summer-house was barred up, never made his
+appearance again in the village."
+
+"Of course, under the circumstances, he could not show himself to
+everybody. It was necessary that he should be cautious. He had to come
+quietly--secretly, if you like."
+
+"He never came, my lady," said Mother Denise, with determination.
+
+"But he wrote, and sent his letters by a confidential messenger; he
+did that at least."
+
+"I told you, my lady, that while my poor mistress lived in these rooms
+she never received or wrote a letter."
+
+"If that is so, his letters to her must have been intercepted."
+
+"There were no letters," said Mother Denise, stubbornly.
+
+"There were," said Adelaide, smiling a reproof to Mother Denise. "I
+know the ways of men better than you do."
+
+"By whom, my lady, do you suppose these imaginary letters were
+intercepted?"
+
+"By her husband, of course, you dear, simple soul!"
+
+"Mr. Almer could not have been guilty of such an act."
+
+The Advocate's wife gazed admiringly at the housekeeper. "Dionetta,"
+she exclaimed, "never be tempted to betray your mistress's secrets;
+take pattern by your grandmother."
+
+"She might do worse, my lady," said Mother Denise, still unbending.
+
+"Indeed she might. I am thinking of something. On the night you were
+aroused from your sleep, and heard the sound of a man falling to the
+ground----"
+
+"I only fancied it was a man, my lady; we never learnt the truth."
+
+"It was a man, and he climbed the wall. And he chose a dark and stormy
+night for his adventure. He was a brave fellow. I quite admire him."
+
+"Admire a thief!" exclaimed Mother Denise, in horror.
+
+"My dear old soul, you _must_ know it was not a thief. The house was
+not robbed, was it?"
+
+"No, my lady, nothing was taken; but what is the use of speaking of
+it?"
+
+"When once I get an idea into my head," said Adelaide, "it carries me
+along, whether I like it or not. So, then--some time after you heard a
+man falling or jumping from the wall, you heard the sound of someone
+walking in the paths outside. He was fearful of disturbing anyone in
+the house, and he trod very, very softly. I should have done just the
+same. Now can't you guess the name of that man?"
+
+"No, my lady, it was never discovered. He was a villain, whoever he
+was, to poison our dogs."
+
+"That was a small matter. What is the life of a dog--of a thousand
+dogs--when a man is in love?"
+
+"My lady!" cried Mother Denise. "What is it you are saying?"
+
+"Nothing will deter him," continued Adelaide, with an intense
+enjoyment of the old woman's uneasiness, "nothing will frighten him,
+if he is brave and earnest, as M. Gabriel was. You dear old soul, the
+man you heard in the grounds that night was M. Gabriel, and he came to
+see your mistress--perhaps to carry her off! This window is not very
+high; I could almost jump from it myself."
+
+Mother Denise pressed her hand to her side, as though to relieve a
+sudden pain; her face was white with a newly born apprehension.
+
+"Do you really believe, my lady," she asked in trembling tones, "that
+M. Gabriel would have dared to enter the grounds in the dead of night,
+like a thief, after what had occurred?"
+
+"I certainly believe it; it was the daring of a lover, not of a thief.
+Were any traces of blood discovered in the grounds?"
+
+"None were discovered; but if blood was spilt, the rain would have
+washed it away."
+
+"Or it could have been wiped away in the dark night!"
+
+"Is it possible," said Mother Denise under her breath, "that you can
+be right, and that my master and M. Gabriel met on that night!"
+
+"The most probable occurrence in the world," said Adelaide, with a
+pleasant smile. "What should have made your old master so anxious that
+you should not speak of the sounds you heard? He had a motive, depend
+upon it."
+
+Mother Denise, who had sunk into a chair in great agitation, suddenly
+rose, and said abruptly:
+
+"My lady, this is very painful to me. Will you allow me to go?"
+
+"Certainly; do not let me detain you a moment. I cannot express to you
+the obligations you have laid me under by relating the history of this
+house and family. There is nothing more to do in these rooms, I
+believe. How very, very pretty they look! We must do everything in our
+power to make the place pleasant to the young master who is coming.
+But I think I can promise he will be happy here."
+
+Not even Adelaide's smiles and good-humour could smooth Mother
+Denise's temper for the rest of the day.
+
+"Mark my words, Martin," she said to her husband, "something wrong
+will happen before the Advocate and his fine lady leave the villa. She
+has put such horrible ideas into my head! Ah, but I will not think of
+them; it is treason, rank treason! We shall rue the day she came among
+us."
+
+"Ha, ha!" chuckled the old man slyly. "You're jealous, Denise, you're
+jealous! She is the pleasantest lady, and the sweetest spoken, and the
+most generous, and the handsomest, for twenty miles round. The whole
+village is in love with her."
+
+"And you as well as the rest, I suppose," snapped Mother Denise.
+
+"I don't say that--I don't say that," piped Martin, with a childish
+laugh. "Never kiss and tell, Denise, never kiss and tell! If I was
+young and straight----"
+
+"But you're old and crooked," retorted Mother Denise, "and your mind's
+going, if it hasn't gone already. You grow sillier and sillier every
+day."
+
+A reproach the old man received with gleeful laughs and tiresome
+coughs. His worship of the beautiful lady was not to be lightly
+disturbed.
+
+"The sweetest and the handsomest!" he chuckled, as he hobbled away,
+at the rate of half a mile an hour. "I'd walk twenty mile to serve
+her--twenty mile--twenty mile!"
+
+"And this is actually the room," said Adelaide, walking about it, "in
+which that poor lady spent so many unhappy years! Her prison! Her
+grave! Dionetta, my pretty one, when the chance of happiness is
+offered to you, do not throw it away. Life is short. Enjoy it. A great
+many people moralise and preach, but if you were to see what they do,
+and put it in by the side of what they say, you would understand what
+fools those people must be who believe in their moralising and
+preaching. The persecuted lady whose story your grandmother has told
+us--what happiness did she enjoy in her life? None. Do you know why,
+Dionetta? Because it was life without love. Love is life's sunshine.
+Better to be dead than to live without it! Hark! Is not that a
+carriage driving up at the gates?"
+
+She ran swiftly from the room, down the stairs, into the grounds. The
+gates were thrown open. A young man, just alighted, came towards her.
+She ran forward to meet him, with outstretched hands, with face
+beaming with joy. He took her hands in his.
+
+"Welcome, Mr. Almer," she said aloud, so that those around her could
+hear her. "You have had a pleasant journey, I hope." And then, in a
+whisper, "Christian!"
+
+"Adelaide!" he said, in a tone as low as hers.
+
+"Now I am the happiest woman!" she murmured. "It is an eternity since
+I saw you. How could you have kept away from me so long?"
+
+
+
+
+
+                _BOOK IV.--THE BATTLE WITH CONSCIENCE_
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I
+
+                          LAWYER AND PRIEST
+
+
+It happened that certain persons had selected this evening as a
+suitable occasion for a friendly visit to the House of White Shadows;
+Jacob Hartrich, the banker, was one of these. The banker was
+accompanied by his wife, a handsome and dignified woman, and by his
+two daughters, whose personal attractions, enhanced by their father's
+wealth and their consequent expectations, would have created a
+sensation in fashionable circles. Although in his religious
+observances Jacob Hartrich was by no means orthodox, he did not
+consider himself less a true Jew on that account. It is recognised by
+the most intelligent and liberal-minded of his race in the civilised
+countries of the world that the carrying-out of the Mosaic law in its
+integrity would not only debar them from social relations, but would
+check their social advancement. It is a consequence of the recognition
+of this undoubted fact that the severe ordinances of the Jewish
+religion should become relaxed in their fulfilment. Jacob Hartrich was
+a member of this band of reformers, and though his conscience
+occasionally gave him a twinge, he was none the less devoted, in a
+curiously jealous and illogical spirit, to the faith of his
+forefathers, to which he clung with the greater tenacity because his
+daily habits compelled him to act, to some extent, in antagonism with
+the decrees they had laid down.
+
+Master Pierre Lamont was also at the villa. His bodily ailments were
+more severe than usual, and the jolting over the rough roads, as he
+was drawn from his house in his hand-carriage, had caused him
+excruciating suffering. He bore it with grins and grimaces, scorning
+to give pain an open triumph over him. Fritz was not by his side to
+amuse him with his humour; the Fool was at the court, on this last day
+of Gautran's trial, as he had been on every previous day, hastening
+thence every evening to Pierre Lamont, to give him an account of the
+day's proceedings.
+
+Father Capel was there--a simple and learned ecclesiastic, with a
+smile and a pleasant greeting for old and young, for rich and poor
+alike. A benevolent, sweet-natured man, who, when trouble came to his
+door, received it with cheerful resignation; universally beloved; a
+man whose course through life was strewn with flowers of charity and
+kindness.
+
+The visit of these and other guests was unexpected by Adelaide, and
+she inwardly resented the interruption to a contemplated quiet evening
+with Christian Almer; but outwardly she was all affability.
+
+The principal topic of conversation was the trial of Gautran, and
+Pierre Lamont was enthusiastic on the theme.
+
+"The trial will end this evening," he said, "and intellect will
+triumph."
+
+"Truth, I trust, will triumph," said Jacob Hartrich, gravely.
+
+"Intellect is truth's best champion," said Pierre Lamont. "But some
+mortals believe themselves to be omniscient, and set up a standard of
+truth which is independent of proof. I understood that you were to
+have been on the jury at the trial."
+
+"I was excused," said Jacob Hartrich, "on the ground that I had
+already formed so strong a view of the guilt of the prisoner that no
+testimony could affect it."
+
+"Decidedly," observed Pierre Lamont, "an unfit frame of mind to take
+part in a judicial inquiry of great difficulty. For my own part, I
+would willingly have given a year of my life, which cannot have too
+many years to run, to have been able to be in Geneva these last few
+days. It will be long before another trial so celebrated will take
+place in our courts."
+
+"I am happy to think so."
+
+"It has always been a puzzle to me," said Adelaide, whose feelings
+towards Pierre Lamont were of the most contradictory character--now
+inclining her to be exceedingly partial to him, now to detest
+him--"how such vulgar cases can excite the interest they do."
+
+"It is surprising," was Pierre Lamont's comment, "that the wife of an
+Advocate so celebrated should express such an opinion."
+
+"There are stranger things than that in the world, Master Lamont."
+
+"Truly, truly," said Pierre Lamont, regarding her with curiosity; "but
+cannot you understand how even these vulgar cases become, at least for
+a time, great and grand when the highest qualities of the mind are
+engaged in unravelling the threads which bind them?"
+
+"No, I cannot understand it," she replied with an amiable smile. "I
+believe that you lawyers are only happy when people are murdering and
+robbing each other."
+
+"My friend the Advocate," said Pierre Lamont, bending gallantly, an
+exertion which sent a twinge of pain through his body, "is at least
+happy in one other respect--that of being the husband of a lady whom
+none can see without admiring--if I were a younger man I should say
+without loving."
+
+"Pierre Lamont," said Jacob Hartrich, "gives us here a proof that love
+and law can go hand in hand."
+
+"Nay," said Pierre Lamont, whose eyes and mind were industriously
+studying the face of his beautiful hostess, "such proof from me is not
+needed. The Advocate has supplied it, and words cannot strengthen the
+case."
+
+And he waved his hand courteously towards Adelaide.
+
+These compliments were not wasted upon her, and Pierre Lamont laughed
+secretly as he observed their effect.
+
+"You are worth studying, fair dame," he thought, "with your smiling
+face, and your heart of vanity, and your lack of sympathy with your
+husband's triumphs. If not with his triumphs, then not with him!
+Feeling you _must_ have, though it is born of selfishness. Ah! the
+curtain is drawn aside. Which one, which one, you beautiful animal?"
+His eyes travelled from one to the other in the room, until they fell
+upon Christian Almer, whose eyes at that moment met those of Adelaide.
+"Ah!" and he drew a deep breath of enjoyment. "Are you the favoured
+one, my master of this House of Shadows! Then we must take you into
+the game, for it cannot be played without you."
+
+The old lawyer was in his element, probing character and motive, and
+submitting them to mental analysis. Physically he was helpless amidst
+the animated life around him; curled up in his invalid chair he was
+dependent for every movement upon his fellow-creatures; despite his
+intellect, he was at the mercy of a hind; but he was nevertheless the
+strongest man in all that throng, the man most to be feared by those
+who had anything to conceal, any secret which it behoved them to hide
+from the knowledge of men.
+
+"How such vulgar cases," he said aloud, to the astonishment of the
+Advocate's wife, who deemed the subject dismissed, "can excite the
+interest they do! It surprises you. But there is not one of these
+cases which does not contain elements of human sympathy and affinity
+with ourselves. This very case of Gautran--what is its leading
+feature? Love--the theme of minstrel and poet, the sentiment without
+which human and divine affairs would be plunged into darkness. Crimes
+for which Gautran is being tried are caused by the human passions and
+emotions which direct our own movements. The balance in our favour is
+so heavy when our desires and wishes clash with the desires and wishes
+of other men, that we easily find justification for our misdeeds.
+Father Capel is listening to me with more than ordinary attention. He
+perceives the justice of my argument."
+
+"We travel by different roads," said Father Capel. "You do not take
+into account the prompting of evil spirits, ever on the alert to
+promote discord and instigate to crime. It is that consideration which
+makes me tolerant of human error, which makes me pity it, which makes
+me forgive it."
+
+"I dispute your spiritual basis. All motive for crime springs from
+within ourselves."
+
+"Nay, nay," gently remonstrated Father Capel.
+
+"Pardon me for restraining you. I was about to say that not only does
+all motive for human crime spring from within ourselves, but all
+motive for human goodness as well. If your thesis that evil spirits
+prompt us to crime is correct, it must be equally correct that good
+spirits prompt us to deeds of mercy, and charity, and kindness. Then
+there is no merit in performing a good action. You rob life of its
+grace, and you virtually declare that it is an injustice to punish a
+man for murdering his fellow-creature. Plainly stated, you establish
+the doctrine of irresponsibility. I will not do you the injustice of
+believing that you are in earnest. Your tolerance of human error, and
+your pity and forgiveness for it, spring from natural kindliness, as
+my tolerance of it, and my lack of pity and forgiveness for it, spring
+from a natural hardness of heart, begot of much study of the weakness,
+perverseness, and selfishness of my species. In the rank soil of these
+imperfections grows that wondrous, necessary tree known by the name of
+Law, whose wide-spreading branches at once smite and protect. You may
+thank this tree for preserving to some extent the decencies of
+society."
+
+"Well expressed, Pierre Lamont," said Jacob Hartrich approvingly. "I
+regret that the Advocate is not present to listen to your eloquence."
+
+"Ah," said Pierre Lamont, with a scarcely perceptible sneer, "does
+your endorsement spring from judgment or self-interest?"
+
+"You strike both friend and foe," said Father Capel, with much
+gentleness. "It is as dangerous to agree with you as to dissent from
+you. But in your extravagant laudation of the profession of which you
+are a representative you lose sight of a mightier engine than Law,
+towering far above it in usefulness, and as a protection, no less than
+a solace to mankind. Without Religion, Law would be powerless, and the
+world a world of wild beasts. It softens, humanizes----"
+
+"Invents," sneered Pierre Lamont, with undisguised contempt, "fables
+which sober reason rejects."
+
+"If you will have it so, yes. Fables to divert men's minds from sordid
+materialism into purer channels. Be thankful for Religion if you
+practise it not. In the Sabbath's holy peace, in the hush and calm of
+one day out of the turbulent seven, in the influences which touch you
+closely, though you do not acknowledge them, in the restraint imposed
+by fear, in the charitable feelings inspired by love, in the unseen
+spirit which softens and subdues, in the yearning hope which chastens
+grief when one dear to you is lost, lie the safeguard of your days and
+much of the happiness you enjoy. So much for your body. For your soul,
+I will pray to-night."
+
+"Father Capel," said Pierre Lamont in a voice of honey, "if all
+priests were like you, I would wear a hair-shirt to-morrow."
+
+"What need, my son," asked Father Capel, "if you have a conscience?"
+
+"Let me pay for my sins," said Pierre Lamont, handing his purse to the
+priest.
+
+Father Capel took a few francs from the purse. "For the poor," he
+said. "In their name I bless you!"
+
+"The priest has the best of it," said Adelaide to Christian Almer. "I
+hate these dry arguments! It is altogether too bad that I should be
+called upon to entertain a set of musty old men. How much happier we
+should be, we two alone, even in the mountains where you have been
+hiding yourself from me!"
+
+"You are in better health and spirits," said Jacob Hartrich, drawing
+Almer aside, "than when I last saw you. The mountain air has done you
+good. It is strange to see you in the old house; I thought it would
+never be opened again to receive guests."
+
+"It is many years since we were together under this roof," said
+Christian Almer thoughtfully.
+
+"You were so young at the time," rejoined the banker, "that you can
+scarcely have a remembrance of it."
+
+"My remembrance is very keen. I could have been scarcely six years of
+age, and we had no visitors. I remember that my curiosity was excited
+because you were admitted."
+
+"I came on business," said Jacob Hartrich, and then, unwilling to
+revive the sad reminiscences of the young man's childhood, he said
+abruptly: "Almer, you should marry." His eyes wandered to his two
+comely daughters.
+
+"What is that you are saying?" interposed the Advocate's wife; "that
+Mr. Almer should marry? If I were a man--how I wish I were!--nothing,
+nothing in the world would tempt me to marry. I would live a life
+without chain or shackle."
+
+"So, so, my fair dame," thought Pierre Lamont, who had overheard this
+remark. "Bright as you appear, there is a skeleton in your cupboard.
+Chains and shackles! But you are sufficiently self-willed to throw
+these off." And he said aloud: "Can you ascertain for me if Fritz the
+Fool has returned from Geneva?"
+
+"Certainly," replied Adelaide, and Dionetta being in the room, she
+sent her out to inquire.
+
+"If he has returned," said Pierre Lamont, "the trial is over. I miss
+the fool's nightly report of the proceedings, which he has given me
+regularly since the commencement of the inquiry."
+
+"If the trial is over," said Christian Almer, "the Advocate should be
+here."
+
+"You need not expect him so soon," said Pierre Lamont; "after such
+exertion as he has gone through, an hour's solitude is imperative.
+Besides, Fritz can travel faster than our slow-going horses; he is as
+fleet as a hare."
+
+"A favourite of yours, evidently."
+
+"I have the highest respect for him. This particular fool is the
+wisest fool in my acquaintance."
+
+Dionetta entered the room with Fritz at her heels.
+
+"Well, Fritz," called out Pierre Lamont, "is the trial over?"
+
+"Yes, Master Lamont, and we're ready for the next."
+
+"The verdict, Fritz, the verdict?" eagerly inquired Pierre Lamont, and
+everybody in the room listened anxiously for the reply.
+
+"If I were a bandy-legged man," said Fritz, ignoring the question, "I
+would hire some scoundrel to do a deed, so that you might be on one
+side and my lord the Advocate on the other. Then we should witness a
+fine battle of brains."
+
+"Come, Fritz--the verdict!" repeated Pierre Lamont impatiently.
+
+"On second thoughts," said Fritz quietly, "you would be no match for
+the greatest lawyer living. I would not have you on my side. It is as
+well that your pleading days are ended."
+
+"No fooling, Fritz. The verdict; Acquitted?"
+
+"What else? Washed white as driven snow."
+
+"I knew it would be so," cried the old lawyer triumphantly. "How was
+it received?"
+
+"The town is mad about it. The women are furious, and the men
+thunderstruck. You should have heard the speech! Such a thing was
+never known. Men's minds were twisted inside out, and the jury were
+convinced against their convictions. Why, Master Lamont, even Gautran
+himself for a few minutes believed himself to be innocent!"
+
+"Enough," said Christian Almer sternly. "Leave the room."
+
+Fritz darted a sharp look at the newly returned master, and with a low
+bow quitted the apartment. The next moment the Advocate made his
+appearance, and all eyes were turned towards him.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                           THE WHITE SHADOW
+
+
+He entered the room with a cloud upon his face. Gautran's horrible
+confession had deeply moved him, and, almost for the first time in his
+life, he found himself at fault. His heart was heavy, and his mind was
+troubled; but he had never yet lost his power of self-control, and the
+moment he saw his guests the mask fell over his features, and they
+assumed their usual tranquil expression. He greeted one and another
+with calmness and courtesy, leaving his wife and Christian Almer to
+the last.
+
+"I am happy to tell you, Adelaide," he said, "that the trial is over."
+
+"Oh, we have already had the news," she said coldly. "Fool Fritz has
+given us a glowing account of it, and the excitement the verdict
+created."
+
+"Did it create excitement?" he asked. "I was not aware of it."
+
+"I take no interest in such cases, as you are aware," she rejoined.
+"You knew the man was innocent, or you would not have defended him. It
+is a pity the monster is set free."
+
+"Last, but not least," said the Advocate, turning to Christian Almer,
+and cordially pressing his hand. "Welcome, and again welcome! You have
+come to stay?"
+
+Adelaide answered for him:
+
+"Certainly he has: I have his promise."
+
+"That is well," said the Advocate. "I am glad to see you looking so
+bright, Christian."
+
+"You have not derived much benefit from your holiday," said Christian
+Almer, gazing at the Advocate's pale face. "Was it wise to take upon
+yourself the weight of so harassing a trial?"
+
+"Do we always do what is wise?" asked the Advocate, with a smile in
+which there was no light.
+
+"But seldom, I should say," replied Almer. "I once had great faith in
+the power of Will; but I am beginning to believe that we are as
+completely slaves to independent forces as feathers in a fierce wind:
+driven this way or that in spite of ourselves. Not inward, but outward
+magnetism rules us. Perhaps the best plan is to submit without a
+struggle."
+
+"Of course it is," said Adelaide with a bright look, "if it is
+pleasant to submit. It is ridiculous to make one's head ache over
+things. I can teach you, in a word, a wiser lesson than either of you
+have ever learnt."
+
+"What is that word, Adelaide?" asked the Advocate.
+
+"Enjoy," she replied.
+
+"A butterfly's philosophy. What say you, Christian? Shall we follow
+the teaching of this Solon in petticoats?"
+
+"May I join you?" said Pierre Lamont, who had caused himself to be
+drawn to this group. "My infirmities make me a privileged person, and
+unless I thrust myself forward, I might be left to languish like a
+decrepit spider in a ruined web."
+
+"Ill-natured people," remarked Adelaide, "might say that your figure
+of speech is a dangerous one for a lawyer to employ."
+
+"Fairest of dames," said Pierre Lamont, "your arrows are sugar-tipped;
+there is no poison in them. Use me as your target, I beg. You put new
+life into this old frame."
+
+"The old school can teach the new," said Christian Almer. "You should
+open a class of gallantry, Master Lamont."
+
+"I! with my useless limbs! You mock me!"
+
+"He will not allow me to be angry with him," said Adelaide, smiling on
+the lawyer.
+
+Then Pierre Lamont drew the Advocate into a conversation on the trial
+which the Advocate would gladly have avoided, could he have done so
+without being considered guilty of a breach of courtesy. But Pierre
+Lamont was not a man to be denied, and the Advocate was fain to answer
+the questions put to him until the old lawyer was acquainted with
+every detail of the line of defence.
+
+"Excellent--excellent!" he exclaimed. "A masterstroke! You do not
+share my enthusiasm," he said, addressing Jacob Hartrich, who had
+stood silently by, listening to the conversation. "You have no
+understanding of the intense, the fierce delight of such a battle and
+such a victory."
+
+"The last word is not spoken here on earth," said Jacob Hartrich.
+"There is a higher tribunal."
+
+"Well said, my son," said Father Capel.
+
+"Son!" said Pierre Lamont to the banker, with a little scornful laugh.
+"Resent the familiarity, man of another faith."
+
+"Better any faith than none," warmly remarked Jacob Hartrich,
+cordially taking the hand which Father Capel held out to him.
+
+"Good! good! good!" cried Pierre Lamont. "I stand renounced by church
+and synagogue."
+
+"You are uncharitable only to yourself," said Father Capel. "I, for
+one, will not take you at your word."
+
+Pierre Lamont lowered his eyes. "You teach me humility," he said.
+
+"Profit by it," rejoined Father Capel.
+
+"You formed the opinion that Gautran was guilty," said Pierre Lamont
+to the banker. "Upon what evidence?"
+
+"Inward conviction," briefly replied Jacob Hartrich.
+
+"You, at least," said Pierre Lamont, turning his wily face to Father
+Capel, "although you look at human affairs through Divine light, have
+a respect for the law."
+
+"Undoubtedly," was the reply.
+
+"But this man of finance," said Pierre Lamont, "would destroy its very
+fabric when it clashes with his inward conviction. Argue with him, and
+your words fall against a steel wall, impenetrable to logic, reason,
+natural deduction, and even common sense--and behind this wall lurks a
+self-sufficient imp which he calls Inward Conviction. Useful enough,
+nay, necessary, in religion, for it needs no proof. Faith answers for
+all. Accept, and rest content. I congratulate you, Jacob Hartrich. But
+does it not occur to you that others, besides yourself, may have
+inward convictions antagonistic to yours, and that occasionally theirs
+may be the true conviction and yours the false? Our friend the
+Advocate, for instance. Do you think it barely possible that he would
+have undertaken the defence of Gautran unless he had an inward
+conviction, formed upon a sure foundation, that the man was innocent
+of the crime imputed to him?"
+
+It was with some indignation that Jacob Hartrich replied, "That a man
+of honour would voluntarily come forward as a defender under any
+conditions than that of the firmest belief in the prisoner's innocence
+is incredible."
+
+"We agree upon this point I am happy to know, and upon another--that
+in the profession to which I have the honour to belong, there are men
+whose actions are guided by the highest and finest principles, and
+whose motives spring from what I conceive to be the most ennobling of
+all impulse, a desire for justice."
+
+"Who can doubt it?"
+
+"How, then, stands the case as between you and my brother the
+Advocate? You have an inward conviction of Gautran's guilt--he an
+inward conviction of Gautran's innocence. Up to a certain time you and
+he are on an equality; your knowledge of the crime is derived from
+hearsay and newspaper reports. Upon that evidence you rest; you have
+your business to attend to--the value of money, the fluctuations of
+the Exchanges, the public movements which affect securities, in
+addition to the anxieties springing from your private transactions.
+The Advocate cannot afford to depend upon hearsay and the newspapers.
+It is his business to investigate, to unearth, to bring together the
+scattered bones and fit them one with another, to reason, to argue, to
+deduce. As all the powers of your mind are brought to bear upon your
+business, which is money, so all the powers of his mind are brought to
+bear upon his, which is Gautran, in connection with the crime of which
+he stands accused. His inward conviction of the man's innocence is
+strengthened no less by the facts which come to light than by the
+presumptive evidence he is enabled by his patience and application to
+bring forward in favour of his client. You and he are no longer on an
+equality. He is a man informed, you remain in ignorance. He has
+dissected the body, and all the arteries of the crime are exposed to
+his sight and judgment. You merely raise up a picture--a dark night, a
+river, a girl vainly struggling with her fate, a murderer (with veiled
+face) flying from the spot, or looking with brutal calmness upon his
+victim. That is the entire extent of your knowledge. You seize a
+brush--you throw light upon the darkness--you paint the river and the
+girl--you paint the portrait of the murderer, Gautran. All is clear to
+you. You have formed your own court of justice, imagination affords
+the proof, and prejudice is the judge. It is an easy and agreeable
+task to find the prisoner guilty. You are satisfied. You believe you
+have fulfilled a duty, whereas you have been but a stumbling-block in
+the path of justice."
+
+"Notwithstanding which," said Jacob Hartrich, who had thoroughly
+recovered his good humour, "I have as firm a conviction as ever in the
+guilt of Gautran the woodman."
+
+"Admonish this member of a stiff-necked race, Father Capel," said
+Pierre Lamont, "and tell him why reason was given to man."
+
+Earnest as the old lawyer was in the discussion, and apparently
+engaged in it to the exclusion of all other subjects, he had eyes and
+ears for everything that passed in the room. Retirement from the
+active practice of his profession had by no means rusted his powers;
+on the contrary, indeed, for it had developed in him a finer and more
+subtle capacity of observation. It gave him time, also, to devote
+himself to matters which, at an earlier period of his life, he would
+have considered trivial. Thus, when he moved in private circles, freed
+from larger duties, there lurked in him always a possible danger, and
+although he would not do mischief for mischief's sake, he was
+irresistibly drawn in its direction. The quality of his mind was such
+as to seek out for itself, and unerringly detect, human blemish. He
+was ready, when it was presented to him, to recognise personal
+goodness, but while he recognised he did not admire it. The good man
+was in his eyes a negative character, pithless, uninteresting; his
+dominant qualities, being on the surface, presented no field for
+study. He himself, as has already been seen, was not loth to bestow
+money in charity, but he was destitute of benevolence; his soul never
+glowed with pity, nor did the sight of suffering touch his heart.
+While goodness did not attract him, he took no interest in the
+profligate or dissolute. His magnet was of the Machiavellian type.
+Cunning, craft, duplicity, guile--here he was at home in his glory. As
+easy to throw him off the scent as a bloodhound.
+
+Chiefly on this occasion was his attention given to the Advocate's
+wife. Not a movement, not a gesture, not a varying shade of expression
+escaped him. Any person, noting his observance of her, would have
+detected in it nothing but admiration; and to this conclusion Adelaide
+herself--she knew when she was admired--was by no means averse. But
+his eye was upon her when she was not aware of it.
+
+"Have I not heard of a case," asked a guest of Pierre Lamont, "in
+which a lawyer defended a murderer, knowing him to be guilty?"
+
+"Yes," said Pierre Lamont, "there was such a case. The murder was a
+ruthless murder; the lawyer a man of great attainments. His speech to
+the court was eloquent and thrilling, and in it he declared his solemn
+belief in the prisoner's innocence, and made an appeal to God to
+strengthen the declaration. It created a profound impression. But the
+evidence was conclusive, and the prisoner was found guilty. It then
+transpired that the accused, in his cell, had confessed to his
+advocate that he had perpetrated the murder."
+
+"Confessed before his trial?"
+
+"Yes, before the trial."
+
+"What became of the lawyer?"
+
+"He was ruined, socially and professionally. A great career was
+blighted."
+
+"A deserved punishment," remarked Father Capel.
+
+"Yet it is an open question," said Pierre Lamont, "whether the secrets
+of the prison-cell should not be held as sacred as those of the
+confessional."
+
+"Nothing can justify," said Father Capel, "the employment of such an
+appeal, used to frustrate the ends of justice."
+
+"Then," said Pierre Lamont with malicious emphasis, "you admit the
+doctrine of responsibility. Your prompting of evil spirits, what
+becomes of it?"
+
+Father Capel did not have time to reply, for a cry of terror from a
+visitor gave an unexpected turn to the gossip of the evening, and
+diverted it into a common channel. The person who had uttered this cry
+was the youngest daughter of Jacob Hartrich. She had been standing at
+a window, the heavy curtains of which she had held aside, in an idle
+moment, to look out upon the grounds, which were wrapped in a pall of
+deep darkness. Upon the utterance of her terrified scream she had
+retreated into the room, and was now gazing with affrighted eyes at
+the curtains, which her loosened hold had allowed to fall over the
+window. Her mother and sister hurried to her side, and most of the
+other guests clustered around her. What had occasioned her alarm? When
+she had sufficiently recovered she gave an explanation of it. She was
+looking out, without any purpose in her mind, "thinking of nothing,"
+as she expressed it, when, in a distant part of the grounds, there
+suddenly appeared a bright light, which moved slowly onward, and
+within the radius of this light, of which it seemed to form a part,
+she saw distinctly a white figure, like a spirit. The curtains of the
+window were drawn aside, and all within the room, with the exception
+of Pierre Lamont, who was left without an audience, peered into the
+grounds below.
+
+Nothing was to be seen; no glimpse of light or white shadow; no
+movement but the slight stir of leaf and branch, but the young lady
+vehemently persisted in her statement, and, questioned more closely,
+declared that the figure was that of a woman; she had seen her face,
+her hair, her white robe.
+
+The three persons whom her story most deeply impressed were the
+Advocate's wife, Christian Almer, and Father Capel. With the Advocate
+it was a simple delusion of the senses; with Jacob Hartrich, "nerves."
+Christian Almer and Father Capel went out to search the grounds, and
+when they returned reported that nothing was to be seen.
+
+During this excitement Pierre Lamont was absolutely unnoticed, and it
+was not till a groan proceeded from the part of the room where he sat
+huddled up in the wheeled chair in which he was imprisoned that
+attention was directed to him. He was evidently in great pain; his
+features were contracted with the spasms which darted through his
+limbs.
+
+"It almost masters me," he said to the Advocate, as he laughed and
+winced, "this physical anguish. I will not allow it to conquer me, but
+I must humour it. I am tempted to ask you to give me a bed to-night."
+
+"Stop with us by all means," said the Advocate; "the night is too
+dark, and your house too far, for you to leave while you are
+suffering."
+
+So it was arranged, and within half an hour all the other guests had
+taken their departure.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III
+
+                        THE WATCH ON THE HILL
+
+
+For more than twenty years the House of White Shadows may be said to
+have been without a history. Its last eventful chapter ended with the
+death of Christian Almer's father, the tragic story of whose life has
+been related by Mother Denise. Then followed a blank--a dull
+uniformity of days and months and years, without the occurrence of a
+single event worthy of record in the annals of the family who had held
+the estate for four generations. The doors and windows of the villa
+were but seldom opened, and on those rare occasions only by Mother
+Denise, who had too strict a regard for the faithful discharge of her
+duties to allow the costly furniture to fall into decay. Suddenly all
+this was altered. Light and life reigned again. Startling was the
+transformation. Within a few short weeks the House of White Shadows
+had become the centre of a chain of events, in which the affections
+which sway and the passions which dominate mankind were displayed in
+all their strangest variety.
+
+At a short distance from the gate, on this dark night, upon the rise
+of a hill which commanded a view of the villa, sometimes stood and
+sometimes lay a man in the prime of life. Not a well-looking man, nor
+a desirable man, and yet one who in his better days might have passed
+for a gentleman. Even now, with the aid of fine feathers, he might
+have reached such a height in the judgment of those who were not given
+to close observation. His feathers at the present time were anything
+but fine--a sad fall, for they have been once such as fine birds wear;
+no barn-door fowl's, but of the partridge's quality. So that, between
+the man and his garments, there was something of an affinity. He was
+tall and fairly presentable, and he bore himself with a certain air
+which, in the eyes of the vulgar, would have passed for grace. But his
+swagger spoilt him; and his sensual mouth, which had begot a
+coarseness from long and unrestrained indulgence, spoilt him; and the
+blotches on his face spoilt him. His hands were white, and rings would
+have looked well on them, if rings ever looked well on the hands of a
+man--which may be doubted.
+
+As he stood, or lay, his eyes were for the chief part of his time
+fixed on the House of White Shadows. Following with precision his line
+of sight, it would have been discovered that the point which claimed
+his attention were the windows of the Advocate's study. There was a
+light in them, but no movement.
+
+"Yet he is there," muttered the man, whose name was John Vanbrugh,
+"for I see his shadow."
+
+His sight unassisted would not have enabled him to speak with
+authority upon this, but he held in his hand a field-glass, and he saw
+by its aid what would otherwise have been hidden from him.
+
+"His guests have gone," continued John Vanbrugh, "and he has time to
+attend to me. I have that to sell, Edward, which it is worth your
+while to purchase--nay, which it is vital you should purchase. Every
+hour's delay increases its price. It must be near midnight, and still
+no sign. Well, I can wait--I can wait."
+
+He had no watch to take count of the time, which passed slowly; but he
+waited patiently nevertheless, until the sound of footsteps,
+approaching in his direction, diverted his attention. They came
+nearer, nearer, until this other wanderer of the night was close upon
+him.
+
+"Who," he thought, "has taken it into his head to come my way? This is
+no time for honest men to be about."
+
+And then he said aloud--for the intruder had paused within a yard of
+him:
+
+"What particular business brings you here, friend, and why do you not
+pass on?"
+
+A sigh of intense relief escaped the breast of the newcomer, who was
+none other than Gautran. With the cuff of his shirt he wiped the
+perspiration from his forehead, and muttered in a grateful tone:
+
+"A man's voice! That is something to be thankful for."
+
+The sound of this muttering, but not the words, reached Vanbrugh's
+ears.
+
+"Well, friend?" said Vanbrugh, who, being unarmed, felt himself at a
+disadvantage.
+
+"Well?" repeated Gautran.
+
+"Are you meditating an attack upon me? I am not worth the risk, upon
+my honour. If you are poor, behold in me a brother in misfortune. Go
+to a more profitable market."
+
+"I don't want to hurt you."
+
+"I'll take your word for it. Pass on, then. The way is clear for you."
+
+He stepped aside, and observed that Gautran took step with him instead
+of from him.
+
+"Are _you_ going to pass on?" asked Gautran.
+
+"Upon my soul this is getting amusing, and I should enjoy it if I were
+not angry. Am I going to pass on? No, I am not going to pass on."
+
+"Neither am I."
+
+"In the name of all that is mischievous," cried Vanbrugh, "what is it
+you want?"
+
+"Company," was the answer, "till daylight. That is all. You need not
+be afraid of me."
+
+"Company!" exclaimed Vanbrugh. "My company?"
+
+"Yours or any man's. Something human--something living. And you must
+talk to me. I'm not going to be driven mad by silence."
+
+"You are a cool customer, with your this and that. Are you aware that
+you are robbing me?"
+
+"I don't want to rob you."
+
+"But you are--of solitude. And you appropriate it! No further fooling.
+Leave me."
+
+"Not till daylight."
+
+"There is something strange in your resolve. Let me have a better look
+at you."
+
+He laid his hand upon Gautran's shoulder, and the man did not resent
+the movement. In the evening, when he had arrived in Geneva, he had
+made an unsuccessful attempt to enter the court-house; therefore,
+Gautran being otherwise a stranger to him, he did not recognise in the
+face of the man he was now looking into, and which he could but dimly
+see in consequence of the darkness of the night, the prisoner whose
+trial for murder had caused so great an excitement.
+
+"If I am any judge of human nature," he said, "you are in a bad way. I
+can see sufficient of you to discern that from a social point of view
+you are a ruin, a very wreck of respectability, if your lines ever
+crossed in that direction. In which respect I, who was once a
+gentleman, and am still, cannot deny that there is something of moral
+kinship between us. This confers distinction upon you--upon me, a
+touch of obloquy. But I am old enough not to be squeamish. We must
+take the world as we find it--a villainous world! What say you?"
+
+"A villainous world! Go on talking."
+
+Vanbrugh stood with his face towards the House of White Shadows,
+watching for the signal he had asked the Advocate to give him.
+Gautran, facing the man upon whom he had forced his company, stood,
+therefore, with his back to the villa, the lights in which he had not
+yet seen.
+
+"Our condition may be borne," continued Vanbrugh, "with greater or
+lesser equanimity, so long as we feed the body--the quality of our
+food being really of no great importance, so far as the tissues are
+concerned; but when the mind is thrown off its balance, as I see by
+your eyes is the case with you, the condition of the man becomes
+serious. What is it you fear?"
+
+"Nothing human."
+
+"Yet you are at war with society."
+
+"I was; but I am a free man now."
+
+"You have been in peril, then--plainly speaking, a gaol-bird. What
+matters? The world is apt to be too censorious; I find no fault with
+you for your misfortune. Such things happen to the best of us. But you
+are free now, you say, and you fear nothing in human shape. What is
+it, then, you do fear?"
+
+"Were you ever followed by a spirit?" asked Gautran, in a hoarse
+whisper.
+
+"A moment," said Vanbrugh. "Your question startles me. I have about me
+two mouthfuls of an elixir without which life would not be worth the
+living. Share and share alike."
+
+He produced a bottle containing about a quarter of a pint of brandy,
+and saying, "Your health, friend," put it to his lips.
+
+Gautran watched him greedily, and, when he received the bottle,
+drained it with a gasp of savage satisfaction.
+
+"That is fine, that is fine!" he said; "I wish there were more of it."
+
+"To echo your wish is the extent of my power in the direction of
+fulfilment. Now we can continue. Was I ever followed by a spirit? Of
+what kind?"
+
+"Of a woman," replied Gautran with a shudder.
+
+"Being a spirit, necessarily a dead woman!"
+
+"Aye, a dead woman--one who was murdered."
+
+A look of sudden and newly-awakened intelligence flashed into
+Vanbrugh's face. He placed his hand again upon Gautran's shoulder.
+
+"A young woman?" he said.
+
+"Aye," responded Gautran.
+
+"Fair and beautiful?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Who met her death in the river Rhone?'
+
+"Aye--it is known to all the world."
+
+"One who sold flowers in the streets of Geneva--whose name was
+Madeline?"
+
+The utterance of the name conjured up the phantom of the murdered
+girl, and Gautran, with violent shudders, gazed upon the spectre.
+
+"She is there--she is there!" he muttered, in a voice of agony. "Will
+she never, never leave me?"
+
+These words confirmed Vanbrugh's suspicion. It was Gautran who stood
+before him.
+
+"Another winning card," he said, in a tone of triumph, and with a
+strange smile. "The man is guilty, else why should he fear? Vanbrugh,
+a life of ease is yours once more. Away with these rags, this
+money-pinch which has nipped you for years. Days of pleasure, of
+luxury, are yours to enjoy. You step once more into the ranks of
+gentlemen. What would the great Advocate in yonder study think of this
+chance encounter, knowing--what he has yet to learn--that I hold in my
+hands what he prizes most--his fame and honour?"
+
+Gautran heard the words; he turned, and followed the direction of
+Vanbrugh's gaze.
+
+"There is but one great Advocate, the man who set me free. He lives
+yonder, then?"
+
+"You know it, rogue," replied Vanbrugh. "There are the lights in his
+study window. Gautran, you and I must be better acquainted."
+
+But he was compelled to submit to a postponement of his wish, for the
+next moment he was alone. Gautran had disappeared.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                           THE SILENT VOICE
+
+
+Alone in his study the Advocate had time to review his position. His
+first feeling, when he listened to Gautran's confession, had been one
+of unutterable horror, and this feeling was upon him when he entered
+the villa.
+
+From his outward demeanour no person could have guessed how terrible
+was his inward agitation. Self-repression was in him a second nature.
+The habit of concealing his thoughts had been of incalculable value in
+his profession, and had materially assisted in many of his great
+victories.
+
+But now he was alone, and when he had locked the study-door, he threw
+off the mask.
+
+He had been proud of this victory; it was the greatest he had ever
+achieved. He knew that it would increase his fame, and that it was an
+important step in the ladder it had been the delight of his life to
+climb. Cold as he appeared, and apparently indifferent to success, his
+ambition was vast, overpowering. His one great aim had been not only
+to achieve the highest distinction while he lived, but to leave behind
+him a name which should be placed at the head of all his class--a
+clear and unsullied name which men in after times would quote as a
+symbol of the triumph of intellect.
+
+It was the sublimity of egoism, contemptible when allied with
+intellectual inferiority and weakness of character, but justifiable in
+his case because it was in association with a force of mental gifts
+little short of marvellous.
+
+In the exercise of his public duties he had been careful never to take
+a false step. Before he committed himself to a task he invariably made
+a study of its minutest detail; conned it over and over, stripped it
+of its outward coverings, probed it to its very heart, added facets to
+it which lay not only within the region of probability, but
+possibility; and the result had been that his triumphs were spoken of
+with wonderment, as something almost higher than human, and within the
+capacity of no other man.
+
+It had sometimes occurred that the public voice was against a prisoner
+whose defence he had undertaken, but it was never raised against
+himself, and perhaps the sweetest reward which was ever bestowed upon
+him was when, in an unpopular cause which he had conducted to victory,
+it was afterwards proved that the man he had championed--whose very
+name was an offence--was in honest truth a victim instead of a
+wronger. It had grown into a fashion to say, "He must have right on
+his side, or the Advocate would not defend him."
+
+Here, then, was a triple alliance of justice, truth, and humanity--and
+he, their champion and the vindicator and upholder of right. In
+another sphere of life, and in times when the dragon of oppression was
+weighing heavily upon a people's liberties, such achievements as his
+would have caused the champion to be worshipped as a saint--certainly
+as a hero imbued with kingly qualities.
+
+No man really deserves this altitude, though it be sometimes reached.
+Human nature is too imperfect, its undercurrents are not sufficiently
+translucent for truth's face to be reflected as in a crystal. But we
+judge the deed, not the doer, and the man is frequently crowned, the
+working of whose inner life, were it laid bare, would shock and
+disgust.
+
+It was when he was at the height of his fame that the Advocate met
+Adelaide.
+
+Hitherto he had seen but little of women, or, seeing them, had passed
+them lightly by, but there comes a time in the lives of most men, even
+of the greatest, when they are abruptly arrested by an influence which
+insensibly masters them.
+
+Only once in his life had the Advocate wandered from the path he had
+formed for himself; but it was an idle wandering, partly prompted by a
+small and unworthy desire to prove himself of two men, the superior,
+and he had swiftly and effectually thrown the folly aside, never again
+to be indulged in or renewed. That was many years ago, and had been
+long forgotten, when Adelaide appeared to him, a star of loveliness,
+which proved, what few would have believed, that he had a heart.
+
+The new revelation was to him at first a source of infinite gladness,
+and he yielded to the enchantment. But after a time he questioned
+himself as to the wisdom of this infatuation. It was then, however,
+too late. The spell was upon him, and it did not lay in his power to
+remove it. And when he found that this sweet pleasure did not--as it
+would have done with most men--interfere with his active duties, nay,
+that it seemed to infuse a keener relish into their fulfilment, he
+asked himself the question, "Why not?" In the simple prompting of the
+question lay the answer.
+
+He possessed an immense power of concentration. With many subjects
+claiming close attention he could dismiss them all but the one to
+which it was necessary he should devote himself, and after much
+self-communing he satisfied himself that love would be no block to
+ambition.
+
+And indeed so it proved. Adelaide, dazzled by the attentions of a man
+who stood so high, accepted his worship, and, warned by friends not to
+be exigent, made no demands upon his time which interfered with his
+duties.
+
+He was a devoted but not a passionate lover. On all sides she was
+congratulated--it gratified her. By many she was envied--it delighted
+her; and she took pleasure in showing how easily she could lead this
+man, who to all other women was cold as ice.
+
+In those days it was out of her own vanity and thirst for conquest
+that she evolved pleasure from the association of her name with his.
+After their marriage he strove to interest her in the cases upon which
+he was engaged, but, discovering that her taste did not lie in that
+direction, he did not persist in his endeavour. It did not lessen his
+love for her, nor her hold upon him. She was to him on this night as
+she had ever been, a sweet, affectionate, pure woman, who gave him as
+much love and honour as a man so much older than herself could
+reasonably expect.
+
+Something of what has been here expressed passed through his mind as
+he reflected upon the events of the day. How should he deal with
+Gautran's confession? That was the point he debated.
+
+When he undertook the defence he had a firm belief in the man's
+innocence. He had drawn the picture of Gautran exactly as he had
+conceived it. Vile, degraded, brutal, without a redeeming feature--but
+not the murderer of Madeline the flower-girl.
+
+He reviewed the case again carefully, to see whether he could have
+arrived at any other conclusion. He could not perceive a single defect
+in his theory. He was justified in his own eyes. He knew that the
+entire public sentiment was against him, and that he had convinced men
+against their will. He knew that there was imported into this matter a
+feeling of resentment at his successful efforts to set Gautran free.
+What, then, had induced him to come forward voluntarily in defence of
+this monster? He asked the question of himself aloud, and he answered
+it aloud: A reverence for justice.
+
+He had not indulged in self-deception when he declared to Gautran's
+judges that the leading principle of his life had been a desire for
+justice in small matters as well as great, for the meanest equally
+with the loftiest of his fellow-creatures. That it did not clash with
+his ambition was his good fortune. It was not tainted because of this
+human coincidence. So far, then, he was justified in his own
+estimation.
+
+Rut he must be justified also in the eyes of the world. And here
+intruded the torturing doubt whether this were possible. If he made it
+known to the world that Gautran was guilty, the answer would be:
+
+"We know it, and knew it, as we believe you yourself did while you
+were working to set him free. Why did you prevent justice being done
+upon a murderer?"
+
+"But I believed him innocent," he would say. "Only now do I know him
+to be guilty!"
+
+"Upon what grounds?" would be asked.
+
+"Upon Gautran's own confession, given to me, alone, on a lonely road,
+within an hour after the delivery of the verdict."
+
+He saw the incredulous looks with which this would be received. He put
+himself in the place of the public, and he asked:
+
+"Why, at such a time, in such a spot, did Gautran confess to you? What
+motive had he? You are not a priest, and the high road is not a
+confessional."
+
+He could supply to this question no answer which common-sense would
+accept.
+
+And say that Gautran were questioned, as he would assuredly be. He
+would deny the statement point-blank. Liberty is sweet to all men.
+
+Then it would be one man's statement against another's; he would be on
+an equality with Gautran, reduced to his level; and in the judgment of
+numbers of people Gautran would have the advantage over him. Sides
+would be taken; he himself, in a certain sense, would be placed upon
+his trial, and public resentment, which now was smothered and would
+soon be quite hushed, would break out against him.
+
+Was he strong enough to withstand this? Could he arrest the furious
+torrent and stand unwounded on the shore, pure and scatheless in the
+eyes of men?
+
+He doubted. He was too profound a student of human nature not to know
+that his fair fame would be blotted, and that there would be a stain
+upon his reputation which would cling to him to the last day of his
+life.
+
+Still he questioned himself. Should he dare it, and brave it, and bow
+his head? Who humbles himself lays himself open to the blow--and men
+are not merciful when the chance is offered to them. But he would
+stand clear in his own eyes; his conscience would approve. To none but
+himself would this be known. Inward approval would be his sole reward,
+his sole compensation. A hero's work, however.
+
+For a moment or two he glowed at the contemplation. He soon cooled
+down, and with a smile, partly of self-pity, partly of self-contempt,
+proceeded to the calmer consideration of the matter.
+
+The meaner qualities came into play. The world did not know; what
+reason was there that it should be enlightened--that he should
+enlighten it, to his own injury? The secret belonged to two men--to
+himself and Gautran. It was not likely that Gautran would blurt it out
+to others; he valued his liberty too highly. So that it was as safe as
+though it were buried in a deep grave. As for the wrong done, it was a
+silent wrong. To ruin one's self for a sentiment would be madness; no
+one really suffered.
+
+The unfortunate girl was at rest. She was a stranger; no person knew
+her, or was interested in her except for her beauty; she left no
+family, no father, mother, or sisters, to mourn her cruel death.
+
+There was certainly the woman spoken of as Pauline, but she had
+disappeared, and was probably in no way related to Madeline. What more
+likely than that the elder woman's association with the younger arose
+out of a desire to trade upon the girl's beauty, and appropriate the
+profits to her own use? A base view of the matter, but natural, human.
+And having reaped a certain profit out of their trade in flowers,
+larger than was suspected, the crafty woman of the world had
+deliberately deserted Madeline and left her to her fate.
+
+Why, then, should he step forward as her avenger, to the destruction
+of the great name he had spent the best fruits of his mind and the
+best years of his life to build up? To think of such a thing was
+Quixotism run mad.
+
+One of the threads of these reflections--that which forced itself upon
+him as the toughest and the most prominent--was contempt of himself
+for permitting his thoughts to wander into currents so base. But that
+was his concern; it affected no other person, so long as he chose to
+hold his own counsel. The difficulty into which he was plunged was not
+of his seeking. Fate had dealt him a hard stroke; he received it on
+his shield instead of on his body. Who would say that that was not
+wise? What other man, having the option, would not have done as he was
+about to do?
+
+"Cunning sophist, cunning sophist!" his conscience whispered to him;
+"think not that, wandering in these crooked paths of reasoning, you
+can find the talisman which will transform wrong into right, or remove
+the stain which will rest upon your soul."
+
+He answered his conscience: "To none but myself is my soul visible.
+Who, then, can see the stain?"
+
+His conscience replied: "God!"
+
+"I will confess to Him." he said, "but not to man."
+
+"There is but one right course," his conscience said; "juggle as you
+may, you know that there is but one right course."
+
+"I know it," he said boldly, "but I am cast in human mould, and am not
+heroic enough for the sacrifice you would impose upon me."
+
+"Listen," said his conscience, "a voice from the grave is calling to
+you."
+
+He heard the voice: "Blood for Blood."
+
+He stood transfixed. The images raised by that, silent voice were
+appalling. They culminated in the impalpable shape of a girl, with
+pallid face, gazing sadly at him, over whose form seemed to be traced
+in the air the lurid words, "Blood For Blood!"
+
+Heaven's decree.
+
+The vision lasted but for a brief space. In the light of his strong
+will such airy terrors could not long exist.
+
+Blood for blood! It once held undisputed sway, but there are great and
+good men who look upon the fulfilment of the stern decree as a crime.
+Mercy, humanity, and all the higher laws of civilisation were on their
+side. But he could not quite stifle the voice.
+
+He took another view. Say that he yielded to the whisperings of his
+conscience--say that, braving all the consequences of his action, he
+denounced Gautran. The man had already been tried for murder, and
+could not be tried again. Set this aside. Say that a way was
+discovered to bring Gautran again to the bar of earthly justice, of
+what value was the new evidence that could be brought against him? His
+own bare word--his recital of an interview of which he held no proof,
+and which Gautran's simple denial would be sufficient to destroy.
+Place this new evidence against the evidence he himself had
+established in proof of Gautran's innocence, and it became a
+feather-weight. A lawyer of mediocre attainments would blow away such
+evidence with a breath. It would injure only him who brought it
+forward.
+
+He decided. The matter must rest where it was. In silence lay safety.
+
+There was still another argument in favour of this conclusion. The
+time for making public the horrible knowledge of which he had become
+possessed was passed. After he had received Gautran's confession he
+should not have lost a moment in communicating with the authorities.
+Not only had he allowed the hours to slip by without taking action,
+but in the conversation initiated that evening by Pierre Lamont, in
+which he had joined, he had tacitly committed himself to the
+continuance of a belief in Gautran's innocence. He saw no way out of
+the fatal construction which all who knew him, as well as all who knew
+him not, would place upon this line of conduct. He had been caught in
+a trap of his own setting, but he could hide his wounds. Yes; the
+question was answered. He must preserve silence.
+
+This long self-communing had exhausted him. He could not sleep; he
+could neither read nor study. His mind required relief and solace in
+companionship. His wife was doubtless asleep; he would not disturb
+her. He would go to his friend's chamber; Christian Almer would be
+awake, and they would pass an hour in sympathising converse. Almer had
+asked him, when they bade each other good-night, whether he intended
+immediately to retire to rest, and he had answered that he had much to
+do in his study, and should probably be up till late in the night.
+
+"I will not disturb you," Almer had said, "but I, too, am in no mood
+for sleep. I have letters to write, and if you happen to need society,
+come to my room, and we will have one of our old chats."
+
+As he quitted the study to seek his friend the soft silvery chimes of
+a clock on the mantel proclaimed the hour. He counted the strokes. It
+was midnight.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V
+
+                        GAUTRAN FINDS A REFUGE
+
+
+When John Vanbrugh found himself alone he cried:
+
+"What! Tired of my company already? That is a fine compliment to pay
+to a gentleman of my breeding. Gautran! Gautran!"
+
+He listened; no answer came.
+
+"A capital disappearance," he continued; "in its way dramatic. The
+scene, the time, all agreeing. It does not please me. Do you hear me,
+Gautran," he shouted. "It does not please me. If I were not tied to
+this spot in the execution of a most important mission, I would after
+you, my friend, and teach you better manners. He drank my brandy, too,
+the ungrateful rogue. A waste of good liquor--a sheer waste! He gets
+no more without paying its equivalent."
+
+Vanbrugh indulged in this soliloquy without allowing his wrath to
+interfere with his watch; not for a single moment did he shift his
+gaze from the windows of the Advocate's study.
+
+"Now what induced him," he said after a pause, "to spirit himself away
+so mysteriously? From the violent fancy he expressed for my company I
+regarded him as a fixture; one would have supposed he intended to
+stick to me like a limpet to a rock. Suddenly, without rhyme or
+reason, and just as the conversation was getting interesting, he takes
+French leave, and makes himself scarce.
+
+"I hope he has not left his ghost behind him--the ghost of pretty
+Madeline. Not likely, though. When a partnership such as that is
+entered into--uncommonly unpleasant and inconvenient it must be--it is
+not dissolved so easily.
+
+"Perhaps he was spirited away--wanted, after the fashion of our dear
+Lothario, Don Giovanni. There was no blue fire about, however, and I
+smell no brimstone. No--he disappeared of his own prompting; it will
+repay thinking over. He saw his phantom--even my presence could not
+keep her from him. He murdered her--not a doubt of it--and the
+Advocate has proved his innocence.
+
+"Were it not a double tragedy I should feel disposed to laugh.
+
+"We were speaking of the Advocate when he darted off. But you cannot
+escape me, Gautran; we shall meet again. An acquaintanceship so
+happily commenced must not be allowed to drop--nor shall it, while it
+suits my purpose.
+
+"At length, John Vanbrugh, you are learning to be wise. You allowed
+yourself to be fleeced, sucked dry, and being thrown upon the rocks,
+stripped of fortune and the means to woo it, you strove to live as
+knaves live, upon the folly of others like yourself. But you were a
+poor hand at the trade; you were never cut out for a knave, and you
+passed through a succession of reverses so hard as almost to break an
+honest man's heart. It is all over now. I see the sun; bright days are
+before you, John, the old days over again; but you will spend your
+money more prudently, my lad; no squandering; exact its value; be
+wise, bold, determined, and you shall not go down with sorrow to the
+grave. Edward, my friend, if I had the liquor I would drink to you. As
+it is----"
+
+As it was, he wafted a mocking kiss towards the House of White
+Shadows, and patiently continued his watch.
+
+Meanwhile Gautran had not been idle.
+
+Upon quitting Vanbrugh, the direction he took was from the House of
+White Shadows, but when he was at a safe distance from Vanbrugh, out
+of sight and hearing, he paused, and deliberately set his face towards
+the villa.
+
+He skirted the hill at its base, and walking with great caution,
+pausing frequently to assure himself that he was alone and was not
+being followed, arrived at the gates of the villa. He tried the
+gates--they were locked. Could he climb over them? He would have
+risked the danger--they were set with sharp spikes--had he not known
+that it would take some time, and feared that some person passing
+along the high road might detect him.
+
+He made his way to the back of the villa, and carefully examined the
+walls. His eyes were accustomed to darkness, and he could see pretty
+clearly; it was a long time before he discovered a means of ingress,
+afforded by an old elm which grew within a few yards of the wall, and
+the far-spreading branches of which stretched over the grounds.
+
+He climbed the tree, and crept like a cat along the stoutest branch he
+could find. It bent beneath his weight as he hung suspended from it.
+It was a fall of twenty feet, but he risked it. He unloosed his hands,
+and dropped to the earth. He was shaken, but not bruised. His purpose,
+thus far, was accomplished. He was within the grounds of the villa.
+
+All was quiet. When he had recovered from the shock of the fall, he
+stepped warily towards the house. Now and then he was startled and
+alarmed at the shadows of the trees which moved athwart his path, but
+he mastered these terrors, and crept on and on till he heard the soft
+sound of a clock striking the hour.
+
+He paused, as the Advocate had done, and counted the strokes.
+Midnight. When the sound had quite died away, he stepped forward, and
+saw the lights in the study windows.
+
+Was anybody there? He guessed shrewdly enough that if the room was
+occupied it would be by no other person than the Advocate. Well, it
+was the Advocate he came to see; he had no design of robbery in his
+mind.
+
+He stealthily approached a window, and blessed his good fortune to
+find that it was partly open. He peered into the study; it was empty.
+He climbed the sill, and dropped safely into the room.
+
+What a grand apartment! What costly pictures and vases, what an array
+of books and papers! Beautiful objects met his eyes whichever way he
+turned. There was the Advocate's chair, there the table at which he
+wrote. The Advocate had left the room for a while--this was Gautran's
+correct surmise--and intended to return. The lamps fully turned up
+were proof of this. He looked at the papers on the table. Could he
+have read, he would have seen that many of them bore his own name. On
+a massive sideboard there were bottles filled with liquor, and
+glasses. He drank three or four glasses rapidly, and then, coiling
+himself up in a corner of the room, in a few moments was fast asleep.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+          PIERRE LAMONT READS LOVE-VERSES TO FRITZ THE FOOL
+
+The bedroom allotted to Pierre Lamont by Mother Denise was situated on
+the first floor, and adjoined the apartments prepared for Christian
+Almer. As he was unable to walk a step it was necessary that the old
+lawyer should be carried upstairs. His body-servant, expressly engaged
+to wheel him about and attend to his wants, was ready to perform his
+duties, but into Pierre Lamont's head had entered the whim that he
+would be assisted to his room by no person but Fritz the Fool. The
+servant was sent in search of Fritz, who could not easily be found. It
+was quite half an hour before the fool made his appearance, and by
+that time all the guests, with the exception of Pierre Lamont, had
+left the House of White Shadows.
+
+Out of sympathy with Pierre Lamont's sufferings Father Capel had
+remained to chat with him until Fritz arrived. But the priest was
+suddenly called away. Mother Denise, entering the room, informed him
+that a peasant who lived ten miles from the House of White Shadows
+urgently desired to see him. Father Capel was about to go out to the
+man, when Adelaide suggested that he should be brought in, and the
+peasant accordingly disclosed his errand in the presence of the
+Advocate and his wife, Pierre Lamont, and Christian Almer.
+
+"I have been to your house," said the peasant, standing, cap in hand,
+in humble admiration of the grandeur by which he was surrounded, "and
+was directed here. There is a woman dying in my hut."
+
+"What is her name, and where does she come from?"
+
+"I know not. She has been with us for over three weeks, and it is a
+sore burden upon us. It happened in this way, reverend father. My hut,
+you know, is in the cleft of a rock, at the foot of the Burger Pass, a
+dangerous spot for those who are not familiar with the track. Some
+twenty-four days ago it was that my wife in the night roused me with
+the tale of a frightful scream, which, proceeding from one in agony
+near my hut, pierced her very marrow, and woke her from sleep. I
+sprang from my bed, and went into the open, and a few yards down I
+found a woman who had fallen from a height, and was lying in delirious
+pain upon the sharp stones. I raised her in my arms; she was bleeding
+terribly, and I feared she was hurt to death. I did the best I could,
+and carried her into my hut, where my wife nursed and tended her. But
+from that night to this we have been unable to get one sensible word
+from her, and she is now at death's door. She needs your priestly
+offices, reverend father, and therefore I have come for you."
+
+"How interesting!" exclaimed Adelaide. "Who will pay you for your
+goodness to this poor creature?"
+
+"God," said Father Capel, replying for the peasant. "It is the poor
+who help the poor, and in the Kingdom of Heaven our Gracious Lord
+rewards them."
+
+"I am content," said the peasant.
+
+"But in the contemplation of the Hereafter," said Pierre Lamont,
+"let us not forget the present. There are many whose loads are too
+heavy--for instance, asses. There are a few whose loads are too
+light--scoffers, like myself. You have had occasion to rebuke me, this
+night, Father Capel, and were I not a hardened sinner I should be
+groaning in tribulation. That to the last hour of my life I shall
+deserve your rebukes, proves me, I fear, beyond hope of redemption.
+Still I bear in mind the asses' burden. You have used my purse once,
+in penance; use it again, and pay this man for the loss inflicted upon
+him by his endeavours to earn the great spiritual reward--which, in
+all humility I say it, does not put bread into human stomachs."
+
+Father Capel accepted Pierre Lamont's purse, and said: "I judge not by
+words, but by works; your offering shall be justly administered. Come,
+let us hasten to this unfortunate woman."
+
+When he and the peasant had departed, Pierre Lamont said, with mock
+enthusiasm:
+
+"A good man! a good man! Virtue such as his is a severe burden,
+but I doubt not he enjoys it. I prefer to earn my seat in heaven
+vicariously, to which end my gold will materially assist. It is as
+though paradise can be bought by weight or measure; the longer the
+purse the greater the chance of salvation. Ah, here is Fritz.
+Good-night, good-night. Bright dreams to all. Gently, Fritz, gently,"
+continued the old lawyer, as he was being carried up the stairs, "my
+bones are brittle."
+
+"Brittle enough I should say," rejoined Fritz; "chicken bones they
+might be from the weight of you."
+
+"Are diamonds heavy, fool?"
+
+"Ha, ha!" laughed Fritz, "if I had the selling of you, Master Lamont,
+I should like to make you the valuer. I should get a rare good price
+for you at that rate."
+
+In the bedroom Pierre Lamont retained Fritz to prepare him for bed.
+The old lawyer, undressed, was a veritable skeleton; there was not an
+ounce of superfluous flesh on his shrivelled bones.
+
+"What would you have done in the age of giants?" asked Fritz, making
+merry over Pierre Lamont's attenuated form.
+
+"This would have served," replied Pierre Lamont, tapping his forehead
+with his forefinger. "I should have contrived so as to be a match for
+them. Bring that small table close to the bedside. Now place the lamp
+on it. Put your hand into the tail-pocket of my coat; you will find a
+silk handkerchief there."
+
+He tied the handkerchief--the colour of which was yellow--about his
+head; and as the small, thin face peeped out of it, brown-skinned and
+hairless, it looked like the face of a mummy.
+
+Fritz gazed at him, and laughed immoderately, and Pierre Lamont nodded
+and nodded at the fool, with a smile of much humour on his lips.
+
+"Enjoy yourself, fool, enjoy yourself," he said kindly; "but don't
+pass your life in laughter; it is destructive of brain power. What do
+you think of the spirit, Fritz, the appearance of which so alarmed one
+of the young ladies in our merry party to-night?"
+
+"What do you think of it?" asked Fritz in return, with a quivering of
+his right eyelid, which suspiciously resembled a wink.
+
+"Ah, ah, knave!" cried Pierre Lamont, chuckling. "I half suspected
+you."
+
+"You will not tell on me, Master Lamont?"
+
+"Not I, fool. How did you contrive it?"
+
+"With a white sheet and a lantern. I thought it a pity that my lady
+should be disappointed. Should she leave the place without some
+warranty that spirits are here, the house would lose its character.
+Then there is the young master, your Christian Almer. He spoke to me
+very much as if I were a beast of the field instead of a--fool. So I
+thought I would give him food for thought."
+
+"A dangerous trick, Fritz. Your secret is safe with me, but I would
+not try it too often. Are there any books in the room? Look about,
+Fritz, look about."
+
+"For books!" exclaimed Fritz. "People go to bed to sleep."
+
+"I go to bed to think," retorted Pierre Lamont, "and read. People are
+idiots--they don't know how to use the nights."
+
+"Men are not owls," said Fritz. "There are no books in the room."
+
+"How shall I pass the night?" grumbled Pierre Lamont. "Open that
+drawer; there may be something to read in it."
+
+Fritz opened the drawer; it was filled with books. Pierre Lamont
+uttered a cry of delight.
+
+"Bring half-a-dozen of them--quick. Now I am happy."
+
+He opened the books which Fritz handed to him, and placed them by his
+side on the bed. They were in various languages. Lavater, Zimmermann,
+a Latin book on Demonology, poems of Lope da Vega, Klingemann's
+tragedies, Italian poems by Zappi, Filicaja, Cassiani, and others.
+
+"You understand all these books, Master Lamont?"
+
+"Of course, fool."
+
+"What language is this?"
+
+"Latin."
+
+"And this?"
+
+"Spanish."
+
+"And this?"
+
+"Italian. No common mind collected these books, Fritz."
+
+"The master that's dead--father of him who sleeps in the next room."
+
+"Ha, ha!" interposed Pierre Lamont, turning over the pages as he
+spoke. "He sleeps there, does he?
+
+"Yes. His father was a great scholar, I've heard."
+
+"A various scholar, Fritz, if these books are an epitome of his mind.
+Love, philosophy, gloomy wanderings in dark paths--here we have them
+all. The lights and shadows of life. Which way runs your taste, fool?"
+
+"I love the light, of course. What use in being a fool if you don't
+know how to take advantage of your opportunities?"
+
+"Well said. Let us indulge a little. These poets are sly rascals. They
+take unconscionable liberties, and play with women's beauty as other
+men dare not do."
+
+Fritz's eyes twinkled.
+
+"It does not escape even you, Master Lamont."
+
+"What does not escape me, fool?"
+
+"Woman's beauty, Master Lamont."
+
+"Have I not eyes in my head and blood in my veins?" asked Pierre
+Lamont. "It warms me like wine to know that I and the loveliest woman
+for a hundred miles round are caged within the same roof."
+
+Fritz indulged in another fit of laughter, and then exclaimed:
+
+"She has caught you too, eh? Now, who would have thought it? Two of
+the cleverest lawyers in the world fixed with one arrow! Beauty is a
+divine gift, Master Lamont. To possess it is almost as good as being
+born a fool."
+
+"I shall lie awake and read love-verses. Listen to Zappi, fool."
+
+And in a voice really tender, Pierre Lamont read from the book:
+
+
+         "A hundred pretty little loves, in fun,
+          Were romping; laughing, rioting one day."
+
+
+"A hundred!" cried Fritz, chuckling and rubbing his hands. "A
+hundred--pretty--little loves! If Father Capel were to hear you, his
+face would grow as long as my arm.
+
+"Wrong, Fritz, wrong. His face would beam, and he would listen for the
+continuation of the poem."
+
+And Pierre Lamont resumed:
+
+
+         "'Let's fly a little now,' said one, 'I pray.'
+          'Whither?' 'To beauty's face.' 'Agreed--'tis done.'
+
+         "Faster than bees to flowers they wing their way
+            To lovely maids--to mine, the sweetest one;
+            And to her hair and panting lips they run--
+          Now here, now there, now everywhere they stray.
+
+         "My love so full of loves--delightful sight!
+            Two with their torches in her eyes, and two
+          Upon her eyelids with their bows alight."
+
+
+"You read rarely, Master Lamont," said Fritz. "It is true, is it not,
+that, when you were in practice, you were called the lawyer with the
+silver tongue?"
+
+"It has been said of me, Fritz."
+
+The picture of this withered, dried-up old lawyer, sitting up in bed,
+with a yellow handkerchief for a night-cap tied round his head,
+reading languishing verses in a tender voice, and striving to bring
+into his weazened features an expression in harmony with them, was
+truly a comical one.
+
+"Why, Master Lamont," said Fritz in admiration, "you were cut out for
+a gallant. Had you recited those lines in the drawing-room, you would
+have had all the ladies at your feet--supposing," he added, with a
+broad grin, "they had all been blind."
+
+"Ah me!" said Pierre Lamont, throwing aside the book with a mocking
+sigh. "Too old--too old!"
+
+"And shrunken," said Fritz.
+
+"It is not to be denied, Fritz. And shrunken."
+
+"And ugly."
+
+"You stick daggers into me. Yes--and ugly. Ah!" and with simulated
+wrath he shook his fist in the air, "if I were but like my brother the
+Advocate! Eh, Fritz--eh?"
+
+Fritz shook his head slowly.
+
+"If I were not a fool, I should say I would much rather be as you are,
+old, and withered, and ugly, and a cripple, than be standing in the
+place of your brother the Advocate. And so would you, Master Lamont,
+for all your love-songs."
+
+"I can teach you nothing, fool. Push the lamp a little nearer to me.
+Give me my waistcoat. Here is a gold piece for you. I owe you as much,
+I think. We will keep our own counsel, Fritz. Good-night."
+
+"Good--night, Master Lamont. I am sorry that trial is over. It was
+rare fun!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VII
+
+                          MISTRESS AND MAID
+
+
+"Dionetta?"
+
+"Yes, my lady."
+
+The maid and her mistress were in Adelaide's dressing-room, and
+Dionetta was brushing her lady's hair, which hung down in rich, heavy
+waves.
+
+She smiled at herself in the glass before which she was sitting, and
+her mood became more joyous as she noted the whiteness of her teeth
+and the beautiful expression of her mouth when she smiled. There was
+an irresistible fascination in her smile; it flashed into all her
+features, like a laughing sunrise.
+
+She was never tired of admiring her beauty; it was to her a most
+precious possession of which nothing but time could rob her. "To-day
+is mine," she frequently said to herself, and she wished with all her
+heart that there were no to-morrow.
+
+Yes, to-day was hers, and she was beautiful, and, gazing at the
+reflection of her fair self, she thought that she did not look more
+than eighteen.
+
+"Do you think I do, child?" she asked of Dionetta.
+
+"Think you do what, my lady?" inquired Dionetta.
+
+Adelaide laughed, a musical, child-like laugh which any man, hearing,
+would have judged to be an expression of pure innocent delight. She
+derived pleasure even from this pleasant sound.
+
+"I was thinking to myself, and I believed I was speaking aloud. Do you
+think I look twenty-five?"
+
+"No, indeed, my lady, not by many years. You look younger than I do."
+
+"And you are not eighteen, Dionetta."
+
+"Not yet, my lady."
+
+Adelaide's eyes sparkled. It was indeed true that she looked younger
+than her maid, who was in herself a beauty and young-looking.
+
+"Dionetta," she said, presently, after a pause, "I have had a curious
+dream."
+
+"I saw you close your eyes for a moment, my lady."
+
+"I dreamt I was the most beautiful woman in all this wide world."
+
+"You are, my lady."
+
+The words were uttered in perfect honesty and simplicity. Her mistress
+was truly the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
+
+"Nonsense, child, nonsense--there are others as fair, although I
+should not fear to stand beside them. It was only a dream, and this
+but the commencement of it. I was the most beautiful woman in the
+world. I had the handsomest features, the loveliest figure, and a
+shape that sculptors would have called perfection. I had the most
+exquisite dresses that ever were worn, and everything in that way a
+woman's heart could desire."
+
+"A happy dream, my lady!"
+
+"Wait. I had a palace to live in, in a land where it was summer the
+whole year through. Such gardens, Dionetta, and such flowers as one
+only sees in dreams. I had rings enough to cover my fingers a dozen
+times over; diamonds in profusion for my hair, and neck, and
+arms,--trunks full of them, and of old lace, and of the most wonderful
+jewels the mind can conceive. Would you believe it, child, in spite of
+all this, I was the most miserable woman in the universe?"
+
+"It is hard to believe, my lady."
+
+"Not when I tell you the reason. Dionetta, I was absolutely alone.
+There was not a single person near me, old or young--not one to look
+at me, to envy me, to admire me, to love me. What was the use of
+beauty, diamonds, flowers, dresses? The brightest eyes, the loveliest
+complexion, the whitest skin--all were thrown away. It would have been
+just as well if I had been dressed in rags, and were old and wrinkled
+as Pierre Lamont. Now, what I learn from my dream is this--that beauty
+is not worth having unless it is admired and loved, and unless other
+people can see it as well as yourself."
+
+"Everybody sees that you are beautiful, my lady; it is spoken of
+everywhere."
+
+"Is it, Dionetta, really, now, is it?"
+
+"Yes, my lady. And you are admired and loved."
+
+"I think I am, child; I know I am. So that my dream goes for nothing.
+A foolish fancy, was it not, Dionetta?--but women are never satisfied.
+I should never be tired--never, never, of hearing the man I love say,
+'I love you, I love you! You are the most beautiful, the dearest, the
+sweetest!'"
+
+She leant forward and looked closely at herself in the glass, and then
+sank back in her chair and smiled, and half-closed her eyes.
+
+"Dionetta," she said presently, "what makes you so pale?"
+
+"It is the Shadow, my lady, that was seen to-night," replied Dionetta
+in a whisper; "I cannot get it out of my mind."
+
+"But you did not see it?"
+
+"No, my lady; but it was there."
+
+"You believe in ghosts?"
+
+"Yes, my lady."
+
+"You would not have the courage to go where one was to be seen?"
+
+"Not for all the gold in the world, my lady."
+
+"But the other servants are more courageous?"
+
+"They may be, but they would not dare to go; they said so to-night,
+all of them."
+
+"They have been speaking of it, then?"
+
+"Oh, yes; of scarcely anything else. Grandmother said to-night that if
+you had not come to the villa, the belief in the shadows would have
+died away altogether."
+
+"That is too ridiculous," interrupted Adelaide. "What can I have to do
+with them?"
+
+"If you had not come," said Dionetta, "grandmother said our young
+master would not be here. It is because he is in the house, sleeping
+here for the first night for so many, many years, that the spirit of
+his mother appeared to him."
+
+"But your grandmother has told me she did not believe in the shadows."
+
+"My lady, I think she is changing her opinion--else she would never
+have said what she did. It is long since I have seen her so
+disturbed."
+
+Adelaide rose from her chair, the fairest picture of womanhood eyes
+ever gazed upon. A picture an artist would have contemplated with
+delight. She stood still for a few moments, her hand resting on her
+writing-desk.
+
+"Your grandmother does not like me, Dionetta."
+
+"She has not said so, my lady," said Dionetta after an awkward pause.
+
+"Not directly, child," said Adelaide, "and I have no reason to
+complain of want of respect in her. But one always knows whether one
+is really liked or not."
+
+"She is growing old," murmured Dionetta apologetically, "and has seen
+very little of ladies."
+
+"Neither have you, child. Yet you do not dislike me."
+
+"My lady, if I dare to say it, I love you."
+
+"There is no daring in it, child. I love to be loved--and I would
+sooner be loved by the young than the old. Come here, pretty one. Your
+ears are like little pink shells, and deserve something better than
+those common rings in them. Put these in their place."
+
+She took from a jewel-case a pair of earrings, turquoise and small
+diamonds, and with her own hands made the exchange.
+
+"Oh, my lady," sighed Dionetta with a rose-light in her face. "They
+are too grand for me! What shall I say when people see them?"
+
+The girl's heart was beating quick with ecstasy. She looked at herself
+in the glass, and uttered a cry of joy.
+
+"Say that I gave them to you because I love you. I never had a maid
+who pleased me half as much. Does this prove it?" and she put her lips
+to Dionetta's face. The girl's eyes filled with tears, and she kissed
+Adelaide's hand in a passion of gratitude.
+
+"I love you, Dionetta, because you love me, and because I can trust
+you."
+
+"You can, my lady. I will serve you with all my heart and soul. But I
+have done nothing for you that any other girl could not have done."
+
+"Would you like to do something for me that I would trust no other to
+do?"
+
+"Yes, my lady," eagerly answered Dionetta. "I should be proud."
+
+"And you will tell no one?'
+
+"Not a soul, my lady, if you command me."
+
+"I do command you. It is easy to do--merely to deliver a note, and to
+say: 'This is from my mistress.'"
+
+"Oh, my lady, that is no task at all. It is so simple."
+
+"Simple as it is, I do not wish even your grandmother to hear of it."
+
+"She shall not--nor any person. I swear it."
+
+In the extravagance of her gratitude and joy, she kissed a little
+cross that hung from her neck.
+
+"You have made me your friend for life," said Adelaide, "the best
+friend you ever had, or ever will have."
+
+She sat down to her desk, and on a sheet of note-paper wrote these
+words:
+
+
+"Dear Christian:
+
+"I cannot sleep until I wish you good-night, with no horrid people
+around us. Let me see you for one minute only.
+
+                                       "Adelaide."
+
+
+Placing the sheet of note-paper in an envelope, she gave it to
+Dionetta, saying:
+
+"Take this to Mr. Almer's room, and give it to him. It is nothing of
+any importance, but he will be pleased to receive it."
+
+Dionetta, marvelling why her lady should place any value upon so
+slight a service, went upstairs with the note, and returned with the
+information that Christian Almer was not in his room.
+
+"But his door is open, my lady," she said, "and the lamps are
+burning."
+
+"Go then, again," said Adelaide, "and place the note on his desk.
+There is no harm, child; he cannot see you, as he is not there, and if
+he were, he would not be angry."
+
+Dionetta obeyed without fear, and when she told her mistress that the
+note was placed where Christian Almer was sure to see it, Adelaide
+kissed her again, and wished her "Good-night."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII
+
+                     IN THE HOME OF HIS CHILDHOOD
+
+Upon no person had the supposed appearance of a phantom in the grounds
+of the House of White Shadows produced so profound an impression as
+upon Christian Almer. This was but natural. Even supposing him not to
+have been a man of susceptibility, the young lady's terror, as she
+gazed at the shadow, could not have failed to make an impression upon
+him.
+
+It was the first night of his return, after an absence of many years,
+to the house in which he had been born and had passed his unhappy
+childhood's life: and the origin of the belief in these white shadows
+which were said to haunt his estate was so closely woven into his
+personal history as almost to form a part of himself. He had never
+submitted his mind to a rigid test of belief or disbelief in these
+signs; one of the principal aims of his life had been, not only to
+avoid the villa, but to shut out all thought of the tragic events
+which had led to the death of his parents.
+
+He loved them both with an equal love. When he thought of his mother
+he saw a woman patient in suffering, of a temper exquisitely sweet,
+whose every word and act towards her child was fraught with
+tenderness. When he thought of his father he saw a man high-principled
+and just, inflexible in matters of right and conscience, patient also
+in suffering, and bearing in silence, as his mother did, a grief which
+had poisoned his life and hers.
+
+Neither of his parents had ever spoken a word against the other;
+the mystery which kept this tender, loving woman, and this just,
+high-principled man, apart, was never disclosed to their child. On
+this subject they entrenched themselves behind a barrier of silence
+which the child's love and winning ways could not penetrate. Only when
+his mother's eyes were closed and her lips sealed by death was he
+privileged to witness how deeply his father had loved her.
+
+Much of what had been disclosed to the Advocate's wife by Mother
+Denise was absolutely unknown to him. Doubtless he could have learned
+every particular of the circumstances which had led to the separation
+of his parents, had his wish lain in that direction; but a delicate
+instinct whispered to him not to lift the veil, and he would permit no
+person to approach the subject in his presence.
+
+The bright appearance of his sitting-room cheered him when he entered
+it, after bidding the Advocate good-night. But this pleasurable sense
+was not unalloyed. His heart and his conscience were disturbed, and as
+he took up a handful of roses which had been thrown loose into a bowl
+and inhaled their fragrance, a guilty thrill shot through his veins.
+
+With the roses in his hand he stood before the picture of Adelaide,
+which she had hung above his desk. How bright and beautiful was the
+face, how lovely the smile with which she greeted him! It was almost
+as if she were speaking to him, telling him that she loved him, and
+asking him to assure her once more that her love was returned.
+
+For a moment the fancy came upon him that Adelaide and he were like
+two stars wandering through a dark and dangerous path, and that before
+them lay death, and worse than death--dishonour and irretrievable
+ruin; and that she, the brighter star, holding him tightly by the
+hand, was whispering:
+
+"I will guide you safely; only love me!"
+
+There was one means of escape--death! A coward's refuge, which might
+not even afford him a release from dishonour, for Adelaide in her
+despair might let their secret escape her.
+
+Why, then, should he torture himself unnecessarily? It was not in his
+power to avert the inevitable. He had not deliberately chosen his
+course. Fate had driven him into it. Was it not best, after all, to do
+as he had said to the Advocate that night, to submit without a
+struggle? Men were not masters, but slaves.
+
+When the image of the Advocate, of his friend, presented itself to
+him, he thrust it sadly from him. But it came again and again, like
+the ghost of Banquo; conscience refused to be tricked.
+
+Crumbling the roses in his hand, and strewing the floor with the
+leaves, he turned, and saw, gazing wistfully at him, the eyes of his
+mother.
+
+The artist who had painted her picture had not chosen to depict her in
+her most joyous mood. In _his_ heart also, as she sat before him,
+love's fever was burning, and he knew, while his brush was fixing her
+beauty on the canvas, that his love was returned, though treachery had
+parted them. He had striven, not unsuccessfully, to portray in her
+features the expression of one who loved and to whom love was denied.
+The look in her eyes was wistful rather than hopeless, and conveyed,
+to those who knew her history, the idea of one who hoped to find in
+another world the happiness she had lost in this.
+
+Sad and tender reminiscences of the years he had lived with his mother
+in these very rooms stole into Christian Almer's mind, and he allowed
+his thoughts to dwell upon the question, "Why had she been unhappy?"
+She was young, beautiful, amiable, rich; her husband was a man
+honoured and esteemed, with a character above reproach. What secret
+would be revealed if the heart of this mystery were laid bare to his
+sight? If it were in his power to ascertain the truth, might not the
+revelation cause him additional sorrow? Better, then, to let the
+matter rest. No good purpose could be served by raking up the ashes of
+a melancholy past. His parents were dead----
+
+And here occurred a sudden revulsion. His mother was dead--and, but a
+few short minutes since, her spirit was supposed to have appeared in
+the grounds of the villa. Almost upon the thought, he hurriedly left
+the room, and made his way into the gardens.
+
+
+                           *  *  *  *  *  *
+
+
+"My neighbour, and master of this house," said Pierre Lamont, who was
+lying wide awake in the adjoining room, "does not seem inclined to
+rest. Something disturbs him."
+
+Pierre Lamont was alone; Fritz the Fool had left him for the night,
+and the old lawyer, himself in no mood for sleep, was reading and
+listening to the movements around him. There was little to hear, only
+an occasional muffled sound which the listener interpreted as best
+he could; but Christian Almer, when he left his room, had to pass
+Pierre Lamont's door in his progress to the grounds, and it was the
+clearer sound of his footsteps which led Pierre Lamont to his correct
+conclusion.
+
+"He is going out of the house," continued Pierre Lamont. "For what? To
+look for his mother's ghost, perhaps. Fool Fritz, in raising this
+particular ghost, did not foresee what it might lead to. Ghosts! And
+fools still live who believe in them! Well, well, but for the world's
+delusions there would be little work for busy minds to accomplish. As
+a fantastic piece of imagery I might conjure up an army of men
+sweeping the world with brooms made of brains--of knavery, folly,
+trickery, and delusion. What is that? A footstep! Human? No. Too light
+for any but the feet of a cat!"
+
+But here Pierre Lamont was at fault. It was Dionetta who passed his
+door in the passage, conveying to Christian Almer's room the note
+written by the Advocate's wife. Before the arrival of her new
+mistress, Dionetta had always worn thick boots, and the sound of her
+footstep was plain to hear; but Adelaide's nerves could not endure the
+creaking and clattering, and she had supplied her maid with shoes.
+Besides, Dionetta had naturally a light step.
+
+
+                           *  *  *  *  *  *
+
+
+Christian Almer met with nothing in the grounds to disturb him. No
+airy shadow appeared to warn him of the danger which threatened him.
+Were it possible for the spirits of the dead to make themselves seen
+and heard, assuredly the spirit of his mother would have appeared and
+implored him to fly from the house without delay. Happy for him would
+it have been were he one of the credulous fools Pierre Lamont held in
+despisal--happy for him could he have formed, out of the shadows which
+moved around him, a spirit in which he would have believed, and could
+he have heard, in the sighing of the breeze, a voice which would have
+impressed him with a true sense of the peril in which he stood.
+
+But he heard and saw nothing for which he could not naturally account,
+and within a few minutes of midnight he re-entered his room.
+
+
+                           *  *  *  *  *  *
+
+
+"My neighbour has returned," said Pierre Lamont, "after his nocturnal
+ramble in search of the spirit of his dead mother. Hark! That sound
+again! As of some living thing stepping cautiously on the boards. If I
+were not a cripple I would satisfy myself whether this villa is
+tormented by restless cats as well as haunted by unholy spirits. When
+will science supply mankind with the means of seeing, as well as
+hearing, what is transpiring on the other side of stone and wooden
+walls?
+
+"Ah, that door of his is creaking. It opens--shuts. I hear a murmur of
+voices, but cannot catch a word. Almer's voice of course--and the
+Advocate's. No--the other voice and the soft footsteps are in
+partnership. Not the Advocate's, nor any man's. Men don't tread like
+cats. It was a woman who passed my door, and who has been admitted
+into that room. Being a woman, what woman? If Fool Fritz were here, we
+would ferret it out between us before we were five minutes older.
+
+"Still talking--talking--like the soft murmur of peaceful waves. Ah! a
+laugh! By all that's natural, a woman's laugh! It is a woman! And I
+should know that silvery sound. There is a special music in a laugh
+which cannot be mistaken. It is distinctive--characteristic.
+
+"Ah, my lady, my lady! Fair face, false heart--but woman, woman all
+over!"
+
+And Pierre Lamont rubbed his hands, and also laughed--but his laugh
+was like his speech, silent, voiceless.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IX
+
+                CHRISTIAN ALMER RECEIVES TWO VISITORS
+
+
+Upon Christian Almer's desk lay the note written by Adelaide. He saw
+it the moment he entered the room, and knew, therefore, that some
+person had called during his absence. At first he thought it must have
+been the Advocate, who, not finding him in his room, had left the note
+for him; but as he opened the envelope a faint perfume floated from
+it.
+
+"It is from Adelaide," he murmured. "How often and how vainly have I
+warned her!"
+
+He read the note:
+
+
+"Dear Christian:
+
+"I cannot sleep until I wish you good-night, with no horrid people
+around us. Let me see you for one minute only.
+
+                                            "Adelaide."
+
+
+To comply with her request at such an hour would be simple folly;
+infatuated as he was he would not deliberately commit himself to such
+an act.
+
+"Surely she cannot have been here," he thought. "But if another hand
+placed this note upon my desk, another person must share the secret
+which it is imperative should never be revealed. I must be firm with
+her. There must be an end to this imprudence. Fortunately there is no
+place in Edward's nature for suspicion."
+
+He blushed with shame at the unworthy thought. Five years ago, could
+he have seen--he who up to that time never had stooped to meanness and
+deceit--the position in which he now stood, he would have rejected the
+mere suspicion of its possibility with indignation. But by what
+fatally easy steps had he reached it!
+
+In the midst of these reflections his heart almost stopped beating at
+the sound of a light footstep without. He listened, and heard a soft
+tapping on the door, not with the knuckles, but with the finger-tips;
+he opened the door, and Adelaide stood smiling before him.
+
+With her finger at her lips she stepped into the room, and closed the
+door behind her.
+
+"It would not do for me to be seen," she whispered. "Do not be
+alarmed; I shall not be here longer than one little minute. I have
+only come to wish you good-night. Give me a chair, or I shall sink to
+the ground. I am really very, very frightened. Quick; bring me a
+chair. Do you not see how weak I am?"
+
+He drew a chair towards Her, and she sank languidly into it.
+
+"As you would not come to me," she said, "I was compelled to come to
+you."
+
+"Compelled!" he said.
+
+They spoke in low tones, fearful lest their voices should travel
+beyond the room.
+
+"Yes, compelled. I was urged by a spirit."
+
+His face grew white. "A spirit!"
+
+"How you echo me, Christian. Yes, by a spirit, to which you yourself
+shall give a name. Shall we call it a spirit of restlessness, or
+jealousy, or love?" She gazed at him with an arch smile.
+
+"Adelaide," he said, "your imprudence will ruin us."
+
+"Nonsense, Christian, nonsense," she said lightly; "ruined because I
+happened to utter one little word! To be sure I ought, so as to prove
+myself an apt pupil, to put a longer word before it, and call it
+platonic love. How unreasonable you are! What harm is there in our
+having a moment's chat? We are old friends, are we not? No, I will not
+let you interrupt me; I know what you are going to say. You are going
+to say, Think of the hour! I decline to think of the hour. I think of
+nothing but you. And instead of looking delighted, as you should do,
+as any other man would do, there you stand as serious as an owl. Now,
+answer me, sir. Why did you not come to me the moment you received my
+note?"
+
+"I had but just read it when you tapped at my door."
+
+"I forgive you. Where have you been? With the Advocate?"
+
+"No; I have been walking in the grounds."
+
+"You saw nothing, Christian?" she asked with a little shiver.
+
+"Nothing to alarm or disturb me."
+
+"There was a light in the Advocate's study, was there not?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"He will remain up late, and then he will retire to his room. My life
+is a very bright and beautiful life with him. He is so tender in his
+ways--so fond of pleasure--pays me so much attention, and _such_
+compliments--is so light--hearted and joyous--sings to me, dances with
+me! Oh, you don't know him, you don't indeed. I remember asking him to
+join in a cotillon; you should have seen the look he gave me!" She
+laughed out loud, and clapped her hand on her mouth to stifle the
+sound. "I wonder whether he was ever young, like you and me. What a
+wonderful child he must have been--with scientific toys, and books
+always under his arm--yes, a wonderful child, holding in disdain
+little girls who wished him to join in their innocent games. What is
+your real opinion of him, Christian?"
+
+"It pains me to hear you speak of him in that way."
+
+"It should please you; but men are never satisfied. I speak lightly,
+do I not, but there are moments when I shudder at my fate. Confess, it
+is not a happy one."
+
+"It is not," he replied, after a pause, "but if I had not crossed your
+path, life would be full of joy for you."
+
+It was not this he intended to say, but there was such compelling
+power in her lightest words that his very thoughts seemed to be under
+her dominion.
+
+"There would have been no joy in my life," she said, "without you. We
+will not discuss it. What is, is. Sometimes when I think of things
+they make my head ache. Then I say, I will think of them no longer. If
+everybody did the same, would not this world be a great deal
+pleasanter than it is? Oh, you must not forget what the Advocate
+called me to-night in your presence--a philosopher in petticoats.
+Don't you see that even he is on my side, though it is against
+himself? Of course one can't help respecting him. He is a very learned
+man. He should have married a very learned woman. What a pity it is
+that I am not wise! But that is not my fault. I hate learning, I hate
+science, I hate theories. What is the good of them? They say, this is
+not right, that is not right. And all we poor creatures can do is to
+look on in a state of bewilderment, and wonder what they mean. If
+people would only let the world alone, they would find it a very
+beautiful world. But they will _not_ let it alone; they _will_ meddle.
+A flower, now--is it not sweet--is it not enough that it is sent to
+give us pleasure? But these disagreeable people say, 'Of what is this
+flower composed--is it as good as other flowers--has it qualities, and
+what qualities?' What do I care? I put it in my hair, and I am happy
+because it becomes me, because it is pretty, because Nature sent it to
+me to enjoy. Why, I have actually made you smile!"
+
+"Because there is a great deal of natural wisdom in what you are
+saying----"
+
+"Natural wisdom! There now, does it not prove I am right? Thank you,
+Christian. It comes to you to say exactly the right thing exactly at
+the right time. I shall begin to feel proud."
+
+"And," continued Almer, "if you were only to talk to me like that in
+the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night----"
+
+She interrupted him again:
+
+"You have undone it all with your 'ifs.' What does it matter if it is
+in the middle of the day or the middle of the night? What is right, is
+right, is it not, without thinking of the time? Don't get
+disagreeable; but indeed I will not allow you to be anything but nice
+to me. You have made me forget everything I was going to say."
+
+"Except one thing," he said gravely, "which you came to say,
+'Good-night.'"
+
+"The minute is not gone yet," she said with a silvery laugh.
+
+"Many minutes, many minutes," he said helplessly, "and every minute is
+fraught with danger."
+
+"I will protect you," she said with supreme assurance. "Do not fear. I
+see quite plainly that if there is a dragon to kill I shall have to be
+the St. George. Well, I am ready. Danger is sweet when you are with
+me."
+
+He was powerless against her; he resigned himself to his fate.
+
+"Who brought your letter to my room?" he asked. "Dionetta."
+
+"Have you confided in her?"
+
+"She knows nothing, and she is devoted to me. If the simple maid
+thought of the letter at all--as to what was in it, I mean--she
+thought, of course, that it was something I wanted you to do for me
+to-morrow, and had forgotten to tell you. But even here I was prudent,
+although you do not give me credit for prudence. I made her promise
+not to tell a soul, not even her grandmother, that queer, good old
+Mother Denise, that she had taken a letter from me to you. She did
+more than promise--she swore she would not tell. I bribed her,
+Christian--I gave her things, and to-night I gave her a pair of
+earrings. You should have witnessed her delight! I would wager that
+she is at this moment no more asleep than I am. She is looking at
+herself in the glass, shaking her pretty little head to make the
+diamonds glisten."
+
+"Diamonds, Adelaide! A simple maid like Dionetta with diamond
+earrings! What will the folks say?"
+
+"Oh, they all know I am fond of her----"
+
+They started to their feet with a simultaneous movement.
+
+"Footsteps!" whispered Almer.
+
+"The Advocate's," said Adelaide, and she glided to the door, and
+turned the key as softly as if it were made of velvet.
+
+"He will see a light in the room," said Christian. "He has come to
+talk with me. What shall we do?"
+
+She gazed at him with a bright smile. His face was white with
+apprehension; hers, red with excitement and exaltation.
+
+"I am St. George," she whispered; "but really there is no dragon to
+kill; we have only to send him to sleep. Of course you must see him. I
+will conceal myself in the inner room, and you will lock me in, and
+put the key in your pocket, so that I shall be quite safe. Do not be
+uneasy about me; I can amuse myself with books and pictures, and I
+will turn over the leaves so quietly that even a butterfly would not
+be disturbed. And when the dragon is gone I will run away immediately.
+I am almost sorry I came, it has distressed you so."
+
+She kissed the tips of her fingers to him, and entered the adjoining
+room. Then, turning the key in the door Christian Almer admitted the
+Advocate.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER X
+
+                      A BRIEF SURVEY OF THE WEB
+
+
+Pause we here a moment, and contemplate the threads of the web which
+Chance, Fate, or Retribution was weaving round this man.
+
+With the exception of a few idle weeks in his youth, his life had been
+a life of honour and renown. His ambition was a worthy one, and
+success had not been attained without unwearying labour and devotion.
+Close study and application, zeal, earnestness, unflagging industry,
+these were the steps in the ladder he had climbed. Had it not been for
+his keen intellect these qualities would not have been sufficient to
+conduct him to the goal he had in view. Good luck is not to be
+despised, but unless it is allied with brain power of a high order
+only an ephemeral success can be achieved.
+
+Never, to outward appearance, was a great reputation more stable or
+better deserved. His wonderful talents, and the victories he had
+gained in the face of formidable odds, had destroyed all the petty
+jealousies with which he had to cope in the outset of his career, and
+he stood now upon a lofty pinnacle, acknowledged by all as a master in
+his craft. Wealth and distinction were his, and higher honours lay
+within his grasp; and, in addition, he had won for his wife one of the
+most beautiful of women. It seemed as if the world had nothing to add
+to his happiness.
+
+And yet destruction stared him in the face. The fabric he had raised,
+on a foundation so secure that it appeared as if nothing could shake
+it, was tottering, and might fall, destroying him and all he had
+worked for in the ruins.
+
+He stood at the door of the only man in the world to whom he had given
+the full measure of his friendship. With all the strength of his
+nature he believed in Christian Almer. In the gravest crisis of his
+life he would have called this friend to his side, and would have
+placed in his hands, without hesitation, his life, his reputation, and
+his honour. To Almer, in their conversation, he had revealed what may
+be termed his inner life, that life the workings of which were
+concealed from all other men. And in this friend's chamber his wife
+was concealed; and dishonour hung over him by the slenderest thread.
+Not only dishonour, but unutterable grief, for he loved this woman
+with a most complete undoubting love. Little time had he for
+dalliance; but he believed in his wife implicitly. His trust in her
+was a perfect trust.
+
+Within the room at the door of which he was waiting, stood his one
+friend, with white face and guilty conscience, about to admit him and
+grasp his hand. Had the heart of this friend been laid bare to him, he
+would have shrunk from it in horror and loathing, and from that moment
+to the last moment of his life the sentiment of friendship would have
+been to him the bitterest mockery and delusion with which man could be
+cursed.
+
+Not five yards from where he stood lay Pierre Lamont, listening and
+watching for proofs of the perfidy which would bring disgrace upon
+him--which would cause men and women to speak of him in terms of
+derision for his blindness and scorn for his weakness--which would
+make a byeword of him--of him, the great Advocate, who had played his
+part in many celebrated cases in which woman's faithlessness and
+disloyalty were the prominent features--and which would cause him to
+regard the sentiment of love as the falsest delusion with which
+mankind was ever afflicted.
+
+In the study he had left but a few minutes since slept a man who, in a
+certain sense, claimed comradeship with him, a man whom he had
+championed and set free, a self-confessed murderer, a wretch so vile
+that he had fled from him in horror at the act he had himself
+accomplished.
+
+And in the open air, upon a hill, a hundred yards from the House of
+White Shadows, lay John Vanbrugh, a friend of his youth, a man
+disgraced by his career, watching for the signal which would warrant
+him in coming forward and divulging what was in his mind. If what John
+Vanbrugh had disclosed in his mutterings during his lonely watch was
+true, he held in his hands the key to a mystery, which, revealed,
+would overwhelm the Advocate with shame and infamy.
+
+Thus was he threatened on all sides by friend and foe alike.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XI
+
+                               A CRISIS
+
+
+"Have I disturbed you, Christian?" asked the Advocate, entering the
+room. "I hesitated a moment or two, hearing no sound, but seeing your
+lamp was lighted, I thought you were up, and might be expecting me."
+
+"I had an idea you would come," said Almer, with a feeling of relief
+at the Advocate's statement that he had heard no sound; and then he
+said, so that he might be certain of his ground, "You have not been to
+my room before to-night?"
+
+"No; for the last two hours I have not left my study. Half an hour's
+converse with you will do me good. I am terribly jaded."
+
+"The reaction of the excitement of the long trial in which you have
+been engaged."
+
+"Probably; though I have endured fatigue as great without feeling as
+jaded as I do now."
+
+"You must take rest. Your doctors who prescribed repose for you would
+be angry if they were aware of the strain you have put upon your
+mind."
+
+"They do know. The physician I place the greatest faith in writes to
+me that I must have been mad to have undertaken Gautran's defence. It
+might have been better if I had not entered into that trial."
+
+"You have one consolation. Defended by a lawyer less eminent than
+yourself, an unfortunate man might have been convicted of a crime he
+did not commit."
+
+"Yes," said the Advocate slowly, "that is true."
+
+"You compel admiration, Edward. With frightful odds against you, with
+the public voice against you, you voluntarily engage in a contest from
+which nothing is to be gained, and come out triumphant. I do not envy
+the feelings of the lawyers on the other side."
+
+"At least, Christian, as you have said, they have the public voice
+with them."
+
+"And you, Edward, have justice on your side, and the consciousness of
+right. The higher height is yours; you must regard these narrower
+minds with a feeling of pity."
+
+"I have no feeling whatever for them; they do not trouble me.
+Christian, we will quit the subject of Gautran; you can well
+understand that I have had enough of him. Let us speak of yourself. I
+am an older man than you, and there is something of a fatherly
+interest in the friendship I entertain for you. Since my marriage I
+have sometimes thought if I had a son I should have been pleased if
+his nature resembled yours, and if I had a daughter it would be in the
+hands of such a man as yourself I should wish to place her happiness."
+
+"You esteem me too highly," said Almer, in a tone of sadness.
+
+"I esteem you as you deserve, friend. Within your nature are
+possibilities you do not recognise. It is needful to be bold in this
+world, Christian; not arrogant, or over-confident, or vain-glorious,
+but modestly bold. Unless a man assert himself his powers will lie
+dormant; and not to use the gifts with which we are endowed is a
+distinct reproach upon us. I have heard able men say it is a crime to
+neglect our powers, for great gifts are bestowed upon us for others'
+good as well as for our own. Besides, it is healthy in every way to
+lead a busy life, to set our minds upon the accomplishment of certain
+tasks. If we fail--well, failure is very often more honourable than
+success. We have at least striven to mount the hill which rises above
+the pettiness and selfishness of our everyday life; we have at least
+proved ourselves worthy of the spiritual influences which prompt the
+execution of noble deeds. You did not reply to the letter I sent you
+in the mountains; but Adelaide heard from you, and that is sufficient.
+Sufficient, also, that you are here with us, and that we know we have
+a true friend in the house. You were many weeks in the mountains."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Were you engaged on any work? Did you paint or write?"
+
+"I made a few sketches, which pleased me one day and displeased me the
+next, so I tore them up and threw them away. There is enough
+indifferent work in the world."
+
+"Nothing short of perfection will satisfy you," said the Advocate with
+a serious smile; "but some men must march in the ranks."
+
+"I am not worthy even of that position," said Almer moodily.
+
+The Advocate regarded him with thoughtful eyes.
+
+"If your mind is not deeply reflective, if your power of observation
+applies only to the surface of things, you are capable of imparting
+what some call tenderness and I call soul, to every subject which
+presents itself to you. I have detected this in your letters and
+conversation. It is a valuable quality. I grant that you may be unfit
+to cope with practical matters, but in your study you would be able to
+produce works which would charm if they did not instruct. There is in
+you a heart instinct which, as it forms part of your nature, would
+display itself in everything you wrote."
+
+"Useless, Edward, useless! My father was an author; it brought him no
+happiness."
+
+"How do you know? It may have afforded him consolation, and that is
+happiness. But I was not speaking of happiness. The true artist does
+not look to results. He has only one aim and one desire--to produce a
+perfect work. His task being done--not that he produces a perfect
+work, but the ennoblement lies in the aspiration and the earnest
+application--that being done, he has accomplished something worthy,
+whatever its degree of excellence. The day upon which a man first
+devotes himself to such labour he awakes within his being a new and
+delightful life, the life of creative thought. Fresh wonders
+continually reveal themselves--quaint suggestions, exquisite fancies,
+and he makes use of them according to the strength of his intellect.
+He enriches the world."
+
+"And if he is a poor man, starves."
+
+"Maybe; but he wears the crown. You, however, are rich."
+
+"Nothing to be grateful for. I had no incentive to effort, therefore I
+stand to-day an idle, aimless man. You have spoken of books. When I
+looked at crowded bookshelves, I should blush at the thought of adding
+to them any rubbish of my own creation."
+
+"I find no fault with you for that. Blush if you like--but work,
+produce."
+
+"And let the world call me vain and presumptuous."
+
+"Give it the chance of judging; it may be the other way. Perhaps the
+greatest difficulty we have to encounter in life is in the discovery
+of that kind of work for which we are best fitted. Fortunate the man
+who gravitates to it naturally, and who, having the capacity to become
+a fine shoemaker, is not clapped upon a watchmaker's bench instead of
+a cobbler's stool. Being fitted, he is certain to acquire some kind of
+distinction. Believe me, Christian, it is not out of idleness, or for
+the mere purpose of making conversation that I open up this subject.
+It would afford me great pleasure if you were in a more settled frame
+of mind. You cannot disguise from me that you are uneasy, perhaps
+unhappy. I see it this very moment in your wandering glances, and in
+the difficulty you experience in fixing your attention upon what I am
+saying. You are not satisfied with yourself. You have probably arrived
+at that stage when a man questions himself as to what is before
+him--when he reviews the past, and discovers that he has allowed the
+years to slip by without having made an effort to use them to a worthy
+end. You ask yourself, 'Is it for this I am here? Are there not
+certain duties which I ought to perform? If I allow the future to slip
+away as the past has done, without having accomplished a man's work in
+the world, I shall find myself one day an old man, of whom it may be
+said, "He lived only for himself; he had no thought, no desire beyond
+himself; the struggles of humanity, the advance of civilisation, the
+progress and development of thought which have effected such
+marvellous changes in the aspects of society, the exposing of
+error--these things touched him not; he bore no part in them, but
+stood idly by, a careless observer, whose only ambition it was to
+utilise the hours to his own selfish pleasures."' A heavy charge,
+Christian. What you want is occupation. Politics--your inclinations do
+not lead that way; trade is abhorrent to you. You are not sufficiently
+frivolous to develop into a butterfly leader of fashion. Law is
+distasteful to you. Science demands qualities which you do not
+possess. For a literary life you are specially adapted. I say to you,
+turn your attention to it for a while. If it disappoint you, it is
+easy to relinquish it. It will be but an attempt made in the right
+direction. But understand, Christian, without earnestness, without
+devotion, without application, it will be useless to make the
+attempt."
+
+"And that is precisely the reason why I hesitate to make it. I am
+wanting in firmness of purpose. I doubt myself; I should have begun
+earlier."
+
+"But you will think over what I have said?"
+
+"Yes, I will think of it, and I cordially thank you."
+
+"And now tell me how you enjoyed yourself in the mountains."
+
+"Passably well. It was a negative sort of life. There was no pleasure
+in it, and no pain. One day was so exactly like another, that I should
+scarcely have been surprised if I had awoke one morning and discovered
+that in the dull uniformity of the hours my hair had grown white and I
+into an old man. The principal subject of interest was the weather,
+and that palled so soon that sunshine or storm became a matter of
+indifference to me."
+
+"Look at me a moment, Christian."
+
+They sat gazing at each other in silence for a little while. There was
+an unusual tenderness in the Advocate's eyes which pierced Christian
+Almer to the heart. During the whole of this interview the thought
+never left his mind:
+
+"If he knew the part I am playing towards him--if he suspected that
+simply by listening at this inner door he could hear his wife's soft
+breathing--in what way would he call me to account for my treachery?"
+
+He dreaded every moment that something would occur to betray him.
+
+Adelaide was careless, reckless. If she made a movement to attract
+attention, if she overturned a chair, if she let a book fall, what was
+he to say in answer to the Advocate's questioning look?
+
+But all was quiet within; he was tortured only by the whisperings of
+his conscience.
+
+"You are suffering, Christian," said the Advocate.
+
+Almer knew intuitively that on this point, as on many others, it would
+be useless to attempt to deceive the Advocate. To return an evasive
+answer might arouse suspicion. He said simply:
+
+"Yes, I am suffering."
+
+"It is not bodily suffering, though your pulse is feverish." He had
+taken Almer's wrist, and his fingers were on the pulse. "Your disease
+is mental." He paused, but Almer did not speak. "It is no breach of
+confidence," continued the Advocate, "to tell you that on the first
+day of my entering Geneva, Jacob Hartrich and I had a conversation
+about you. There was nothing said that need be kept private. We
+conversed as two men might converse concerning an absent friend in
+whom both took an affectionate interest. He had noticed a change in
+you which I have noticed since I entered this room. When you visited
+him he was impressed by an unusual strangeness in your manner. That
+strangeness of manner, without your being aware of it, is upon you
+now. He said that you were restless and ill at ease. You are at this
+moment restless and ill at ease. The muscles of your face, your eyes,
+your hands, are not under your control. They respond to the mental
+disease which causes you to suffer. You will forgive me for saying
+that you convey to me the impression that you would be more at ease at
+the present time if I were not with you."
+
+"I entreat you," said Almer eagerly, "not to think so."
+
+"I accept your assurance, which, nevertheless, does not convince me
+that I am wrong in my impression. The friendship which exists between
+us is too close and binding--I may even go so far as to say, too
+sacred--for me, a colder and more experienced man than yourself, to
+allow it to be affected by any matter outside its boundary. Deprive it
+of sympathy, and friendship is an unmeaning word. I sympathise with
+you deeply, sincerely, without knowing how to relieve you. I ask you
+frankly, however, one question which you may freely answer. Have you
+fixed your affections upon a woman who does not reciprocate your
+love?"
+
+The Advocate was seated by the desk upon which Almer had, after
+reading it, carelessly thrown the note written to him by Adelaide, and
+as he put the question to his friend, he involuntarily laid his hand
+upon this damning evidence of his wife's disloyalty.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XII
+
+                          SELF-JUSTIFICATION
+
+
+The slight action and the significant question presented a coincidence
+so startling that Christian Almer was fascinated by it. That there was
+premeditation or design in the coincidence, or that the Advocate had
+cunningly led the conversation to this point for the purpose of
+confounding him and bringing him face to face with his treachery, did
+not suggest itself to his mind. He was, indeed, incapable of reasoning
+coherently. All that he was momentarily conscious of was, that
+discovery was imminent, that the sword hung over him, suspended by a
+hair. Would it fall, and in its fall compel into a definite course the
+conflicting passions by which he was tortured?
+
+It would, perhaps, be better so. Already did he experience a feeling
+of relief at this suggestion, and it appeared to him as if he were
+bending his head for the welcome blow.
+
+But all was still and quiet, and through the dim mist before his eyes
+he saw the Advocate gazing kindly upon him.
+
+Then there stole upon him a wild prompting, a mad impulse, to expedite
+discovery by his own voluntary act--to say to the Advocate:
+
+"I have betrayed you. Read that note beneath your hand; take this key,
+and open yonder door; find there your wife. What do you propose to
+do?"
+
+The words did actually shape themselves in his mind, and he half
+believed that he had uttered them. They did not, however, escape his
+lips. He was instinctively restrained by the consideration that in his
+punishment Adelaide would be involved. What right had he deliberately
+to ruin and expose her? A cowardly act thus to sacrifice a woman who
+in this crisis relied upon him for protection. In a humiliating,
+shameful sense it is true, but none the less was she under his direct
+protection at this moment. Self-tortured as he was he could still show
+that he had some spark of manliness left in him. To recklessly dispose
+of the fate of the woman whose only crime was that she loved him--this
+he dared not do.
+
+His mood changed. Arrived at this conclusion, his fear now was that he
+had betrayed himself--that in some indefinite way he had given the
+Advocate the key to his thoughts, or that he had, by look or
+expression, conveyed to his friend a sense of the terrible importance
+of the perfumed note which lay upon the desk.
+
+"You do not answer me, Christian," said the Advocate.
+
+But Almer could not speak. His eyes were fixed upon Adelaide's note,
+and he found it impossible to divert his attention from the idle
+movements of the Advocate's fingers. His unreasoning impulse to hasten
+discovery was gone, and he was afflicted now by a feeling of
+apprehension. It was his imperative duty to protect Adelaide; while
+the Advocate's hand rested upon the envelope which contained her
+secret she was not safe. At all risks, even at the hazard of his life,
+must she be held blameless. Had the Advocate lifted the envelope from
+the desk, Almer would have torn it from him.
+
+"Why do you not speak?" asked the Advocate. "Surely there is nothing
+offensive in such a question between friends like ourselves."
+
+"I can offer you no explanation of what I am about to say," replied
+Almer: "it may sound childish, trivial, pitiful, but my thoughts are
+not under my own control while your hand is upon that letter."
+
+With the slightest expression of surprise the Advocate handed Almer
+the envelope, scarcely looking at it as it passed from his possession.
+
+"Why did you not speak of it before?" he said. "But when a mind is
+unbalanced, trifling matters are magnified into importance."
+
+"I can only ask you to forgive me," said Almer, placing the envelope
+in his pocket-book. "I have no doubt in the course of your career you
+have met with many small incidents quite as inexplicable." Then an
+excuse which would surely be accepted occurred to him. "It may be
+sufficient for me to say that this is the first night of my return to
+the house in which I was born and passed a not too happy boyhood, and
+that in this room my mother died."
+
+The Advocate pressed Almer's hand.
+
+"There is no need for another word. You have been looking over some
+old family papers, and they have aroused melancholy reminiscences. I
+should have been more thoughtful; I was wrong in coming to you. It
+will be best to say good-night."
+
+But Almer, anxious to avoid the slightest cause for suspicion in the
+right direction, said:
+
+"Nay, stay with me a few minutes longer, or I shall reproach myself
+for having behaved unreasonably. You were asking----"
+
+"A delicate question. Whether you love without being loved in return?"
+
+"No, Edward, that is not the case with me."
+
+"You have no intention of marrying?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then your heart is still free. You reassure me. You are not suffering
+from what has been described as the most exquisite of all human
+sufferings--unrequited love. Neither have you experienced a
+disappointment in friendship?"
+
+"No. I have scarcely a friend with the exception of yourself."
+
+"And my wife. You must not forget her. She takes a cordial interest in
+you."
+
+"Yes, and your wife."
+
+"It was Jacob Hartrich who suggested that you might have met with a
+disappointment in love or friendship. I disputed it, in the belief
+that had it been unhappily so you would have confided in me. I am glad
+that I was right. Shall I continue?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The banker, who entertains the most kindly sentiments towards you,
+based all his conjectures upon a certain remark which made a strong
+impression upon him. You told him you were weary of the gaiety and the
+light and bustle of cities, and that it was your intention to seek
+some solitude where, by a happy chance, you might rid yourself of a
+terror which possessed you. I can understand your weariness of the
+false glare of fashionable city life; it can never for any long period
+satisfy the intellect. But neither can it instil a terror into a man's
+soul. That would spring from another and a deeper cause."
+
+"The words were hastily spoken. Look upon them as an exaggeration."
+
+"I certainly regard them in that light, but they were not an
+invention, and there must have been a serious motive for them. It is
+not in vain that I have studied your character, although I feel that I
+did not master the study. I am subjecting you, Christian, to a kind of
+mental analysis, in an endeavour to arrive at a conclusion which will
+enable me to be of assistance to you. And I do not disguise from you
+that, were it in my power, I would assist you even against your will.
+Our friendship, and my age and more varied experience, would justify
+me. I do not seek to force your confidence, but I ask you in the
+spirit of true friendship to consider--not at present, but in a few
+days, when your mind is in a calmer state--whether such counsel and
+guidance as it may be in my power to offer will not be a real help to
+you. Do not lightly reject my assistance in probing a painful wound. I
+will use my knife gently. There was a time when I believed there was
+nothing that could happen to either of us which we should be unwilling
+to confide each to the other, freely and without restraint. I find I
+am not too old to learn the lesson that the strongest beliefs, the
+firmest convictions, may be seriously weakened by the occurrence of
+circumstances for which the wisest foresight could not have provided.
+Keep, then, your secret, if you are so resolved, and bear in mind that
+on the day you come to me and say, 'Edward, help me, guide me,' you
+will find me ready. I shall not fail you, Christian, in any crisis."
+
+Almer rose and slowly paced the room, while the Advocate sat back in
+his chair, and watched his friend with affectionate solicitude.
+
+"Does this lesson," presently said Almer, "which you are not too old
+to learn, spring entirely from the newer impressions you are receiving
+of my character, or has something in your mind which you have not
+disclosed helped to lead you to it?"
+
+It was a chance shot, but it strangely hit the mark. The question
+brought forcibly to the Advocate's mind the position in which he
+himself was placed by Gautran's confession, and by his subsequent
+resolve to conceal the knowledge of Gautran's crime.
+
+"What a web is the world!" he thought. "How the lines which here are
+widely apart, but a short space beyond cross and are linked in closest
+companionship!" Both Christian and himself had something to conceal,
+and it would be acting in bad faith to his friend were he to return an
+evasive answer.
+
+"It is not entirely from the newer impressions you speak of that I
+learn the lesson. It springs partly from a matter which disturbs my
+mind."
+
+"Referring to me?"
+
+"No, to myself. You are not concerned in it."
+
+In his turn Almer now became the questioner.
+
+"A new experience of your own, Edward?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Which must have occurred to you since we were last together?"
+
+"It originated during your absence."
+
+"Which came upon you unaware--for which your foresight could not have
+provided?"
+
+"At all events it did not."
+
+"You speak seriously, Edward, and your face is clouded."
+
+"It is a very serious matter."
+
+"Can I help you? Is it likely that my advice would be of assistance?"
+
+"I can speak of it to no one."
+
+"You also have a secret then?"
+
+"Yes, I also have a secret."
+
+Christian Almer appeared to gather strength--a warranty, as it were,
+for his own wrong-doing--from the singular direction the conversation
+had taken. It was as though part of a burden was lifted from him. He
+was not the only one who was suffering--he was not the only one who
+was standing on a dangerous brink--he was not the only one who had
+drifted into dangerous waters. Even this strong-brained man, this
+Advocate who had seemingly held aloof from pleasure, whose days and
+nights had been given up to study, whose powerful intellect could
+pierce dark mysteries and bring them into clear light, who was the
+last man in the world who could be suspected of yielding to a
+prompting of which his judgment and conscience could not approve--even
+he had a secret which he was guarding with jealous care. Was it likely
+then, that he, the younger and the more impressionable of the two,
+could escape snares into which the Advocate had fallen? The fatalist's
+creed recurred to him. All these matters of life were preordained.
+What folly--what worse than folly, what presumption, for one weak man
+to attempt to stem the irresistible current! It was delivering himself
+up to destruction. Better to yield and float upon the smooth tide and
+accept what good or ill fate has in store for him. What use to infuse
+into the sunlight, and the balmy air, and into all the sweets of life,
+the poison of self-torture? The confession he had extracted from the
+Advocate was in a certain sense a justification of himself. He would
+pursue the subject still further. As he had been questioned, so he
+would question. It was but just.
+
+"To judge from your manner, Edward, your secret is no light one."
+
+"It is of most serious import."
+
+"I almost fear to ask a question which occurs to me."
+
+"Ask freely. I have been candid with you, in my desire to ascertain
+how I could help you in your trouble. Be equally candid with me."
+
+"But it may be misconstrued. I am ashamed that it should have
+suggested itself--for which, of course, the worser part of me is
+responsible. No--it shall remain unspoken."
+
+"I should prefer that you asked it--nay, I desire you to do so. There
+is no fear of misconstruction. Do you think I wish to stand in your
+eyes as a perfect man? That would be arrogant, indeed. Or that I do
+not know that you and I and all men are possessed of contradictions
+which, viewed in certain aspects, may degrade the most noble? The
+purest of us--men and women alike--have undignified thoughts, unworthy
+imaginings, to which we would be loth to give utterance. But
+sometimes, as in this instance, it becomes a duty. I have had occasion
+quite lately to question myself closely, and I have fallen in my own
+estimation. There is more baseness in me than I imagined. Hesitate no
+longer. Ask your question, and as many more as may arise from it;
+these things are frequently hydra-headed. I shall know how far to
+answer without disclosing what I desire shall remain buried."
+
+Almer put his question boldly.
+
+"Is the fate of a woman involved in your secret?"
+
+An almost imperceptible start revealed to Almer's eyes that another
+chance arrow had hit the mark. Truly, a woman's fate formed the kernel
+of the Advocate's secret--a virtuous, innocent woman who had been most
+foully murdered. He answered in set words, without any attempt at
+evasion.
+
+"Yes, a woman's fate is involved in it."
+
+"Your wife's?" Had his life depended upon it, Almer could not have
+kept back the words.
+
+"No, not my wife's."
+
+"In that case," said Almer slowly, "a man's honour is concerned."
+
+"You guess aright--a man's honour is concerned."
+
+"Yours?"
+
+"Mine."
+
+For a few moments neither of them spoke, and then the Advocate said:
+
+"To men suspicious of each other--as most men naturally are, and
+generally with reason--such a turn in our conversation, and indeed the
+entire conversation in which we have indulged, might be twisted to
+fatal disadvantage. In the way of conjecture I mean--as to what is the
+essence of the secret which I do not reveal to my dearest friend, and
+the essence of that which my dearest friend does not reveal to me. It
+is fortunate, Christian, that you and I stand higher than most. We
+have rarely hesitated to speak heart to heart and soul to soul; and
+if, by some strange course of events, there has arisen in each of our
+inner lives a mystery which we have decided not to reveal, it will not
+weaken the feeling of affection we entertain for each other. Is that
+so, Christian?"
+
+"Yes, it is so, Edward."
+
+"Men of action, of deep thought, of strong passion, of sensitive
+natures, are less their own masters than peasants who take no part in
+the turmoil of the world. An uneventful life presents fewer
+temptations, and there is therefore more freedom in it. We live in an
+atmosphere of wine, and often miss our way. Well, we must be indulgent
+to each other, and be sometimes ready to say, 'The position of
+difficulty into which you have been thrust, the error you have
+committed, the sin--yes, even the sin--of which you have been guilty,
+may have fallen to my lot had I been placed in similar circumstances.
+It is not I who will be the first to condemn you.'"
+
+"Even," said Almer, "if that error or that sin may be a grievous wrong
+inflicted against yourself. Even then you would be ready to excuse and
+forgive?"
+
+"Yes, even in that case. I should be taking a narrow view of an
+argument if I applied to all the world what I hesitated to apply to
+myself."
+
+"So that the committal of a great wrong may be justified by
+circumstances?"
+
+"Yes, I will go as far as that. The fault of the child or the fault of
+the man, is but a question of degree. Some err deliberately, some are
+hurried into error by passions which master them."
+
+"By natural passions?"
+
+"All such passions are natural, although it is the fashion to condemn
+them when they clash with the conditions of social life. The workings
+of the moral and sympathetic affections are beyond our own control."
+
+"Of those who have erred with deliberate intention and those who have
+been hurried blindly into error, which should you be most ready to
+forgive?"
+
+"The latter," replied the Advocate, conscious that in his answer he
+was condemning himself; "they are comparatively innocent, having less
+power over, and being less able to retrace their steps."
+
+"You pause," said Almer, a sudden thrill agitating his veins. "Why?"
+
+"I thought I heard a sound--like a suppressed laugh! Did you not hear
+it?"
+
+"No. I heard nothing."
+
+Almer's teeth met in scorn of himself as he uttered this falsehood.
+The sound of the laugh was low but distinct, and it proceeded from the
+room in which Adelaide was concealed.
+
+The Advocate stepped to the door by which he had entered, and looked
+up and down the passage, to which two lamps gave light. It was quiet
+and deserted.
+
+"My fancy," he said, standing within the half-open door. "My
+physicians know more of the state of my nerves than I do myself. It is
+interesting, however, to observe one's own mental delusions. But I was
+wrong in mixing myself up with that trial."
+
+Still that trial. Always that trial. It seemed to him as if he could
+never forget it, as if it would forever abide with him. It coloured
+his thoughts, it gave form to his arguments. Would it end by changing
+his very nature?
+
+"You are over-wrought, Edward," said Almer. "If you were to seek what
+I have sought, solitude, it might be more beneficial to you than it
+has been to me."
+
+"There is solitude enough for me in this retired village," said the
+Advocate, "and had I not undertaken the defence of Gautran, my health
+by this time might have been completely established. We are here
+sufficiently removed from the fierce passions of the world--they
+cannot touch us in this primitive birthplace of yours. Do you
+recognise how truly I spoke when I said that men like ourselves are
+the slaves, and peasants the free men? Besides, Christian, there is a
+medicine in friendship such as yours which I defy the doctors to
+rival. Even though there has been a veil over our confidences
+to-night, I feel that this last hour has been of benefit to me. You
+know that I am much given to thinking to myself. As a rule, at those
+times, one walks in a narrow groove; if he argues, the contradiction
+he receives is of that mild character that it can be easily proved
+wrong. No wonder, when the thinker creates it for the purpose of
+proving himself right. It is seldom healthy, this solitary
+communionship--it leads rarely to just conclusions. But in
+conversation new byeroads reveal themselves, in which we wander
+pleasantly--new vistas appear--new suggestions arise, to give variety
+to the argument and to show that it has more than one selfish side. He
+who leads entirely a life of thought lives a dead life. Good-night,
+Christian. I have kept you from your rest. Good-night. Sleep well."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIII
+
+                               SHADOWS
+
+
+Christian Almer stood at the door, gazing at the retreating figure of
+the Advocate. It passed through the clear light of the lamps, became
+blurred, was merged in the darkness. The corridor was long, and before
+the Advocate reached the end he was a shadow among shadows.
+
+In Almer's excited mood the slightest impressions became the medium
+for distorted reflection. The dim form of the Advocate was pregnant
+with meaning, and when it was finally lost to sight, Almer's eyes
+followed an invisible figure moving, not through space, but through
+events in which he and his friend and Adelaide were the principal
+actors. A wild whirl of images crowded to his mind, presenting
+in the midst of their confusion defined and distinct pictures, the
+leading features of which were the consequences arising from the
+double betrayal of love and friendship. Violent struggles, deadly
+embraces--in houses, in forests, on the brinks of precipices, in the
+torrents of furious rivers. The proportions of these images were vast,
+titanic. The forests were interminable, the trees rose to an immense
+height, the rivers resembled raging seas, the presentments of animated
+life were of unnatural magnitude. Even when he and Adelaide were
+flying through a trackless wood, and were overtaken by the Advocate,
+this impression of gigantic growth prevailed, as though there were
+room in the world for naught but themselves and the passions by which
+they were swayed.
+
+He was recalled to himself by a soft tapping at the door of the inner
+room. He instantly unlocked it, and released Adelaide, who raised her
+eyes, beaming with animation, to his.
+
+He was overcome with astonishment. He thought to see her pale,
+frightened, trembling. Never had he beheld her more radiant.
+
+"He is gone," she said in a gay tone.
+
+"Hush!" whispered Almer, "he may return."
+
+"He will not," she said. "You will see him no more to-night."
+
+"Thank Heaven the danger is averted! I feel as if I had been guilty of
+some horrible crime."
+
+"Whereas you have simply indulged poor innocent me in a harmless
+fancy. Christian, I heard every word."
+
+"I thought you would have fallen asleep. How could you have been so
+imprudent, so reckless, as to laugh?"
+
+"How can I help being a woman of impulse? Were you very much
+frightened? I was not--I rather enjoyed it. Christian, there is not a
+single thing my immaculate husband does which does not convince me he
+has no heart. Just think what might have happened if he had come to
+the right door and thrown it open and seen me! There! You look so
+horrified that I feel I have said something wrong again. Christian,
+what did you mean by saying to him, 'My thoughts are not under my
+control while you have your hand on that letter'? What letter was it?"
+
+"Your note, which Dionetta left in the room. He was sitting by the
+desk upon which I had laid it, and his hand was upon it."
+
+"And it made you nervous? To think that he had but to open that
+innocent bit of paper! What a scene there would have been! I should
+have gloried in the situation--yes, indeed. There is no pleasure in
+life like the excitement of danger. Those who say women are weak know
+nothing of us. We are braver than men, a thousand, thousand times
+braver. I tried to peep through the door, but there wasn't a single
+friendly crevice. What a shock it would have given him if I had
+suddenly called out as he held the letter: 'Open it, my love, open it
+and read it!'"
+
+"That is what you call being prudent?" said Almer in despair.
+
+"Tyrant! I cannot promise you not to think. I have a good mind to be
+angry with you. You are positively ungrateful. You shut me up in a
+room all by myself, where I quietly remain, the very soul of
+discretion--you did not so much as hear me breathe--only forgetting
+myself once when my feelings overcame me, and you don't give me one
+word of praise. Tell me instantly, sir, that I am a brave little
+woman."
+
+"You are the personification of rashness."
+
+"How ungrateful! Did you think of me, Christian, while I was locked up
+there?"
+
+"My thoughts did not wander from you for a moment."
+
+"If you had only given me a handful of these roseleaves so that I
+might have buried my face in them and imagined I was not tied to a man
+who loves another woman than his wife! You seem amazed. Do you forget
+already what has passed between you? If it had happened that I loved
+him, after his confession to-night I should hate him. But it is
+indifferent to me upon whom he has set his affections--with all my
+heart I pity the unfortunate creature he loves. She need not fear me;
+I shall not harm her. You got at the heart of his secret when you
+asked him if a woman was involved in it; and you compelled him to
+confess that his honour--and of course hers; mine does not matter--was
+at stake in his miserable love-affair. He loves a woman who is not his
+wife; with all his evasions he could not help admitting it. And this
+is the man who holds his head so high above all other men--the man who
+was never known to commit an indiscretion! Of course he must keep his
+secret close--of course he could not speak of it to his friend, whom
+he tries to hoodwink with professions and twisted words! He married
+me, I suppose, to satisfy his vanity; he wanted the world to see that
+old as he was, grave as he was, no woman could resist him. And I
+allowed myself to be persuaded by worldly friends! Is it not a proof
+of my never having loved him, that, instead of hating him when in my
+hearing he confesses he loves another, I simply laugh at him and
+despise him? I should not shed a tear over him if he died to-night. He
+has insulted me--and what woman ever forgets or forgives an insult?
+But he has done me a good service, too, and I thank him. How sleepy I
+am! Good-night. My minute is up, and I cannot stay longer; I must
+think of my complexion. Goodnight, Christian; that is all I came to
+say."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIV
+
+             THE ADVOCATE FEARS HE HAS CREATED A MONSTER
+
+
+The Advocate did not immediately return to his study. Darkness was
+more congenial to his mood, and he spent a few minutes in the gardens
+of the villa. Although he had stated to Christian Almer that the
+conversation which had passed between them had been of benefit to him,
+he felt, now that he was alone, that there was much in it to give rise
+to disturbing thought and conjecture. He had not foreseen the
+difficulty, in social intercourse, of avoiding the subject uppermost
+in his mind. A morbid self-consciousness, at present in its germ, and
+from which he had hitherto been entirely free, seemed to unlock all
+roads in its direction. It was, as it were, the converging-point of
+all matters, even the most trivial, affecting himself. Having put the
+seal upon his resolution with respect to Gautran's confession, he
+became painfully aware that he had committed himself to a line of
+action from which he could not now recede without laying himself open
+to such suspicion, from friend and foe alike, as might fatally injure
+his reputation. He was a lawyer, and he knew what powerful use he
+could make of such a weapon against any man, high or low. If it could
+be turned against another it could be turned against himself. He must
+not, therefore, waver in his resolution. Only his conscience could
+call him to account. Well, he would reckon with that. It was a
+passive, not an active accuser. Gautran would seek some new locality,
+in which he would be lost to sight. As a matter of common prudence, it
+was more than likely he would change his name. The suspicion which
+attached itself to him, and the horror with which he was regarded in
+the neighbourhood in which he had lived, would compel him to fly to
+other pastures. In this, and in the silence of time, lay the
+Advocate's safety, for every day that passed would weaken the fever of
+excitement created by the trial. After a few weeks, if it even
+happened that Gautran were insanely to make a public declaration of
+his guilt, and to add to this confession a statement that the Advocate
+was aware of it during the trial, by whom would he be believed?
+Certainly not by the majority of the better classes of the people; and
+in the event of such a contingency, he could quote with effect the
+poet's words: "Be thou chaste as ice, and pure as snow, thou shalt not
+escape calumny."
+
+So much, then, for himself: but he was more than ever anxious and ill
+at ease regarding Christian Almer. The secret which his friend dared
+not divulge to him was evidently of the gravest import--probably as
+terrible in its way as that which lay heavily on the Advocate's soul;
+and the profound mystery in which it was wrapt invested it with a
+significance so unusual, even in the Advocate's varied experience of
+human nature, that he could not keep from brooding upon it. Was it a
+secret in which honour was involved? He could not bring himself to
+believe that Almer could be guilty of a dishonourable act--but a man
+might be dragged into a difficulty against his will, and might have
+a burden of shame unexpectedly thrust upon him which he could not
+openly fling off without disgrace. And yet--and yet--that he should be
+so careful in concealing it from the knowledge of the truest of
+friends--it was inexplicable. Ponder as long as he might, the Advocate
+could arrive at no explanation of it, nor could his logical mind
+obtain the slightest clue to the mystery.
+
+The cool air in the gardens refreshed him, and he walked about, always
+within view of the lights in his study windows, with his head
+uncovered. It was during the first five minutes of his solitude that
+an impression stole upon him that he was not alone. He searched the
+avenues, he listened, he asked aloud:
+
+"Is any person near, and does he wish to speak to me?"
+
+No voice answered him. The gardens, with the exception of the soft
+rustling of leaf and branch, were as silent as the grave. Towards the
+end of his solitary rambling, and as he was contemplating leaving the
+grounds, this impression again stole upon him. Was it the actual sound
+of muffled footsteps, or the spiritual influence of an unseen
+presence, which disturbed him? He could not decide. Again he searched
+the avenues, again he listened, again he asked a question aloud. All
+was silent.
+
+This was the third time during the night that he had allowed himself
+to be beguiled. Once in Christian Almer's room, when he thought he had
+heard a laugh, and now twice in the solitude of the grounds. He set it
+down as an unreasoning fancy springing from the agitation into which
+he had been thrown by his interview with Gautran, and he breathed a
+wish that the next fortnight were passed, when his mind would almost
+certainly have recovered its equilibrium. The moment the wish was
+born, he smiled in contempt of his own weakness. It opened another
+vein in the psychological examination to which he was subjecting
+himself.
+
+He entered his study, and did not perceive Gautran, who was asleep in
+the darkest corner of the room. But his quick observant eye
+immediately fell upon the glass out of which Gautran had drunk the
+wine. The glass was on his writing-table; it was not there when he
+left his study. He glanced at the wine-bottles on the sideboard; they
+had been disturbed.
+
+"Some person has been here in my absence," he thought. "Who--and for
+what purpose?"
+
+He hastily examined his manuscripts and, missing none, raised the
+wine-glass and held it mouth downwards. As a couple of drops of red
+liquor fell to the ground, he heard behind him the sound of heavy
+breathing.
+
+An ordinary man would have let the glass fall from his hand in sudden
+alarm, for the breathing was so deep, and strong, and hoarse, that it
+might have proceeded from the throat of a wild beast who was preparing
+to spring upon him. But the Advocate was not easily alarmed. He
+carefully replaced the glass, and wheeled in the direction of the
+breathing. He saw the outlines of a form stretched upon the ground in
+a distant corner; he stepped towards it, and stooping, recognised
+Gautran. He was not startled. It seemed to be in keeping with what had
+previously transpired, that Gautran should be lying there slumbering
+at his feet.
+
+He stood quite still, regarding the sleeping figure of the murderer in
+silence. He had risen to his full height; one hand rested upon the
+back of a massive oak chair: his face was grave and pale; his head was
+downwards bent. So he stood for many minutes almost motionless. Not
+the slightest agitation was observable in him; he was calmly engaged
+in reflecting upon the position of affairs, as though they related not
+to himself, but to a client in whose case he was interested, and he
+was evolving from them, by perfectly natural reasoning, the most
+extraordinary complications and results. In all his experience he had
+never been engaged in a case presenting so many rare possibilities,
+and he was in a certain sense fascinated by the powerful use he could
+make of the threads of the web in which he had become so strangely and
+unexpectedly entangled.
+
+Gautran's features were not clearly visible to him; they were too much
+in shadow. He took from his writing-table a lamp with a soft strong
+light, and set it near to the sleeping man. It brought the ruffian
+into full view. His unshaven face, his coarse, matted hair, his brutal
+sensual mouth, his bushy eyebrows, his large ears, his bared neck, his
+soiled and torn clothes, the perspiration in which he was bathed,
+presented a spectacle of human degradation as revolting as any the
+Advocate had ever gazed upon.
+
+"By what means," he thought, "did this villain obtain information of
+my movements and residence, and what is his motive in coming here?
+When he accosted me tonight he did not know where I lived--of that I
+am convinced, for he had no wish to meet me, and believed he was
+threatening another man than myself on the high road. That was a
+chance meeting. Is this, also, a chance encounter? No; there is
+premeditation in it. Had he entered another house he would have laid
+his hands on something valuable and decamped, his purpose being
+served. He would not dare to rob me, but he dares to thrust his
+company upon me. Of all men, I am the man he should be most anxious to
+avoid, for only I know him to be guilty. Have I created a monster who
+is destined to be the terror and torture of my life? Is he shrewd
+enough, clever enough, cunning enough, to use his power as I should
+use it were I in his place, and he in mine? That is not to be borne,
+but what is the alternative? I could put life into the grotesque oaken
+features upon which my hand is resting, and they might suggest a
+remedy. The branches of the tree within which these faces grew in some
+old forest waved doubtless over many a mystery, but this in which I am
+at present engaged matches the deepest of them. Some demon seems to be
+whispering at my elbow. Speak, then; what would you urge me to do?"
+
+The Unseen: "Gautran entered unobserved."
+
+The Advocate: "That is apparent, or he would not be lying here with
+the hand of Fate above him."
+
+The Unseen: "No person saw him--no person is aware that he is in your
+study, at your mercy."
+
+The Advocate: "At my mercy! You could have found a better word to
+express your meaning."
+
+The Unseen: "You know him to be a murderer."
+
+The Advocate: "True."
+
+The Unseen: "He deserves death! You have already heard the whisperings
+of the voice which urged you to fulfil the divine law, Blood for
+blood!"
+
+The Advocate: "Speak not of what is Divine. Tempter, have you not the
+courage to come straight to the point?"
+
+The Unseen: "Kill him where he lies! He will not be missed. It is
+night--black night. Every living being in the house, with the
+exception of yourself, is asleep. You have twisted justice from its
+rightful course. The wrong you did you can repair. Kill him where he
+lies!"
+
+The Advocate: "And have the crime of murder upon my soul?"
+
+The Unseen: "It is not murder. Standing as you are standing now,
+knowing what you know, you are justified."
+
+The Advocate: "I will have no juggling. If I kill him it is not in the
+cause of justice. Speak plainly. Why should he die at my hands?"
+
+The Unseen: "His death is necessary for your safety."
+
+The Advocate: "Ah, that is better. No talk of justice now. We come to
+the coarse selfishness of things, which will justify the deadliest
+crimes. His death is necessary for my safety! How am I endangered? Say
+that his presence here is a threat. Am I not strong enough to avoid
+the peril? How vile am I that I should allow such thoughts to suggest
+themselves! Christian, my friend, whatever is the terror which has
+taken possession of you, and from which you vainly strive to fly, your
+secret is pure in comparison with mine. If it were possible that the
+secret which oppresses you concerned your dearest friend, concerned
+me, whom perchance it has in some hidden way wronged, how could I
+withhold from you pity and forgiveness, knowing how sorely my own
+actions need pity and forgiveness? For the first time in my life I am
+brought face to face with my soul, and I see how base it is. Has my
+life, then, been surrounded by dreams, and do I now awake to find how
+low and abominable are the inner workings of my nature? I must arouse
+this monster. He shall hide nothing from me."
+
+He spurned Gautran with his foot. It was with no gentle touch, and
+Gautran sprang to his feet, and would have thrown himself upon the
+Advocate had he not suddenly recognised him.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XV
+
+                       GAUTRAN AND THE ADVOCATE
+
+
+"How long have I been asleep?" muttered Gautran, shaking himself and
+rubbing his eyes. "It seems but a minute." The clock on the mantel
+struck the hour of two. "I counted twelve when I was in the grounds; I
+have been here two hours. You might have let me sleep longer. It is
+the first I have enjoyed for weeks--a sleep without a dream. As I used
+to sleep before----" He shuddered, and did not complete the sentence.
+"Give me something to drink, master."
+
+"You have been helping yourself to my wine," said the Advocate.
+
+"You know everything, master. Yes, it was wine I drank, as mild as
+milk. It went down like water. Good for gentlemen, perhaps, but not
+for us. I must have something stronger." He looked anxiously round the
+room, and sighed and smiled; no appalling vision greeted his sight.
+"Ah," he said, "I am safe here. Give me some brandy."
+
+"You will have none, Gautran," said the Advocate sternly.
+
+"Ah, master," implored Gautran, "think better of it, I must have
+brandy--I must!"
+
+"Must!" echoed the Advocate, with a frown.
+
+"Yes, master, must; I shall not be able to talk else. My throat is
+parched--you can hear for yourself that it is as dry as a raven's. I
+must have drink, and it mustn't be milk-wine. I am not quite a fool,
+master. If that horrible shadow were never to appear to me again, I
+would show those who have been hard on me a trick or two that would
+astonish them. If you've a spark of compassion in you, master, give a
+poor wretch a glass of brandy."
+
+The Advocate considered a moment, and then unlocked a small cupboard,
+from which he took a bottle of brandy. He filled a glass, and gave it
+to Gautran.
+
+"Here's confusion to our enemies," said Gautran. "Ah, this is fine! I
+have never tasted such before. It puts life into a man."
+
+"What makes you drink to _our_ enemies, Gautran?" asked the Advocate.
+
+"Why, master, are not my enemies yours, and yours mine? We row in the
+same boat. If they found us out, it would be as bad for you as it
+would be for me. Worse, master, worse, for you have much to lose; I
+have nothing. You see, master, I have been thinking over things since
+we met in the lane yonder."
+
+"You are bold and impudent. What if I were to summon my servants and
+have you marched off to gaol?"
+
+"What would you accuse me of? I have not stolen anything; you may
+search me if you like. No, no, master, I will take nothing from you.
+What you give I shall be grateful for; but rob you? No--you are
+mistaken in me. I owe you too much already. I am bound to you for
+life."
+
+"You do not seem afraid of the gaol, Gautran."
+
+"Not when you threaten me with it, master, for you are jesting with
+me. It is not worth your while; I am a poor creature to make sport
+of."
+
+"Yet I am dangerously near handing you over to justice."
+
+"For what, master, for what? For coming into your room, and not
+finding you there, throwing myself in a corner like a dog?"
+
+"It is sufficient--and you have stolen my wine. These are crimes which
+the law is ready to punish, especially in men with evil reputations."
+
+"You are right, I've no doubt; you know more about the law than I do.
+I don't intend to dispute with you, master. But when they got hold of
+me they would question me, and my tongue would be loosened against my
+will. I say again, you are jesting with me. How warm and comfortable
+it is in this grand room, and how miserable outside! Ah, why wasn't I
+born rich? It was a most unfortunate accident."
+
+"Your tongue would be loosened against your will! What could you say?"
+
+"What everybody suspects, but could not prove, master, thanks to you.
+They owe me a grudge in the prison yonder--lawyers and judges and
+gaolers--and nothing would please them better than to hear what I
+could tell them--that I killed the girl, and that you knew I killed
+her. You don't look pleased, master. You drove me to say it."
+
+"You slanderous villain!"
+
+"I don't mind what you call me, master. I can bear anything from you.
+I am your slave, and there is nothing you could set me to do that I am
+not ready to perform. I mean it, master. Try me--only try me! Think of
+something fearful, something it would take a bold, desperate man to
+do, and see if I shrink from it. The gaoler was right when he said I
+was a lucky dog to get such an Advocate as you to defend me. You knew
+the truth--you knew I did the deed--you knew no one else could save
+me--and you wanted to show them how clever you were, and what a fool
+any lawyer was to think he could stand against you. And you did it,
+master, you did it. How mad they must be with you! I wonder how much
+they would give to cry Quits! And you've done even more than that,
+master. The spirit which has been with me night and day, in prison
+and out of prison, lying by me in bed, standing by my side in the
+court--you saw it there, master--dogging me through the streets and
+lanes, hiding behind trees and gliding upon me when I thought I had
+escaped it--it is gone, master, it is gone! It will not come where you
+are. It is afraid of you. I don't care whether it is a holy or an
+unholy power you possess, I am your slave, and you can do with me as
+you will. But you must not send me to prison again--no, you must not
+do that! Why, master, simple as I am, and ignorant of the law, I feel
+that you are joking with me, when you threaten to summon your servants
+to march me off to gaol for coming into your house. I should say to
+them, 'You are a pack of fools. Don't you see he is jesting with you?
+Here have we been talking together for half an hour, and he has given
+me his best brandy as a mark of friendship. There is the bottle--feel
+the rim of it, and you will find it wet. Look at the glass, if you
+don't believe me. Smell it--smell my breath.' Why, then they would ask
+you again if you were in earnest, and you would have to send them
+away. Master, I was never taught to read or write, and there is very
+little I know--but I know well that there is a time to do a thing and
+a time not to do it, and that unless a thing is done at the proper
+time, there is no use afterwards attempting it. I will tell you
+something, though I dare say I might save myself the trouble, for you
+can read what is in me. If Madeline, when she ran from me along the
+river's bank, had escaped me, it is likely she would be alive at this
+moment, for the fiend that spurred me on to kill her might never again
+have been so strong within me, might never again have had such power
+over me as he had that night. But he was too strong for me, and that
+was the time to do the deed, and she had to die. Do you think I don't
+pity her? I do, when she is not tormenting me. But when she follows
+me, as she has done to-night, when she stands looking at me with eyes
+in which there is fire, but no light, I feel that I could kill her
+over again if I dared, and if I could get a good grip of her. Are all
+spirits silent? Have they no voice to speak? It is terrible, terrible!
+I must buy masses for her soul, and then, perhaps, she will rest in
+peace. Master, give me another glass of that rare brandy of yours.
+Talking is dry work."
+
+"You'll get no more till you leave me."
+
+"I am to leave you, then?"
+
+"When I have done with you--when our conversation is at an end."
+
+"I must obey you, master. You could crush me if you liked."
+
+"I could kill you if I liked," said the Advocate, in a voice so cold
+and determined that Gautran shuddered.
+
+"You could, master--I know it well enough. Not with your hands; I am
+your match there. Few men can equal me in strength. But you would not
+trust to that; you are too wise. You would scorch and wither me with a
+lightning touch. I should be a fool to doubt it. If you will not give
+me brandy, give me a biscuit or some bread and meat. Since noon I have
+had nothing to eat but a few apples, to which I helped myself. The
+gaolers robbed me of my dinner in the middle of the day, and put
+before me only a slice of dry bread. I would cut off two of my fingers
+to be even with them."
+
+In the cupboard which contained the brandy and other liquors was a
+silver basket containing biscuits, which the Advocate brought forward
+and placed before Gautran, who ate them greedily and filled his
+pockets with them. During the silence the Advocate's mind was busy
+with Gautran's words. Ignorant as the man was, and confessed himself
+to be, there was an undisputable logic in the position he assumed.
+Shrink from it as he might, the Advocate could not avoid confessing
+that between this man, who was little better than an animal, and
+himself, who had risen so high above his fellows--that in these
+extremes of intellectual degradation and superiority--existed a
+strange and, in its suggestiveness, an awful, equality. And what
+afforded him food for serious reflection, from an abstract point of
+view, was that, though they travelled upon roads so widely apart, they
+both arrived at the same goal. This was proved by Gautran's reasoning
+upon the Advocate's threat to put him in prison for breaking into the
+House of White Shadows. "Sound logic," thought the Advocate, "learnt
+in a school in which the common laws of nature are the teachers. A
+decided kinship exists between this murderer and myself. Am I, then,
+as low as he, and do the best of us, in our pride of winning the
+crown, indulge in self-delusions at which a child might feel ashamed?
+Or is it that, strive as he may, the most earnest man cannot lift
+himself above the grovelling motives which set in motion every action
+of a human life?"
+
+"Now, master," said Gautran, having finished munching.
+
+"Now, Gautran," said the Advocate, "why do you come to me?"
+
+"I belong to you," replied Gautran. "You gave me my life and my
+liberty. You had some meaning in it. I don't ask you what it is, for
+you will tell me only what you choose to tell me. I am yours, master,
+body and soul."
+
+"And soul?" questioned the Advocate ironically.
+
+"So long," said Gautran, crossing himself, "as you do not ask me to do
+anything to imperil my salvation."
+
+"Is it not already imperilled? Murderer!"
+
+"I have done nothing that I cannot buy off with masses. Ask the
+priests. If I could not get money any other way, to save myself I
+would rob a church."
+
+"Admirable!" exclaimed the Advocate. "You interest me, Gautran. How
+did you obtain admission into the grounds?"
+
+"Over the wall at the back. It is a mercy I did not break my bones."
+
+"And into this room--how did you enter?"
+
+"Through the window."
+
+"Knowing it was my room?"
+
+"Yes, master."
+
+"How did you gain that knowledge?"
+
+"I was told--and told, as well, that you lived in this house."
+
+"By whom were you told?"
+
+"As I ran from Madeline--she has left me forever, I hope--I came upon
+a man who, for some purpose of his own, was lingering on a hill a
+little distance from here. I sought company, and was glad of his. I
+made up my mind to pass my night near something human, and did not
+intend to leave him. But when he said that yonder was the house in
+which the great Advocate lived, and when he pointed out your study
+window, I gave him the slip, knowing I could do better than remain
+with him. That is the truth, master."
+
+"Are you acquainted with this man?"
+
+"No, I never saw him before; I saw but little of him as it was, the
+night was so dark; but I know voices when I hear them. His voice was
+strange to me."
+
+"How happened it, then, that you conversed about me?"
+
+"I can't remember exactly how it came about. He gave me some brandy
+out of a flask--not such liquor as yours, master, but I was thankful
+for it--and I asked him if he had ever been followed by the spirit of
+a dead woman. He questioned me about this woman, asking if she was
+fair and beautiful, whether she had met her death in the Rhone,
+whether her name was Madeline. Yes, he called her up before me and I
+was spellbound. When I came to my proper senses he was talking to
+himself about a great Advocate in the house he was staring at, and I
+said there was only one great Advocate--you who set me free--and I
+asked him if you lived in the house. He said yes, and that the lights
+I saw were the lights in your study windows. Upon that I left him,
+suddenly and secretly, and made my way here."
+
+"Was the man watching this house?"
+
+"It had the look of it. He is no friend of yours, that I can tell you.
+When he spoke of you it was with the voice of a man who could make you
+wince if he pleased. You have served him some trick, and he wants to
+be revenged, I suppose. But you can take care of yourself, master."
+
+"That will do. Leave me and leave this house, and as you value your
+life, enter it no more."
+
+"Then, you will see me elsewhere. Where, master, and when?"
+
+"I will see you in no place and at no time. I understand the meaning
+of looks, Gautran, and there is a threat in your eyes. Beware! I have
+means to punish you. You have escaped the penalty of your crime, but
+there is no safety for you here. You do not wish to die; the guilt of
+blood is on your soul, and you are afraid of death. Well may you be
+afraid of it. Such terrors await you in the life beyond as you cannot
+dream of. Live, then, and repent; or die, and be eternally lost! Dare
+to intrude yourself upon me, and death will be your portion, and you
+will go straight to your punishment. Here, and at this moment only,
+you have the choice of either fate. Choose, and swiftly."
+
+The cold, stern, impressive voice, the commanding figure, had their
+effect upon Gautran. He shook with fear; he was thoroughly subdued.
+
+"If I am not safe here, master, where shall I find safety?"
+
+"In a distant part of the country where you are not known."
+
+"How am I to get there? I have no money."
+
+"I will give you sufficient for flight and subsistence. Here are five
+gold pieces. Now, go, and let me never see your murderous face again."
+
+"Master," said Gautran humbly, as he turned the money over in his hand
+and counted it. "I must have more--not for myself, but to pay for
+masses for the repose of Madeline's soul. Then I may hope for
+forgiveness--then she will leave me in peace!"
+
+The Advocate emptied his purse into Gautran's open palm, saying, "Let
+no man see you. Depart as secretly as you came."
+
+But Gautran lingered still. "You promised me some more brandy,
+master."
+
+The Advocate filled the glass, and Gautran, with fierce eagerness,
+drank the brandy.
+
+"You will not give me another glass, master?"
+
+"No, murderer. I have spoken my last word to you."
+
+Gautran spoke no more, but with head sunk upon his breast, left the
+room and the house.
+
+"A vulgar expedient," mused the Advocate, when he was alone, "but the
+only one likely to prove effective with such a monster. It is perhaps
+best that it has happened. This man watching upon the hill is none
+other than John Vanbrugh. I had almost forgotten him. He does not come
+in friendship. Let him watch and wait. I will not see him."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVI
+
+                PIERRE LAMONT SEEKS THE HOSPITALITY OF
+                     THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS.
+
+
+The following day Pierre Lamont did not leave his bed, and was visited
+in his room by the Advocate and Christian Almer. To the Advocate he
+said:
+
+"I trust I shall not incommode you, for I am compelled to throw myself
+upon your hospitality."
+
+"Get well, then," said the Advocate, "and enjoy it--which you cannot
+do, thus confined."
+
+"I do not know--I do not know," said the old lawyer, gazing at the
+Advocate, and wondering how it was possible that this profound thinker
+and observer could be blind to the drama which was being acted at his
+very door, "one can still follow the world. Have you read the papers
+this morning?"
+
+"No--I have not troubled myself to look at them."
+
+"Here is one that will interest you. What is called the freedom of the
+press is growing into a scandal. Editors and critics abuse their
+charter, and need some wholesome check. But you are not likely to be
+moved by what they say."
+
+He handed a newspaper to the Advocate, who walked to the window and
+read the editorial comments upon the trial and the part he had played
+in it.
+
+"The trial of Gautran is over, and the monster whom all believe to be
+guilty of a foul murder is set free. The victim, unavenged, is in her
+grave, and a heavy responsibility lies not only upon the city, but
+upon the nation. Neither for good nor ill can the words we write
+affect the future of Gautran. Released, by the law, he is universally
+condemned. Justice is not satisfied. In all Switzerland there is but
+one man who in his soul believes the degraded wretch to be innocent,
+and that this man should be right and all others wrong we refuse to
+believe. Never in a cause so weighty have we felt it our duty to raise
+our voice against a verdict reluctantly wrung from the citizens whose
+lot it was to judge a human being accused--and we insist, righteously
+accused--of a horrible crime. The verdict cannot be disturbed. Gautran
+is free! There is a frightful significance in these words--Gautran is
+free!
+
+"Removed from the feverish excitement of the court in which the trial
+took place, the report of the proceedings reads more like a stage
+drama than an episode of real life. All the elements which led to the
+shameful result are eminently dramatic, and were, without doubt,
+planned by the great Advocate who defended the accused with an eye to
+dramatic effect. It would scarcely surprise us were the climax now
+reached to be followed by an anti-climax in which Gautran's champion
+of yesterday would become his accuser of to-day. Our courts of justice
+are becoming accustomed to this kind of theatrical display. Consider
+the profound sensation which would be produced by the great lawyer
+coming forward and saying, 'Yesterday, after a long and exciting
+struggle, I proved to you that Gautran was innocent, and by my efforts
+he was let loose upon society. To-day I propose to prove to you that
+he is guilty, and I ask you to mete out to him his just punishment.' A
+dangerous temptation, indeed, to one who studies effect. But there is
+a safeguard against such a course. It would so blacken the fame of any
+man who adopted it, however high that man might stand in the
+estimation of his peers and the people, that he could never hope to
+rise from the depths of shame into which his own act had plunged him.
+
+"Many persons who believe that way will doubtless argue that there is
+something providential in the history of this ruthless murder of an
+unfortunate innocent being. She is slain. Not a soul comes forward to
+claim kinship with her. None the less is she a child of God. Human
+reason leads to the arrest and imprisonment of Gautran. Providence
+brings upon the scene a great lawyer, who, unsolicited, undertakes the
+defence of a monster, association with whom is defilement. The wretch
+is set free, and Justice stands appalled at what has been done in the
+name of the law. But this is not the end. Providence may have
+something yet in store which will bring punishment to the guilty and
+unravel this tangled skein. What, then, will the great Advocate have
+to say who deliberately and voluntarily brought about a miscarriage of
+justice so flagrant as to cause every honest heart to thrill with
+indignation?"
+
+The Advocate did not read any further, but laid the paper aside and
+said:
+
+"Men who take part in public matters are open to attacks of this kind.
+There is nothing to complain of."
+
+"And yet," thought Pierre Lamont, when the Advocate left him, "there
+was in his face, as he read the article, an expression denoting that
+he was moved. Well,--well--men are but human, even the greatest."
+
+Later in the day he was visited by Christian Almer, to whom he
+repeated his apologies.
+
+"I have one of my bad attacks on me. They frequently last for days. At
+such times it is dangerous for me to be moved about."
+
+"Then do not be moved about," said Almer, with a smile.
+
+But despite this smile. Almer was inwardly disquieted. He had not been
+aware on the previous night that Pierre Lamont occupied the next room
+to his. After the departure of the Advocate, Adelaide had not been
+careful; her voice had been frequently raised, and Almer was anxious
+to ascertain whether it had reached the old lawyer's ears.
+
+"You slept well, I hope," he said.
+
+"Yes, until the early morning, a little after sunrise. I am a very
+deep sleeper for four or five hours. The moment I close my eyes sleep
+claims me, and holds me so securely that, were the house on fire, it
+would be difficult to arouse me. But the moment the sunshine peeps
+into my room, my rest is at an end. When I had the use of my limbs I
+was an early riser."
+
+Almer's mind was relieved. "Sleeping in a strange bed is often not
+conducive to repose."
+
+"I have slept in so many strange beds." And Pierre Lamont thought as
+he spoke: "But never in a stranger bed than this."
+
+"You can still find occupation," said Almer, pointing to the books on
+table and bed.
+
+"Ah, books, books, books!" said Pierre Lamont. "What would the world
+do without them? How did it ever do without them? But I am old, and I
+am talking to a young man."
+
+"My father was a bookworm and a student," said Almer. "Were he alive,
+he would be disappointed that I do not tread in his footsteps."
+
+"Perhaps not. He was a wise man, with a comprehensive mind. It would
+not do for us all to be monks."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVII
+
+       FRITZ THE FOOL RELATES A STRANGE DREAM TO PIERRE LAMONT
+
+
+Half-a-dozen times in the course of the day Pierre Lamont had sent in
+search of Fritz the Fool, and it was not till the afternoon that Fritz
+made his appearance.
+
+"You should have come earlier, fool," said Pierre Lamont with a frown.
+
+"I was better engaged," said Fritz coolly. "You fired me with those
+love-verses last night, and I have been studying what to say to my
+peach."
+
+"The pretty Dionetta! Rehearse, then; I am dull."
+
+"Ah, I have much to tell you. I am thinking of saying to the peach,
+'Dionetta, place your hand in mine, and we will both serve Pierre
+Lamont. He will give us a home; he will pay us liberally; and when he
+dies he will not leave us unprovided for.'"
+
+"And if the peach should laugh in your face?"
+
+"I would reason with it. I would say, 'Look you now; you cannot be
+always ripe, you cannot be always mellow and luscious. Do not waste
+the precious sunshine of life, but give yourself to a clever fool, who
+cares quite as much for your fair face and beautiful skin as he does
+for the diamond baubles in your ears.'"
+
+"Diamond earrings, Fritz! Are you dreaming?"
+
+"Not at this moment--though I had a dream last night after I left you
+which I may tell you if I don't repent of it before I disclose it.
+Yes, Master Lamont, diamond earrings--as I'm a living fool, diamonds
+of value. See, Master Lamont, I don't want this peach to be gathered
+yet. It is well placed, it is in favour; it is making itself in some
+way useful, not to finer, but to richer fruit. Heaven only knows what
+may be rained upon it when the very first summer shower brings a
+diamond finger-ring, and the second a pair of diamond earrings. A
+diamond brooch, perhaps; money for certain, if it will take a fool's
+advice. And of course it will do that if, seeing that the fool is a
+proper fool, the peach says kindly, 'I am yours.' That is the way of
+it, is it not, Master Lamont?"
+
+"I am waiting to hear more, Fritz," said Pierre Lamont, with a full
+enjoyment of Fritz's loquacity.
+
+"Behind the summer-house, Master Lamont, lies a lovely lake, clear as
+crystal in parts where it is not covered with fairy lilies. I am as
+good as a pair of eyes to you to tell you of these beauties. The water
+is white and shining and at one part there is a mass of willows
+bending over; then there is a break, clear of the shadow of branch
+and leaf; then there is another mass of willows. From a distance you
+would think that there was no break in the foliage; you have to go
+close to it to make the discovery, and once you are there you are
+completely hidden from sight. Not more than two hours ago I was
+passing this spot at the back of the willows, when I heard a
+voice--a girl's voice, Master Lamont--saying quite softly, 'Oh, how
+lovely! how beautiful--how beautiful!' It was Dionetta's voice; I
+should know it among a thousand. Through the willows I crept with the
+foot of a cat till I came to the break, and there was Dionetta
+herself, bending over the water, and sighing, 'Oh, how lovely! how
+beautiful!' She could not see me, for her back was towards me, and I
+took care she did not hear me. She was shaking her pretty head over
+the water, and I shouldn't deserve to be called a fool if I had not
+felt curious to see what it was in the lake that was so lovely and
+beautiful. Perhaps it was her own face she was admiring. Well, she had
+a perfect right, and I was ready to join in the chorus. I crept up to
+her as still as a mouse, and looked over her shoulder. She gave a
+great scream when she saw my face in the lake, and I caught hold of
+her to prevent her from falling in. Then I saw what almost took away
+my breath. In her ears there flashed a pair of diamond earrings, the
+like of which I never in my life beheld in our village. Her face got
+as red as a sunset as I gazed at her. 'How you frightened me, Fritz!'
+she said. I set the earrings swinging with my fingers and said, 'Where
+did you get these wonderful things from?' She answered me pat. 'My
+lady gave them to me.' 'They are yours, then?' I asked. 'Yes, Fritz,'
+she said, 'they are mine, and I came here to see how I look in them.
+They are so grand that I am ashamed to put them on unless I am alone.
+Don't tell anybody, will you, Fritz? If grandmother knew I had them,
+she would take them from me. She would never, never let me wear them.
+Don't tell anybody.' Why, of course I said I would not, and then I
+asked why my lady gave them to her, and she said it was because my
+lady loved her. So, so! thought I, as I left my peach--I would like to
+have given her just one kiss, but I did not dare to try--so, so! my
+lady gives her maid a pair of diamond earrings that are as suitable to
+her as a crown of gold to an ass's head. There is something more than
+common between lady and maid. What is it, Master Lamont, what is it?"
+
+"A secret, fool, which, if you get your peach to tell, will be worth
+much to you. And as you and I are going to keep our own counsel, learn
+from me that this secret has but one of two kernels. Love or jealousy.
+Set your wits at work, Fritz, set your wits at work, and keep your
+eyes open. I may help you to your peach, fool. And now about that
+dream of yours. Were you asleep or awake at the time?"
+
+Fritz stepped cautiously to the door, opened it, looked along the
+passage, closed the door, and came close to the bedside.
+
+"Master Lamont," he said, "what I dreamt is something so strange that
+it will take a great deal of thinking over. Do you know why I tell you
+things?"
+
+"I might guess wrong, Fritz. Save me the trouble."
+
+"You have never been but one way with me; you have never given me a
+hard word; you have never given me a blow. When I was a boy--twenty
+years ago and more, Master Lamont--you were the only man who spoke
+kind words to me, who used to pat my head and pity me. For, if you
+remember, Master Lamont, I was nothing but a castaway, living on
+charity, and everybody but you made me feel it. Cuffed by this one and
+that one, kicked, and laughed at--but never by you. Even a fool can
+bear these things in mind."
+
+"Well, well, Fritz, go on with your dream. You are making me hungry."
+
+"It came nearly two hours after midnight. At that time I was in the
+grounds. All was dark. There was nobody about but me, until the
+Advocate came. Then I slipped aside and watched him. He walked up and
+down, like a machine. It was not as if a man was walking, but a figure
+of steel. It was enough to drive me crazy, it was so like clockwork.
+Twice he almost discovered me. He looked about him, he searched the
+grounds, still with the same measured step, he called aloud, and asked
+if anybody was near. Then he went into the house and into the study. I
+knew he was there by the shifting of the lights in the room. Being
+alone with the shadows, your love-verses came into my mind, and you
+may believe me, Master Lament, I made my way to the window of the room
+in which Dionetta sleeps, and stood there looking up at it. I should
+have been right down ashamed of myself if I hadn't been dreaming. Is
+it the way of lovers, Master Lamont? 'Faster than bees to flowers they
+wing their way;' that is how the line runs, is it not? Well, there
+stood I, a bee, dreaming in the dark night, before the window of my
+flower. An invisible flower, unfortunately. But thoughts are free; you
+can't put chains on them. So there stood I, for how many minutes I
+cannot say, imagining my flower. Now, if I had known that her pretty
+head was lying on the pillow, with great diamond earrings in her
+ears--for that is a certainty--I might not perhaps have been able to
+tear myself away. Luckily for my dream, that knowledge had still to
+come to me, so I wandered off, and found myself once more staring at
+the lights in the Advocate's study windows. Now, what made me step
+quite close to them, and put my eye to a pane which the curtains did
+not quite cover? I could see clear into the room. Imagine my surprise,
+Master Lamont, when I discovered that the Advocate was not alone!
+Master Lamont, you know every man in the village, but I would give you
+a thousand guesses, and you would not hit upon the name of the
+Advocate's friend. From where I stood I could not hear a word that was
+said, but I saw everything. I saw the Advocate go to a cupboard, and
+give this man liquor; he poured it out for him himself. Then they
+talked--then the Advocate brought forward a silver basket of biscuits,
+and the man ate some, and stuffed some into his pockets. They were on
+the very best of terms with each other. The Advocate gave his friend
+some money--pieces of gold, Master Lamont; I saw them glitter. The man
+counted them, and by his action, asked for more; and more was given;
+the Advocate emptied his purse into the man's hand. Then, after
+further conversation, the man turned to leave the room. It was time
+for me to scuttle from my peep-hole. Presently the man was in the
+grounds stepping almost as softly as I stepped after him. For I was
+not going to lose him, Master Lamont; my curiosity was whetted to that
+degree that it would have taken a great deal to prevent me from
+following this friend of the Advocate's. 'How will he get out?'
+thought I; 'the gates are locked; he will hardly venture to scale
+them.' Two or three times he stopped, and looked behind him; he did
+not see me. He arrived at the wall which stretches at the back; he
+climbed the wall; so did I, in another and an easier part; he dropped
+down with a thud and a groan; I let myself to the ground without
+disturbing a leaf. Presently he picked himself up and walked off, with
+more haste than before. I followed him. He stopped; I stopped; he
+walked on again, and so did I. Again he stopped and cried aloud: 'I
+hear you follow me! Is not one killing enough for you?' And then he
+gave a scream so awful that the hair rose on my head. 'She is here!'
+he screamed; 'she is here, and is driving me to madness!' With that he
+took to his heels and tore through field and forest really like a
+madman. I could not keep up with him, and after an hour's running I
+completely lost sight of him. There was nothing for me to do but to
+get back to the villa. I returned the way I came--I had plenty to
+think about on the road--and I was once more before the windows of the
+Advocate's study. The lights were still there. The Advocate, I
+believe, can live without sleep. I peeped through the window, and
+there he was, sitting at his table reading, with an expression of
+power in his face which might well make any man tremble who dared to
+oppose him. That is the end of my dream, Master Lamont."
+
+"But the man, Fritz, the man!" exclaimed Pierre, Lamont. "I am still
+in ignorance as to who this strange, nocturnal visitor can be."
+
+"There lies the pith of my dream. If I were to tell you that this man
+who makes his way secretly into the grounds in the darkness of the
+night--who is closeted with the Advocate for an hour at least--who is
+treated to wine and cake--who is presented with money, and grumblingly
+asks for more, and gets it--if I were to tell you that this man is
+Gautran, who was tried for the murder of Madeline, the flower-girl,
+and who was set free by the Advocate--what would you say, Master
+Lamont?"
+
+"I should say," replied Pierre Lamont with some difficulty controlling
+his excitement, "that you were mad, fool Fritz."
+
+"Nevertheless," said Fritz with great composure, "it is so. I have
+related my dream as it occurred. The man was Gautran and no other. Can
+you explain that to me in one word?"
+
+"No," said Pierre Lamont, gazing sharply at Fritz. "You are not
+fooling me, Fritz?"
+
+"If it were my last word it would make no difference. I have told you
+the truth."
+
+"You know Gautran's face well?"
+
+"I was in the court every day of the trial, and there is no chance of
+my being mistaken. See here, Master Lamont. I can do many things that
+would surprise people. I can draw faces. Give me a pencil and some
+paper."
+
+With a few rapid strokes he produced the very image of Pierre Lamont,
+sitting up in bed, with thin, cadaverous face, with high forehead and
+large nose; even the glitter of the old lawyer's eyes was depicted.
+Pierre Lamont examined the portrait with admiration.
+
+"I am proud of you, Fritz," he said; "you have the true artist's
+touch."
+
+Fritz was busy with the pencil again. "Who may this be?" he asked,
+holding another sketch before Pierre Lamont.
+
+"The Advocate. To the life, Fritz, to the life."
+
+"This is also to the life," said Fritz, producing a third portrait.
+"This is Gautran. It is all I can draw, Master Lamont--human faces; I
+could do it when I was a boy. There is murder in Gautran's face; there
+was murder in the words I heard him speak as I followed him: 'Is not
+one killing enough for you?' There is only one meaning to such words.
+I leave you to puzzle it all out, Master Lamont. You have a wise head;
+I am a fool. Mother Denise may be right, after all, when she said--not
+knowing I was within hearing--that it was an evil day when my lady,
+the Advocate's wife, set foot in the grounds of the House of White
+Shadows. But it is no business of mine; only I must look after my
+peach, or it may suddenly be spirited away on a broomstick. Unholy
+work, Master Lamont, unholy work! What do you say to letting Father
+Capel into the mystery?"
+
+"Not for worlds!" cried Pierre Lamont. "Priests in such matters are
+the rarest bunglers. No--the secret is ours, yours and mine; you shall
+be well paid for your share in it. Without my permission you will not
+speak of it--do you hear me, Fritz?"
+
+"I hear you, and will obey you."
+
+"Good lad! Ah, what would I give if I had the use of my limbs! But you
+shall be my limbs and my eyes--my second self. Help me to dress,
+Fritz--quick, quick!"
+
+"Master Lamont," said Fritz with a sly laugh, "be careful of your
+precious self. You are ill, you know, very, very ill! You must keep
+your bed. I cannot run the risk of losing so good a master."
+
+"I have a dozen years of life in me yet, fool. This dried-up old skin,
+these withered limbs, this lack of fat, are my protection. If I were a
+stout, fine man I might go off at any moment. As it is, I may live to
+a hundred--old enough to see your grandchildren, Fritz. But yes, yes,
+yes--I am indeed very ill and weak! Let everybody know it--so weak and
+ill that it is not possible for me to leave this hospitable house for
+many, many days. The medicine I require is the fresh air of the
+gardens. With my own eyes I must see what I can of the comedy that is
+being played under our very noses. I, also, had dreams last night,
+Fritz, rare dreams! Ah--what a comedy, what a comedy! But there are
+tragic veins in it, fool, which make it all the more human."
+
+
+
+
+
+                   _BOOK V.--THE DOOM OF GAUTRAN_.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I
+
+             ADELAIDE STRIVES TO PROPITIATE PIERRE LAMONT
+
+
+The following night was even darker than the preceding one had been.
+In the afternoon portents of a coming storm were apparent in the sky.
+Low mutterings of thunder in the distance travelled faintly to the
+ears of the occupants of the House of White Shadows. The Advocate's
+wife shuddered as she heard the sounds.
+
+"There are only two things in the world I am afraid of," she said to
+Pierre Lamont, "and those are thunder and lightning. When I was a
+little child a dreadful thing occurred to me. I was playing in a
+garden when a storm came on. I was all alone, and it was some distance
+to the house. The storm broke so suddenly that I had not time to reach
+shelter without getting myself drenched. I dare say, though, I should
+have run through it had I not been frightened by the flashes of
+lightning that seemed to want to cut me in two. I flew behind a tree,
+and stood there trembling. Every time a flash came I shut my eyes
+tight and screamed. But the storm did not allow my cries to be heard.
+You can imagine the state I was in. It would not have mattered, except
+for the wetting, had I kept my eyes closed, but like a little fool, I
+opened them once, and just at that moment a flash seemed to strike the
+tree behind which I stood. I can almost hear the shriek I gave, as I
+fell and fainted dead away. There, lying on the wet grass, I was
+found. A dreadful looking object I must have been! They carried me
+into the house, and when I was conscious of what was passing around
+me, I asked why they did not light the gas. The fact is I was quite
+blind, and remained so for several days. Was it not shocking? I shall
+never, never forget my fright. Can you imagine anything more dreadful
+than being struck blind? To be born blind cannot be half as bad, for
+one does not know what one loses--never having seen the flowers, and
+the fields, and the beautiful skies. But to enjoy them, and then to
+lose them! It is altogether too horrible to think of."
+
+She was very gracious to the old lawyer during the afternoon.
+
+"Do you know," she said, "I can't quite make up my mind whether to be
+fond or frightened of you."
+
+"Be fond of me," said Pierre Lamont, with a queer look.
+
+"I shall see how you behave. I am afraid you are very clever. I don't
+like clever people, they are so suspicious, pretending to know
+everything always."
+
+"I am very simple," said Pierre Lamont, laughing inwardly. He knew
+that she wanted to propitiate him; "and beauty can lead me by a silken
+thread."
+
+"Is that another of your compliments? I declare, you speak as if you
+were a young man."
+
+She did, indeed, desire to win Pierre Lamont entirely to her, and she
+would have endured much to make him her friend instead of her enemy.
+Christian Almer had told her that the old lawyer had slept in the next
+room to his, and she had set herself the task of sounding the old
+fellow to ascertain whether his suspicions were aroused, and whether
+she had anything to fear from him. She could not help saying to
+herself what a fool Mother Denise--who looked after the household
+arrangements--was to put him so close to Christian.
+
+"I do believe," thought Adelaide, "that she did it to spite me."
+
+Her mind, however, was quite at ease after chatting with the old
+lawyer.
+
+"I am so glad we are friends," she said to him; "it is altogether so
+much nicer."
+
+Pierre Lamont looked reproachfully at her, and asked how she could
+ever have supposed he was anything but her most devoted admirer.
+
+"Lawyers are so fond of mischief," she replied, "that if it does not
+come to them ready-made they manufacture it for themselves."
+
+"I am no longer a lawyer," he said; "if I were twenty years younger I
+should call myself a lover."
+
+"If you were twenty years younger," she rejoined gaily, "I should not
+sit and listen to your nonsense."
+
+Being called from his side she turned and gave him an arch look.
+
+"All that only makes the case stronger, my lady," he said inwardly.
+"You cannot deceive me with your wiles."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                     GAUTRAN SEEKS JOHN VANBRUGH
+
+
+During the chief part of the day Gautran concealed himself
+in the woods. Twice had he ventured to present himself to his
+fellow--creatures. He was hungry, and in sore need of food, and he
+went to a wayside inn, and called for cold meat and bread and brandy.
+
+"Can you pay for it?" asked the innkeeper suspiciously.
+
+Gautran threw down a gold piece. The innkeeper took it, bit it, turned
+it over and over, rang it on the wooden table, and then set the food
+before Gautran.
+
+The murderer ate ravenously; it was the first sufficient meal he had
+eaten for days. The innkeeper gave him his change, and he ordered more
+meat and brandy, and paid for them. While he was disposing of this,
+two men came up, eyed him, and passed into the inn; Gautran was eating
+at a little table in the open air.
+
+Presently the innkeeper came out and looked at him; then the
+innkeeper's wife did the same; then other men and women came and cast
+wrathful glances upon him.
+
+At first he was not conscious that he was being thus observed, he was
+so ravenously engaged; but his hunger being appeased, he raised his
+head, and saw seven or eight persons standing at a little distance
+from him, and all with their eyes fixed upon his face.
+
+"What are you staring at?" he cried. "Did you never see a hungry man
+eat before?"
+
+They did not answer him, but stood whispering among themselves.
+
+The idea occurred to Gautran to take away with him a supply of food,
+and he called to the innkeeper to bring it to him. Instead of doing
+so, the innkeeper removed the plates and glasses in which the meal had
+been served. Having done this, he joined the group, and stood apart
+from Gautran, without addressing a word to him.
+
+"Do you hear me?" shouted Gautran. "Are you deaf and dumb?"
+
+"Neither deaf nor dumb," replied the innkeeper; "we hear you plain
+enough."
+
+"Bring me the bread and meat, then," he said.
+
+"Not another morsel," said the innkeeper. "Be off with you."
+
+"When I get the food."
+
+"You will get none here--nor would you have had bite or sup if I had
+known."
+
+"Known what?" demanded Gautran fiercely. "Is not my money as good as
+another man's?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because there is blood upon it."
+
+If this did not convince him that his name was known and execrated,
+what next transpired would have enlightened him. The innkeeper's wife
+came out with a glass and two plates in her hands.
+
+"Are these the things," she asked of her husband, "the monster has
+been eating out of?"
+
+"Yes," replied the innkeeper.
+
+She dashed them to the ground and shivered them to pieces, and the
+onlookers applauded the act.
+
+"Why do you do that, Mistress?" cried Gautran.
+
+"So that honest men shall not be poisoned," was the answer, "by eating
+out of a murderer's dish or putting their lips to a murderer's glass."
+
+And the onlookers again applauded her, and kicked away the pieces.
+
+Gautran glared at the men and women, and asked:
+
+"Who do you take me for?"
+
+"For Gautran. There is but one such monster. If you do not know your
+own face, look upon it there."
+
+She pointed to the window, and there he beheld his own portrait, cut
+out of an illustrated newspaper, and beneath it his name--"GAUTRAN,"
+to which had been added, in writing, the words, "The Murderer of
+Madeline, the Flower-Girl."
+
+He could not read the inscription, but he correctly divined its
+nature. The moment before he saw his portrait, it had entered his mind
+to deny himself; he recognised now how futile the attempt would be.
+
+"What if I am Gautran?" he exclaimed. "Do you think the law would set
+me free if I was guilty?"
+
+To which the innkeeper's wife replied:
+
+"You have escaped by a quibble. You are a murderer, and you know
+yourself to be one."
+
+"Mistress," he said, "if I had you alone I would make you smart."
+
+"How does that sound, men?" cried the innkeeper's wife with excited
+gestures. "Is it the speech of an innocent man? He would like to get
+me alone. Yes, he got one poor girl alone, and we know what became of
+her. The coward! the murderer! Hunt him away, neighbours. It is a
+disgrace to look upon him."
+
+They advanced towards Gautran threateningly, and he drew his knife and
+snapped it open.
+
+"Who will be the first?" he asked savagely, and seeing that they held
+together, he retreated backwards, with his face to them, until a turn
+in the road hid them from his sight. Then he fled into the woods, and
+with wild cries slashed the trees with his knife, which he had
+sharpened in the early morning.
+
+On the second occasion he presented himself at a cottage door, with
+the intention of begging or buying some food. He knocked at the door,
+and not receiving an answer, lifted the latch. In the room were two
+children--a baby in a cradle, and a five-year-old boy sitting on the
+floor, playing with a little wooden soldier. Looking up, and seeing
+the features of the ruffian, the boy scrambled to his feet, and
+rushing past Gautran, ran screaming down the road. Enraged almost to
+madness, Gautran ran after the child, and catching him, tossed him in
+the air, shouting:
+
+"What! you, too, brat? This for your pains!"
+
+And standing over the child, was about to stamp upon him, when he
+found himself seized by the throat. It was the father, who, hearing
+the child's screams, came up just in time to save him. Then ensued a
+desperate struggle, and Gautran, despite his boast to the Advocate,
+found that he had met more than his match. He was beaten to the
+ground, lifted, and thrown into the air, as he had thrown the child.
+He rose, bruised and bleeding, and was slinking off, when the man
+cried:
+
+"Holy Mother! it is the murderer, Gautran!"
+
+Some labourers who were coming across the fields, were attracted by
+the scuffle, and the father called out to them:
+
+"Here is Gautran the murderer, and he has tried to murder my child!"
+
+This was enough for them. They were armed with reaping-hooks, and they
+raced towards Gautran with loud threats. They chased him for full a
+mile, but he was fleeter of foot than they, and despair gave him
+strength. He escaped them, and sank, panting, to the ground.
+
+The Advocate had spoken truly. There was no safety for him. He was
+known for miles round, and the people were eager for vengeance. He
+would hide in the woods for the rest of the day. There was but one
+means of escape for him. He must seek some distant spot, where he and
+his crime were unknown. But to get there he would be compelled to pass
+through villages in which he would be recognised. It was necessary
+that he should disguise himself. In what way could this be done? He
+pondered upon it for hours. In the afternoon he heard the muttering of
+the thunder in the distant mountains.
+
+"There's a storm coming," he said, and he raised his burning face to
+meet the welcome rain. But only a few heavy drops fell, and the wind
+moaned through the woods as if in pain. Night stole upon him swiftly,
+and wrapt him in horrible darkness. He bit his lips, he clenched his
+hands, his body shook with fear. Solitude was worse than death to him.
+He tried to sleep; in vain. Terrible images crowded upon him. Company
+he must have, at all hazards. Suddenly he thought of John Vanbrugh,
+the man he had met the night before on the hill not far from the
+Advocate's house. This man had not avoided him. He would seek him
+again, and, if he found him, would pass the night with him. So
+resolving, he walked with feverish steps towards the hill on which
+John Vanbrugh was keeping watch.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III
+
+                 GAUTRAN RESOLVES ON A PLAN OF ESCAPE
+
+
+The distance was longer than Gautran had calculated, and he did not
+shorten it by the devious tracks he took in his anxiety to avoid
+meeting with his enemies. The rainstorm still kept off, but, in spite
+of the occasional flashes of lightning, the darkness seemed to grow
+thicker and thicker, and he frequently missed his way. He kept on
+doggedly, however, and although the shadow of his crime waited upon
+his steps, and made itself felt in the sighing and moaning of the
+wind, in the bending of every branch, and in the fluttering of every
+leaf, the craving for human companionship in which there was something
+of sympathy, and from which he would not be hunted like a dog, imbued
+him with courage to fight these terrors. Often, indeed, did he pause
+and threaten with fearful words the spectre of the girl he had
+murdered; and sometimes he implored her to leave him, and told her he
+was going to pay for masses for the repose of her soul. Occasionally
+he was compelled to take the high road, and then he was grateful for
+the darkness, for it prevented his face from being seen. At those
+times he slunk close to the hedges, as though dreading that the
+slightest contact with a human being would lead to discovery. Terrible
+as the night was to him, he feared the approach of day, when it would
+be more difficult to conceal himself from his pursuers. He knew that
+his life was not safe while he remained in this fatal neighbourhood.
+He _must_ escape, and in disguise, before he was many hours older. How
+was this to be accomplished? Once, in the roadway, he followed with
+stealthy steps two men who were conversing. He would have avoided
+them, as he had avoided others, had it not been that he heard his name
+mentioned, and was morbidly curious to hear what they were saying
+about him.
+
+Said one: "I have not set eyes upon this man-monster, but I shall know
+him if I meet him in the light."
+
+To which the other replied: "How will you manage that, if you have
+never seen his face?"
+
+"You ask a foolish question. Have not full descriptions of the
+murderer been put about everywhere? His features, the colour of his
+hair, his clothes, from his cap to his boots--all is known. His face
+he might disguise by a slash of his knife, if he has courage enough
+for it, or he might stain it--and in that way, too, he might change
+the colour of his hair. But his clothes would remain. The shirt he
+wears is one in a thousand, and there's no mistaking it. It is blue,
+with broad yellow bands, which encircle his villainous body like
+rings. Let him get another shirt if he can. The country is aroused for
+twenty miles round, and men are resolved to take justice into their
+own hands. The law has allowed him to slip through its fingers; he
+shall not slip through ours. Why, he said to a woman this morning that
+he would know how to serve her if he had her alone, and not long
+afterwards he tried to murder a child! Shall such a monster be allowed
+to remain at liberty to strike women down and murder the helpless?
+No--we don't intend to let him escape. Men are on the watch for him
+everywhere, and when he is caught he will be beaten to death, or hung
+upon the nearest tree. There is another end for him, if he chooses to
+take it. He can hide in the woods and starve, and when his body is
+found, we'll drive a stake through it. Take my word for it, Gautran,
+the murderer, has not long to live."
+
+Gautran shook with fear and rage.
+
+"I could spring upon them with my knife," he thought, "but they are
+two to one."
+
+And then, when the men were out of hearing, he shook his fist at them,
+and muttered:
+
+"Curse you! I will cheat you yet!"
+
+But how? The description given of his shirt was a faithful one; the
+broad yellow bands were there, and he remembered that, two days before
+the end of his trial, the gaolers had taken it from his cell in the
+night, and returned it to him in the morning, washed, with the yellow
+colour brighter than it had been for months. He knew now that this had
+been done out of malice, in case he should be acquitted, so that he
+might be the more readily recognised and shunned, or the more easily
+tracked and caught if he was again wanted. There loomed upon him a way
+to foil those who had vowed to kill him. The man he was seeking had
+spoken in a reckless manner; he had complained of the world, and was
+doubtless in want of money. He had gold which the Advocate had given
+him; he would offer to buy the man's clothes, and would give him his
+own, and one, two, or even three gold pieces in exchange; An easy
+thing to accomplish. But if the man would not consent to the bargain!
+He smiled savagely, and felt the edge of his knife. He was thoroughly
+desperate. He would sacrifice a thousand lives to save his own.
+
+Out of this murderous alternative--and out of the words uttered by the
+man he had overheard, "His face he might disguise by a slash of his
+knife if he has courage for it"--grew ideas which, as he plodded on
+gradually arranged themselves into a scheme which would ensure him an
+almost sure escape from those who had leagued themselves against him.
+Its entire success depended upon certain physical attributes in John
+Vanbrugh--but he would risk it even if these were not as he wished
+them to be. The plan was horrible in its design, and needed strength
+and cunning. He had both, and would use them without mercy, to ensure
+his safety. John Vanbrugh, with whose name he was not acquainted, was
+probably a stranger in the locality; something in Vanbrugh's speech
+caused him to suspect this. He would assure himself first of the fact,
+and then the rest was easy. Vanbrugh was about his own height and
+build; he had stood by his side and knew this to be so. Gautran should
+die this night in the person of another man, and should be found in
+the morning, murdered, with features so battered as to defy
+recognition. But he would be attired in Gautran's clothes, and would
+by those means be instantly identified. Then he, the true Gautran,
+would be forever safe. In John Vanbrugh's garments he could make his
+way to a distant part of the country, and take another name. No one
+would suspect him, for Gautran would be dead; and he would buy
+masses for the repose of Madeline's soul, and so purge himself of
+blood-guiltiness. As to this second contemplated crime he gave it no
+thought, except that it was necessary, and must be done.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                          HEAVEN'S JUDGMENT
+
+
+Within half an hour of midnight he arrived at the hill, and saw the
+shadow of a man who was leaning against a tree. Gautran had been
+walking for nearly three hours, and during the whole time the storm of
+thunder and lightning had continued at intervals, now retreating, now
+advancing; but its full force had been spent many miles away, and it
+did not seem likely to approach much nearer to the House of White
+Shadows.
+
+"The man is there," muttered Gautran, "with his face still towards the
+Advocate's window. What is his purpose?"
+
+He was curious about that, too, and thought he would endeavour to
+ferret it out. It might be useful to him in the future, for it
+concerned the Advocate. There was plenty of time before him to
+accomplish his own murderous design.
+
+John Vanbrugh heard Gautran's footsteps.
+
+"Who comes this way?" he cried.
+
+"A friend," replied Gautran.
+
+"That is easily said," cried Vanbrugh. "I am not in a trustful mood.
+Hold off a bit, or I may do you mischief."
+
+"Do you not know me?" asked Gautran, approaching closer, and measuring
+himself with the dark form of Vanbrugh. They were of exactly the same
+height.
+
+"What, Gautran!" exclaimed Vanbrugh in a gay tone.
+
+"Yes, Gautran."
+
+"Welcome, friend, welcome," said Vanbrugh, with a laugh. "Give me your
+hand. Veritable flesh and blood. You have a powerful grip, Gautran. I
+thought we should meet again. What caused you to make yourself scarce
+so suddenly last night? You vanished like a cloud."
+
+"I had business to do. Have you got any more of that brandy about
+you?"
+
+"I am not sure whether you deserve it. After emptying my flask, you
+may make off again. A poor return for hospitality, my friend."
+
+"I promise to remain with you--it is what I came for--if you give me
+brandy."
+
+"I take your word," said Vanbrugh, producing a flask. "Drink, but not
+too greedily."
+
+Gautran took a long draught and returned the flask, saying, "You have
+no food, I suppose?"
+
+"Why, yes, I have. Warned by previous experiences I supplied myself
+liberally for this night's watch. I'll not refuse you, though I spent
+my last franc on it."
+
+"Ah," said Gautran, with some eagerness, for an amicable exchange of
+clothing would render the more villainous part of his task easier of
+accomplishment, "you are poor, then?"
+
+"Poor? Yes, but not for long, Gautran. The days of full purses are
+coming. Here is the food. Eat, rogue, eat. It is honest bread and
+meat, bought and paid for; but none the sweeter for that. We know
+which fruit is the sweetest. So you had business to do when you took
+French leave of me! How runs the matter? I had just pointed out the
+Advocate's window to you--your own special Advocate, my friend, to
+whom you have so much reason to be grateful--when you disappeared like
+an arrow from a bow. What follows then? That, leaving me so abruptly,
+your business was important, and that it concerned the Advocate. Right
+or wrong, rogue?"
+
+"Right," replied Gautran, as he devoured the food.
+
+"Come, that's candid of you, and spoken like a friend. You did not
+know, before I informed you, that he lived in the villa yonder?"
+
+"I did not."
+
+"I begin to have hopes of you. And learning it from me, you made
+up your mind on the spur of the moment--your business being so
+important--to pay him a friendly visit, despite the strangeness of the
+hour for a familiar call?"
+
+"You've hit it," said Gautran.
+
+John Vanbrugh pondered a while. These direct answers, given without
+hesitation, puzzled him. He had expected to meet with prevarication,
+and he was receiving, instead, straightforward confidence.
+
+"You are not afraid," he said, "to speak the truth to me, Gautran?"
+
+"I am not."
+
+"But I am a stranger to you."
+
+"That's true."
+
+"Why, then, do you confide in me?"
+
+It was Gautran's turn now to pause, but he soon replied, with a
+sinister look which John Vanbrugh, in the darkness, could not see:
+
+"Because, after what passes between us this night, I am sure you will
+not betray me."
+
+"Good," said Vanbrugh; "then it is plain you sought me deliberately,
+because you think I can in some way serve you."
+
+"Yes, because you can in some way serve me--that is why I am here."
+
+"Then you intend to hide nothing from me?"
+
+"Nothing--for the reason I have given."
+
+A flash of lightning seemed to strike the spot on which he and Gautran
+were conversing, and he waited for the thunder. It came--long, deep,
+and threatening.
+
+"There is a terrible storm somewhere," he said.
+
+"It does not matter," rejoined Gautran, with a shudder, "so long as a
+man is not alone. Don't mind my coming so close. I have walked many a
+mile to find you. I have not a friend in the world but you."
+
+"Not even the Advocate?"
+
+"Not even him. He will see me no more."
+
+"He told you that last night?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But how did you get to him, Gautran? You did not enter by the gates."
+
+"No; I dropped over the wall at the back. Tell me. It is but fair; I
+answer you honestly enough. What are you watching his house for? A man
+does not do as you are doing, on such black nights as this, for idle
+pastime."
+
+"No, indeed, Gautran! I also have business with him. And strangely
+enough, you, whom I met in the flesh for the first time within these
+last twenty-four hours, are indirectly concerned in it."
+
+"Am I? Strange enough, as you say. But it will not matter after
+to-night."
+
+Some hidden meaning in Gautran's tone struck warningly upon John
+Vanbrugh, and caused him to bestow a clearer observance upon Gautran's
+movements from this moment.
+
+"There is a thing I wish to know, Gautran," he said. "Between
+vagabonds like ourselves there is no need for concealment. It is a
+delicate question, but you have been so frank with me that I will
+venture to ask it. Besides, there are no witnesses, and you will not,
+therefore, incriminate yourself. This girl, Madeline, whose spirit
+follows you----"
+
+Vanbrugh hesitated. The question he was about to ask trembled on his
+lips, and he scarcely knew how to give it shape in words that would
+not provoke an outbreak on the part of Gautran. He had no desire to
+come into open collision with this ruffian, of whose designs upon
+himself he was inwardly warned. Gautran, with brutal recklessness,
+assisted him.
+
+"You want to know if I killed her?"
+
+"Why, yes--though you put it roughly."
+
+"What matter? Well, then, she died at my hands."
+
+John Vanbrugh recoiled from the murderer in horror, and in a
+suppressed tone asked:
+
+"When the Advocate defended you, did he know you were guilty?"
+
+"Aye. We kept the secret to ourselves. It was cleverly worked, was it
+not?"
+
+"And last night," continued John Vanbrugh, "he received you in his
+study?"
+
+"Aye--and gave me liquor, and food, and money. Listen to it." He
+rattled the gold pieces in the palms of his hands. "Look you. I have
+answered questions enough. I answer no more for a while. It is my turn
+now."
+
+"Proceed, Gautran," said Vanbrugh; "I may satisfy you or not,
+according to my whim."
+
+"You'll satisfy me, or I'll know the reason why. There is no harm in
+what I am going to say. You are a stranger in these parts--there is no
+offence in that, is there?"
+
+"None. Yes, I am a stranger in these parts. Heavens! what a flash! The
+storm is coming nearer."
+
+"All the better. You will hardly believe that I have been bothering
+myself about the colour of your hair. I hate red-haired men. Yours,
+now. Is there any offence in asking the colour of it?"
+
+"None. My hair is black."
+
+Gautran's eyes glittered and a flash of lightning illuminated his
+face, and revealed to Vanbrugh the savage and ruthless look which
+shone there.
+
+"And your height and build, about the same as mine," said Gautran.
+"Let us strike a bargain. I have gold--you have none. I have taken a
+fancy to your clothes; I will buy them of you. Two gold pieces in
+exchange for them, and mine thrown in."
+
+"The clothes of a murderer," said Vanbrugh, slowly retreating as
+Gautran advanced upon him. "Thank you for nothing. Not for two hundred
+gold pieces, poor as I am. Keep off. Do not come so near to me."
+
+"Why not? You are no better than I. Three gold pieces! That should
+content you."
+
+"You have my answer, Gautran. Leave me, I have had enough of you."
+
+"You will have had more than enough before I have done with you," said
+Gautran, and Vanbrugh was satisfied now, from the man's brutal tones,
+that it was a deadly foe who stood within a few inches of him, "if you
+do not do as I bid you. Say, done and done; you had better. By fair
+means or foul I mean to have what I want."
+
+"Not by fair means, you murderous villain. Be warned. I am on my
+guard."
+
+"If you will have it, then!" cried Gautran, and with a savage shout he
+threw himself upon Vanbrugh.
+
+So sudden and fierce was the attack that Vanbrugh could not escape
+from it; but although he was no match for Gautran in strength, he had
+had, in former years, some experience in wrestling which came to his
+aid now in this terrible crisis. The struggle that ensued was
+prolonged and deadly, and while the men were locked in each other's
+arms, the storm broke immediately over their heads. The thunder pealed
+above them, the lightning played about their forms.
+
+"You villain!" gasped Vanbrugh, as he felt himself growing weaker.
+"Have you been paid by the Advocate to do this deed?"
+
+"Yes," answered Gautran, between his clenched teeth; "he is the
+fiend's agent, and I am his! He bade me kill you. Your last moment has
+come!"
+
+"Not yet," cried Vanbrugh, and by a supreme and despairing effort he
+threw Gautran clear from him, and stood again on the defensive.
+
+Simultaneously with the movement a flash of forked lightning struck
+the tree against which Vanbrugh had been leaning when Gautran first
+accosted him, and cleft it in twain; and as Gautran was about to
+spring forward, a huge mass of timber fell upon him with fatal force,
+and bore him to the earth--where he lay imprisoned, crushed and
+bleeding to death.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V
+
+             FATHER CAPEL DISCOVERS GAUTRAN IN HIS PERIL
+
+
+Father Capel was wending his way slowly over the hill from the bedside
+of the sick woman whom he had attended for two nights in succession.
+On the first night she was in a state of delirium, and Father Capel
+could not arouse her to a consciousness of surrounding things. In her
+delirium she had repeatedly uttered a name which had powerfully
+interested him. "Madeline! Madeline! my Madeline," she moaned again
+and again. "Is it possible," thought the priest, "that the girl whose
+name she utters with agonised affection is the poor child who was so
+ruthlessly murdered?" On this, the second night, the woman whose last
+minutes on earth were approaching, was conscious, and she made certain
+disclosures to Father Capel which, veiled as they were, had grievously
+disturbed his usually serene mood. She had, also, given him a mission
+to perform which did not tend to compose his mind. He had promised
+faithfully to obey her, and they were to meet again within a few
+hours. To his earnest request that she would pray with him, she had
+impatiently answered:
+
+"There will be time enough after I have seen the man you have promised
+to bring with you. I shall live till then."
+
+So he had knelt by her bedside and had prayed for her and for himself,
+and for all the erring. His compassionate heart had room for them all.
+
+For twenty miles around there was no man better loved than he. His
+life had been reproachless, and his tender nature never turned from
+the performance of a good deed, though it entailed suffering and
+privation upon himself. These were matters not to be considered when
+duty beckoned to him. A poor man, and one who very often deprived
+himself of a meal in the cause of charity. A priest in the truest
+sense of the word.
+
+Seldom, in the course of a long, merciful, and charitable career, had
+he met with so much cause to grieve as on the present occasion. In the
+first place, because it was an added proof to the many he had received
+that a false step in life, in the taking of which one human being
+caused another to suffer, was certain to bring at some time or other
+its own bitter punishment; in the second place, because in this
+particular instance, the punishment, and the remorse that must surely
+follow, were as terrible as the mind of man could conceive.
+
+His road lay towards the hill upon which the desperate conflict
+between John Vanbrugh and Gautran was taking place. There was no
+occasion for him to cross this hill; by skirting its base he could
+follow the road he intended to take. But as he approached the spot,
+the wind bore to him, in moments when the fury of the storm was
+lulled, cries which sounded in his ears like cries of pain and despair
+They were faint, and difficult to ascribe to any precise definite
+cause; they might be the cries of an animal, but even in that case it
+was more than likely that Father Capel would have proceeded in their
+direction. Presently, however, he heard a human cry for help; the word
+was distinct, and it decided his movements. Without hesitation he
+began to climb the hill.
+
+As he approached nearer and nearer to the spot on which the struggle
+was proceeding, there was no longer room to doubt its nature.
+
+"Holy Mother!" murmured the priest, quickening his steps, "will the
+evil passions of men never be stilled? It seems as if murder were
+being done here. Grant that I am not too late to avert the crime!"
+
+Then came the terrific lightning-flash, followed immediately by
+Gautran's piercing scream as he was struck down by the tree.
+
+"Who calls for help?" cried Father Capel, in a loud voice, but his
+words were lost in the peals of thunder which shook the earth and made
+it tremble beneath his feet. When comparative silence reigned, he
+shouted again:
+
+"Who calls for help? I am a priest, and tender it."
+
+Gautran's voice answered him:
+
+"Here--here! I am crushed and dying!"
+
+This appeal was not coherently made, but the groans which accompanied
+it guided Father Capel to the spot upon which Gautran lay. He felt
+amid the darkness and shuddered at the touch of blood, and then he
+clasped Gautran's right hand. The tree had fallen across the
+murderer's legs, and had so crushed them into the earth that he could
+not move the lower part of his body; his chest and arms were free. A
+heavy branch had inflicted a terrible gash on his forehead, and it was
+from this wound that he was bleeding to death.
+
+"Who are you?" said Father Capel, kneeling by the dying man, "that
+lies here in this sad condition? I cannot see you. Is this Heaven's
+deed, or man's?"
+
+"It is Heaven's," gasped Gautran, "and I am justly punished."
+
+"I heard the sounds of a struggle between two men. Are you one of
+those who were fighting in the midst of this awful darkness?"
+
+"Yes, I am one."
+
+"And the design," continued Father Capel, "was murder. You do not
+answer me; your silence is sufficient confirmation. Are you hurt
+much?"
+
+"I am hurt to death. In a few minutes I shall be in eternal fire
+unless you grant me absolution and forgiveness for my crimes."
+
+"Speak first the truth. Were you set upon, or were you the attacker in
+this evil combat?"
+
+"I attacked him first."
+
+"Then he may be dead!" exclaimed Father Capel, and rising hastily to
+his feet, he peered into the darkness, and felt about with his hands,
+and called aloud to know if the other man was conscious. "This is
+horrible," said the priest, in deep perplexity, scarcely knowing what
+it was best to do; "one man dying, another in all likelihood dead."
+
+He turned as if about to go, and Gautran, divining his intention,
+cried in a tone of agony:
+
+"Do not leave me, father, do not leave me!"
+
+"Truly," murmured the priest, "it seems to me that my present duty is
+more with the living than the dead." He knelt again by the side of
+Gautran. "Miserable wretch, if the man you attacked be dead, you have
+murdered him, and you have been smitten for your crime. It may not be
+the only sin that lies upon your soul."
+
+"It is not, it is not," groaned Gautran. "My strength is deserting me;
+I can hardly speak. Father, is there hope for a murderer? Do not let
+me die yet. Give me something to revive me. I am fainting."
+
+"I have nothing with me to restore your strength. To go for wine, and
+for assistance to remove this heavy timber which imprisons you--my
+weak arms cannot stir it--cannot be accomplished in less than half an
+hour. It will be best, perhaps, for me to take this course; in the
+meantime, pray, miserable man, with all the earnestness of your heart
+and soul, for Divine forgiveness. What is your name?"
+
+"I am Gautran," faintly answered the murderer.
+
+Father Capel's frame shook under the influence of a strong agitation.
+
+"From the bedside of the woman I have left within the hour," he
+murmured, "to this poor sinner who has but a few minutes to live! The
+hand of God is visible in it."
+
+He addressed himself to the dying man:
+
+"You are he who was tried for the murder of Madeline, the
+flower-girl?"
+
+"I am he," moaned Gautran.
+
+"Hearken to me," said Father Capel. "For that crime you were tried and
+acquitted by an earthly tribunal, which pronounced you innocent. But
+you are now about to appear before the Divine throne for judgment; and
+from God nothing can be hidden. He sees into the hearts of men. Who is
+ready--as you but now admitted to me--to commit one murder, and who,
+perhaps, has committed it, for, from the silence, I infer that the
+body of your victim lies at no great distance, will not shrink from
+committing two. Answer me truly, as you hope for mercy. Were you
+guilty or innocent of the murder of Madeline?"
+
+"I was guilty," groaned Gautran. "Wretch that I am, I killed her. I
+loved her, father--I loved her!"
+
+Gautran, from whose lips these words had come amid gasps of agony,
+could say no more; his senses were fast leaving him.
+
+"Ah me--ah me!" sighed Father Capel; "how shall such a crime be
+expiated?"
+
+"Father," moaned Gautran, rallying a little, "had I lived till
+to-morrow, I intended to buy masses for the repose of her soul. I will
+buy them now, and for my own soul too. I have money. Feel in my
+pocket; there is gold. Take it all--all--every piece--and tell me I am
+forgiven."
+
+Father Capel did not attempt to take the money.
+
+"Stolen gold will not buy absolution or the soul's repose," he said
+sadly. "Crime upon crime--sin upon sin! Gautran, evil spirits have
+been luring you to destruction."
+
+"I did not steal the gold," gasped Gautran. "It was given to
+me--freely given."
+
+"Forgiveness you cannot hope for," said Father Capel, "if in these
+awful moments you swerve from the truth by a hair's-breadth. Confess
+you stole the gold, and tell me from whom, so that it may be
+restored."
+
+"May eternal torments be mine if I stole it! Believe me,
+father--believe me. I speak the truth."
+
+"Who gave it to you, then?"
+
+"The Advocate."
+
+"The Advocate! He who defended you, and so blinded the judgment of men
+as to cause them to set a murderer loose?"
+
+"Yes; he, and no other man."
+
+"From what motive, Gautran--compassion?"
+
+"No, from fear."
+
+"What reason has he to fear you?"
+
+"I have his secret, as he had mine, and he wished to get rid of me, so
+that he and I should never meet again. It was for that he gave me the
+gold."
+
+"What is the nature of this secret which made him fear your presence?"
+
+"He knew me to be guilty."
+
+"What do you say? When he defended you, he knew you to be guilty?"
+
+"Aye, he knew it well."
+
+"Incredible--horrible!" exclaimed Father Capel, raising his hands. "He
+shared, then, your crime. Yes; though he committed not the deed, his
+guilt is as heavy as the guilt of the murderer. How will he atone for
+it?--how _can_ atone for it? And if what I otherwise fear to be true,
+what pangs of remorse await him!"
+
+A frightful scream from Gautran arrested his further speech.
+
+"Save me, father--save me!" shrieked the wretch. "Send her away! Tell
+her I repent. See, there--there!--she is creeping upon me, along the
+tree!"
+
+"What is it you behold amidst the darkness of this appalling night?"
+asked Father Capel, crossing himself.
+
+"It is Madeline--her spirit that will never, never leave me! Will you
+not be satisfied, you, with my punishment? Is not my death enough for
+you? You fiend--you fiend! I will strangle you if you come closer.
+Have mercy--mercy! You are a priest; have you no power over her? Then
+what is the use of prayer? It is a mockery--a mockery! My eyes are
+filled with blood! Ah!"
+
+Then all was silent.
+
+"Gautran," whispered Father Capel, "take this cross in your hand; put
+it to your lips and repeat the words I say. Gautran, do you hear me?
+No sound--no sound! He has gone to his account, unrepentant and
+unforgiven!"
+
+Father Capel rose to his feet.
+
+"I will seek assistance at once; there is another to be searched for.
+Ah, terrible, terrible night! Heaven have mercy upon us!"
+
+And with a heart overburdened with grief, the good priest left the
+spot to seek for help.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+                        THE WRITTEN CONFESSION
+
+
+During the whole of this interview John Vanbrugh had lain concealed
+within two or three yards of the fallen tree, and had heard every word
+that had passed between Gautran and Father Capel. For a few moments
+after he had thrown Gautran from him he was dazed and exhausted by the
+struggle in which he had been engaged, and by the crashing of the
+timber which had saved him from his deadly foe. Gradually he realised
+what had occurred, and when Father Capel's voice reached his ears he
+resolved not to discover himself, and to be a silent witness of what
+transpired.
+
+In this decision lay safety for himself and absolute immunity, for
+Gautran knew nothing of him, not even his name, and to be dragged into
+the light, to be made to give evidence of the scene in which he had
+been a principal actor, would have seriously interfered with his plan
+of action respecting the Advocate.
+
+Favoured by the night, he had no difficulty in concealing himself, and
+he derived an inward satisfaction from the reflection that he might
+turn even the tragic and unexpected event that had occurred to his own
+immediate advantage. He had not been seriously hurt in the conflict; a
+few bruises and scratches comprised the injuries he had received.
+
+Among his small gifts lay the gift of mimicry; he could imitate
+another man's voice to perfection; and when Father Capel left Gautran
+for the purpose of obtaining assistance, an idea crossed his mind
+which he determined to carry out. He waited until he was assured that
+Father Capel was entirely out of hearing, and then he stepped from his
+hiding-place, and knelt by the side of Gautran. Having now no fear of
+his enemy, he placed his ear to Gautran's heart and listened.
+
+"He breathes," he muttered, "there is yet a little life left in him."
+
+He raised Gautran's head upon his knee, and taking his flask of brandy
+from his pocket, he poured some of the liquor down the dying man's
+throat. It revived him; he opened his eyes languidly; but he had not
+strength enough left in him to utter more than a word or two at the
+time.
+
+"I have returned, Gautran," said John Vanbrugh, imitating the voice of
+the priest; "I had it not in my heart to desert you in your last
+moments. The man you fought with is dead, and in his pocket I found
+this flask of brandy. It serves one good purpose; it will give you
+time to earn salvation. You have two murders upon your soul. Are you
+prepared to do as I bid you?"
+
+"Yes," replied Gautran.
+
+"Answer my questions, then. What do you know of the man whom you have
+slain?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Was he, then, an absolute stranger to you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You do not even know his name?"
+
+"No."
+
+"There is no time to inquire into your reasons for attacking him, for
+I perceive from your breathing that your end is very near, and the
+precious moments must not be wasted. It is your soul--your soul--that
+has to be saved! And there is only one way--the guilty must be
+punished. You have met your punishment. Heaven's lightning has struck
+you down. These gold pieces which I now take from your pocket shall be
+expended in masses. Rest easy, rest easy, Gautran. There is but one
+thing for you to do--and then you will have made atonement. You hear
+me--you understand me?"
+
+"Yes--quick--quick!"
+
+"To die, leaving behind you no record of the guilt of your
+associate--of the Advocate who, knowing you to be a murderer,
+deliberately defeated the ends of justice--will be to provoke Divine
+anger against you. There is no hope for pardon in that case. Can you
+write?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Your name, with my assistance, you could trace?"
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"I will write a confession which you must sign. Then you shall receive
+absolution."
+
+He poured a few drops of brandy into Gautran's mouth, and they were
+swallowed with difficulty. After this he allowed Gautran's head to
+rest upon the earth, and tore from his pocket-book some sheets of
+blank paper, upon which, with much labour, he wrote the following:
+
+"I, Gautran, the woodman, lately tried for the murder of Madeline, the
+flower-girl, being now upon the point of death, and conscious that I
+have only a few minutes to live, and being in full possession of my
+reason, hereby make oath, and swear:
+
+"That being thrown into prison, awaiting my trial. I believed there
+was no escape from the doom I justly merited, for the reason that I
+was guilty of the murder.
+
+"That some days before my trial was to take place, the Advocate who
+defended me voluntarily undertook to prove to my judges that I was
+innocent of the crime I committed.
+
+"That with this full knowledge he conducted my case with such ability
+that I was set free and pronounced innocent.
+
+"That on the night of my acquittal, after midnight had struck, and
+when every person but himself in the House of White Shadows was
+asleep, I secretly visited him in his study, and remained with him
+some time.
+
+"That he gave me food and money, and bade me go my way.
+
+"That I am ignorant of the motives which induced him to whom I was a
+perfect stranger, to deliberately defeat the ends of justice.
+
+"That the proof that he knew me to be guilty lies in the fact that I
+made a full confession to him.
+
+"To which I solemnly swear, being about to appear before a just God to
+answer for my crime. I pray for forgiveness and mercy.
+
+"Signed----."
+
+And here John Vanbrugh left a space for Gautran's name. He read the
+statement to Gautran, who was now fast sinking, and then he raised the
+dying man's head in his arms, and holding the pencil in the almost
+nerveless fingers, assisted him to trace the name "Gautran."
+
+This was no sooner accomplished than Gautran, with a wild scream, fell
+back.
+
+John Vanbrugh lost not another moment. With an exultant smile he
+placed the fatal evidence in his pocket, and prepared to depart. As he
+did so he heard the voices of men who were ascending the hill.
+
+"This paper," thought Vanbrugh, as he crept softly away in an opposite
+direction, "is worth, I should say, at least half the Advocate's
+fortune. It is the ruin of his life and career, and, if he does not
+purchase it of me on my own terms, let him look to himself."
+
+When Father Capel, with the men he had summoned to his assistance,
+arrived at the spot upon which Gautran lay, the murderer was dead.
+
+
+
+
+
+                   _BOOK VI.--A RECORD OF THE PAST_
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I
+
+                   THE DISCOVERY OF THE MANUSCRIPT
+
+
+All was silent in the House of White Shadows. Strange as was the drama
+that was in progress within its walls it found no open expression, and
+to the Advocate, seated alone in his study, was about to be unfolded a
+record of events long buried in the past, the disclosure of which had
+not, up to this moment, been revealed to man. During the afternoon,
+the Advocate had said to Christian Almer:
+
+"Now that I have leisure, I intend, with your permission, to devote
+some time to your father's works. In his day, certainly for a number
+of years, he was celebrated, and well known in many countries, and I
+have heard surprise expressed that a career which promised to shed
+lasting lustre upon the name you bear seemed suddenly to come to an
+end. Of this abrupt break in the labours of an eminent man there is no
+explanation--as to what led to it, and in what way it was broken off.
+I may chance upon the reason of a singular and complete diversion from
+a pursuit which he loved. It will interest me, if you will give me
+permission to search among his papers."
+
+"A permission," rejoined Christian Almer, "freely accorded. Everything
+in the study is at your disposal. For my own part the impressions of
+my childhood are of such a nature as to render distasteful the records
+of my father's labours. But you are a student and a man of deeper
+observation and research than myself. You may unearth something of
+value. I place all my father's manuscripts at your unreserved
+disposal. Pray, read them if you care to do so, and use them in any
+way you may desire."
+
+Thus it happened that, two hours before midnight, the Advocate, after
+looking through a number of manuscripts, most of them in an incomplete
+shape, came upon some written pages, the opening lines of which
+exercised upon him a powerful fascination. The only heading of these
+pages was, "A FAITHFUL RECORD." And it was made in the following
+strain:
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                       CHRISTIAN ALMER'S FATHER
+
+
+"It devolves upon me, Ernest Christian Almer, as a duty, to set down
+here, in a brief form, before I die, the record of certain events in
+my life which led me to the commission of a crime. Whether justifiable
+or not--whether this which I call a crime may be otherwise designated
+as an accident or as the execution of a just punishment for trust and
+friendship betrayed--is for others to determine.
+
+"It is probable that no human eye will read what I am about to write
+until I am dead; but if it should be brought to light in my lifetime I
+am ready to bear the consequences of my act. The reason why I myself
+do nothing to assist directly in the discovery (except in so far as
+making this record and placing it without concealment among my
+manuscripts) is that I may in that way be assisting in bringing into
+the life of my dear son, Christian Almer, a stigma and a reproach
+which will be a cause of suffering to him. If it should happen that
+many years elapse before these lines fall into the hands of a human
+being, if may perhaps be for the best. What is done is done, and
+cannot be recalled. Even had I the power to bring the dead to life I
+doubt whether I should avail myself of it.
+
+"My name is not unknown to the small world in which I live and move,
+and I once cherished a hope that I should succeed in making it famous.
+That hope is now like a flower burnt to ashes, never more to blossom.
+It proves the vanity of ambition upon which we pride ourselves and
+which we imbue with false nobility.
+
+"As a lad I was almost morbidly tender in my nature; I shrank from
+giving pain to living creature; the ordinary pursuits of childhood, in
+which cruelty to insects forms so prominent a feature, were to me
+revolting; to strip even a flower of its leaves was in my eyes a cruel
+proceeding. And yet I have lived to take a human life.
+
+"My earliest aspiration was to win a name in literature. Every book I
+read and admired assisted in making this youthful aspiration a fixed
+purpose when I became a man. Often, as I read the last words of a book
+which had fired my imagination, would I think, and sometimes say
+aloud, 'Gladly would I die were I capable of writing a work so good,
+so grand as this.'
+
+"My parents were rich, and allowed me to follow my bent. When they
+died I was left sole heir to their wealth. I had not to struggle as
+poorer men in the profession to which I resolved to devote myself have
+had to do. So much the worse for me perhaps--but that now matters
+little. Whether the books I hoped to write would be eagerly sought
+after or not was of no moment to me. What I desired was to produce;
+for the rest, as to being successful or unsuccessful, I was equal to
+either fortune.
+
+"I made many friends and acquaintances, who grew to learn that they
+could use and enjoy my house as their own. In setting this down I lay
+no claim to unusual generosity; it was on my part simply the outcome
+of a nature that refused to become a slave to rigid forms of
+hospitality. The trouble entailed would have been too great, and I
+declined to undertake it. I chose to employ my hours after my own
+fashion--the fashion of solitude. I found great pleasure in it, and to
+see my friends around me without feeling myself called upon to
+sacrifice my time for their enjoyment, knowing (as they well knew)
+that they were welcome to the best my wealth and means could supply
+them with--this added to my pleasure a peculiar charm. They were
+satisfied, and so was I; and only in one instance was my hospitality
+abused and my friendship betrayed. But had I been wise, this one
+instance would never have occurred to destroy the hopes of my life.
+
+"Although it is running somewhat ahead of the sequence of events, I
+may mention here the name of the man who proved false to friendship.
+It was M. Gabriel. He was almost young enough to be my son, and when I
+first knew him he was a boy and I was a man. He was an artist, with
+rare talents, and at the outset of his career I assisted him, for,
+like the majority of artists, he was poor. This simple mention of him
+will be sufficient for the present.
+
+"As when I was a lad I took no delight in the pleasures of lads of my
+own age, so when I was a man I did not go the way of men in that
+absorbing passion to which is given the name of Love. Those around me
+were drawn into the net which natural impulse and desire spread for
+mankind. There was no credit in this; it was simply that it did not
+happen. I was by no means a woman-hater, but it would seem as if the
+pursuits to which I was devoted were too engrossing to admit of a
+rival. So I may say what few can say--that I had passed my fortieth
+year, and had never loved.
+
+"My turn came, however.
+
+"Among my guests were the lady who afterwards became my wife, and her
+parents. A sweet and beautiful lady, twenty-five years my junior.
+My unhappiness and ruin sprang from the chance which brought us
+together--as did her wretchedness and misery. In this I was more to
+blame than she--much more to blame. In the ordinary course of a life
+which had reached beyond its middle age I should have acquired
+sufficient experience to learn that youth should mate with youth--that
+nature has its laws which it is dangerous to trifle with. But such
+experience did not come to me. At forty-five years of age I was as
+unlearned as a child in matters of the heart; I had no thought of love
+or marriage, and the youngest man of my acquaintance would have
+laughed at my simplicity had the opportunity been afforded him of
+seeing my inner life. It was not the fault of the young lady that she
+knew nothing of this simplicity. No claim whatever had I to demand to
+be judged by special and exceptional rules. She had a perfect right to
+judge me as any other man of my age would have been judged. All that
+can be said of it was that it was most unfortunate for her and for me.
+If it should happen (which is not unlikely, for the unforeseen is
+always occurring) that these pages should be read by a man who is
+contemplating marriage with one young enough to be his daughter, I
+would advise him to pause and submit his case to the test of natural
+reason; for if both live, there must come a time when nature will take
+its revenge for the transgression. The glamour of the present is very
+alluring, but it is the duty of the wiser and the riper of the twain
+to consider the future, which will press more hardly upon the woman
+than upon the man. With the fashion of things as regards the coupling
+of the sexes I have nothing to do; fashions are artificial and often
+most mischievous. Frequently, when the deeper laws of nature are
+involved, they are destructive and fatal.
+
+"It was my misfortune that during the visit of the young lady and her
+parents, the father, an old and harmless gentleman, met his death
+through an accident while he, I, and other gentlemen were riding. In
+my house he died.
+
+"It occasioned me distress and profound sorrow, and I felt myself in
+some way accountable, though the fault was none of mine. Before his
+death he and I had private confidences, in which he asked me to look
+after his affairs, and if, as he feared, they were in an embarrassed
+state, to act as protector to his daughter. I gave him the promise
+readily, and, when he died, I took a journey for the purpose of
+ascertaining how the widow and the orphan were circumstanced. I found
+that they were literally beggars. As gently as I could I broke the
+news to them. The mother understood it; the daughter scarcely knew its
+meaning. Her charming, artless ignorance of the consequences of
+poverty deeply interested me, and I resolved in my mind how I could
+best serve her and render her future a happy one.
+
+"Speaking as I am in a measure to my own soul, I will descend to no
+duplicity. That I was entirely unselfish in my desire that her life
+should be bright and free from anxieties with which she could not cope
+is true; but none the less true is it that, for the first time, I felt
+myself under the dominion of a passion deeper and more significant
+than I had ever felt for woman. It was love, I believe, but love in
+which there was reason. For I took myself to task; I set my age and
+hers before me; I did this on paper, and as I gazed at the figures I
+said. Absurd; it is not in nature, and I must fight it down.' I did
+wrestle with it, and although I did not succeed in vanquishing it, I
+was sufficiently master of myself to keep the struggle hidden in my
+own breast.
+
+"How, then, did this hapless lady become my wife? Not, in the first
+instance, through any steps voluntarily and unreasoningly taken by
+myself. I had firmly resolved to hold my feelings in check. It was the
+mother who accomplished that upon which she had set her heart. I may
+speak freely. This worldly mother has been long dead, and my
+confession cannot harm her. It was she who ruined at least the
+happiness of one life, and made me what I am.
+
+"Needless here to recount the arts by which she worked to the end she
+desired; needless to speak of the deceits she practised to make me
+believe her daughter loved me. It may be that the fault was mine, and
+that I was too ready to believe. Sufficient to say that we fell into
+the snare she prepared for us; that, intoxicated by the prospect of an
+earthly heaven, I accepted the meanings she put on her daughter's
+reserve and apparent coldness, and that, once engaged in the
+enterprise, I was animated by the ardour of my own heart, in which I
+allowed the flower of love to grow to fruition. So we were married,
+and with no doubt of the future I set out with my wife on our bridal
+tour. She was both child and wife to me, and I solemnly resolved and
+most earnestly desired to do my duty by her.
+
+"Before we were many days away news arrived that my wife's mother had
+met with an accident, in a part of the grounds which was being
+beautified by my workmen according to plans I had prepared for the
+pleasure of my young bride--an accident so serious that death could
+not be averted. In sadness we returned to the villa. My wife's
+coldness I ascribed to grief--to no other cause. And, indeed, apart
+from the sorrow I felt at the dreadful news, I was myself overwhelmed
+for a time by the fatality which had deprived my wife of her parents
+within so short a time on my estate, and while they were my guests.
+'But it will pass away,' I thought, 'and I will be parents, lover,
+husband, to the sweet flower who has given her happiness into my
+keeping.' When we arrived at the villa, her mother was dead.
+
+"I allowed my wife's grief to take its natural course; seeing that she
+wished for solitude, I did not intrude upon her sorrow. I had to study
+this young girl's feelings and impulses; it was my duty to be tender
+and considerate to her. I was wise, and thoughtful, and loving, as I
+believed, and I spared no effort to comfort without disturbing her.
+'Time will console her,' I thought, 'and then we will begin a new
+life. She will learn to look upon me not only as a husband, but as a
+protector who will fully supply the place of those she has lost.' I
+was patient--very patient--and I waited for the change. It never came.
+
+"She grew more and more reserved towards me; and still I waited, and
+still was patient. Not for a moment did I lose sight of my duty.
+
+"But after a long time had passed I began to question myself--I began
+to doubt whether I had not allowed myself to be deceived. Is it
+possible, I asked myself, that she married me without loving me? When
+this torturing doubt arose I thrust it indignantly from me; it was as
+though I was casting a stain upon her truth and purity."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III
+
+                     A DISHONOURABLE CONCEALMENT
+
+
+"I will not recount the continual endeavours I made to win my wife to
+cheerfulness and a better frame of mind. Sufficient to say that they
+were unsuccessful, and that many and many a time I gave up the attempt
+in despair, to renew it again under the influence of false hopes.
+Unhappy and disheartened, the pursuits in which I had always taken
+delight afforded me now no pleasure, and though I sought relief in
+solitude and study, I did not find it. My peace of mind was utterly
+wrecked. There was, however, in the midst of my wretchedness, one ray
+of light. In the course of a little while a child would be born to us,
+and this child might effect what I was unable to accomplish. When my
+wife pressed her baby to her breast, when it drew life from her bosom,
+she might be recalled to a sense of duty and of some kind of affection
+which I was ready to accept in the place of that thorough devoted love
+which I bore to her, and which I had hoped she would bear to me.
+
+"Considering this matter with as much wisdom as I could bring to my
+aid, I recognised the desirability of surrounding my wife with signs
+of pleasant and even joyful life. Gloomy parents are cursed with
+gloomy children. I would fill my house once more with friends; my wife
+should move in an atmosphere of cheerfulness; there should be music,
+laughter, sunny looks, happy voices. These could not fail to influence
+for good both my wife and our little one soon to be born.
+
+"I called friends around me, and I took special care that there should
+be many young people among them. Their presence, however, did not at
+first arouse my wife from her melancholy, and it was not until the man
+whose name I have already mentioned--M. Gabriel--arrived that I
+noticed in her any change for the better.
+
+"He came, and I introduced him to my wife, believing them to have been
+hitherto strangers to each other. I had no reason to believe otherwise
+when I presented M. Gabriel to her; had they met before, it would have
+been but honest that one or both should have made me acquainted with
+the fact. They did not, by direct or indirect word, and I had,
+therefore, no cause for suspicion.
+
+"Things went on as usual for a week or two after M. Gabriel's arrival,
+and then I noticed with joy that my wife was beginning to grow more
+cheerful. My happiness was great. I have been too impatient, I
+thought, with this young girl. The shock of losing her parents, one
+after another, under circumstances so distressing, was sufficient to
+upset a stronger mind than hers. How unwise in me that I should have
+tormented myself as I had been doing for so many months past! And how
+unjust to her that, because she was sorrowful and silent, I should
+have doubted her love for me! But all was well now: comfort had come
+to her bruised heart, and the book of happiness was not closed to me
+as I had feared. A terrible weight, a gnawing grief, were lifted from
+me. For I could imagine no blacker treason than that a woman should
+deliberately deceive a man into the belief that she loved him, and
+that she should marry him under such conditions. My wife had not done
+this; I had wronged her. Most fervently did I thank Heaven that I had
+discovered my error before it was too late to repair it.
+
+"I saw that my wife took pleasure in M. Gabriel's society, and I made
+him as free of my house as if it had been his own. He had commissions
+to execute, pictures to paint.
+
+"'Paint them here,' I said to him, 'you bring happiness to us. I look
+upon you as though you belonged to my family.'
+
+"In the summer-house was a room which he used as a studio; no artist
+could have desired a better, and M. Gabriel said he had never been
+able to paint as well as he was doing in my house. It gladdened me to
+observe that my wife, who had for a little while been reserved towards
+M. Gabriel, looked upon him now as a sister might look upon a brother.
+I encouraged their intimacy, and was grateful to M. Gabriel for
+accepting my hospitality in the free spirit in which it was tendered.
+He expressed a wish to paint my wife's portrait, and I readily
+consented. My wife gave him frequent sittings, sometimes in my
+company, sometimes alone. And still no word was spoken to acquaint me
+with the fact that my wife and he had known each other before they met
+in my house.
+
+"My child was born--a boy. My happiness would have been complete had
+my wife shown me a little more affection; but again, after the birth
+of our child, it dawned upon me that she cared very little for me, and
+that the feelings she entertained for me in no wise resembled those
+which a loving woman should feel towards a husband who was
+indefatigable, as indeed I was, in his efforts to promote her
+happiness. Even then it did not strike me that she was happier in M.
+Gabriel's society than she was in mine. The truth, however, was now to
+be made known to me. It reached me through the idle tittle-tattling of
+one of my guests; of my own prompting I doubt whether I should ever
+have discovered it. I overheard this lady making some injurious
+observations respecting my wife; no man's name was mentioned, but I
+heard enough to cause me to resolve to hear more, and to put an end at
+once to the utterances of a malicious tongue.
+
+"During my life, in matters of great moment, I have seldom acted upon
+impulse, and the value of calm deliberation after sudden excitement of
+feeling has frequently been made apparent to me.
+
+"I sought this lady, and told her that I had overheard the remarks she
+had made on the previous day; that I was profoundly impressed by them,
+and intended to know what foundation there was for even a breath of
+scandal. I had some difficulty in bringing her to the point, but I was
+determined, and would be satisfied with no evasions.
+
+"'I love my wife, madam,' I said, 'too well to be content with half
+words and innuendoes, which in their effect are worse than open
+accusations.'
+
+"'Accusations!' exclaimed the lady. 'Good Heavens! I have brought
+none.'
+
+"'It is for that reason I complain,' I said; 'accusations can be met,
+and are by no means so much to be feared as idle words which affect
+the honour of those who are the subject of them.'
+
+"'I merely repeated,' then said the lady, 'what others have been
+saying for a long time past.'
+
+"'And what have others been saying for a long time past, madam?' I
+asked, with an outward calmness which deceived her into the belief
+that I was not taking the matter seriously to heart.
+
+"'I am sure it is very foolish of them,' said the lady, 'and that
+there is nothing in it. But people are so mischievous, and place such
+dreadful constructions upon things! It is, after all, only natural
+that when, after a long separation, young lovers meet, they should
+feel a little tender towards each other, even though one of them has
+got married in the interval. We all go through such foolish
+experiences, and when we grow as old as you and I are, we laugh at
+them.'
+
+"'Probably, madam,' I said, still with exceeding calmness; 'but before
+we can laugh with any genuineness or enjoyment, it is necessary to
+have some knowledge of the cause of our mirth. When young lovers meet,
+you said, after a long separation, it is natural they should feel a
+tenderness towards each other. But we are speaking of my wife.'
+
+"'Yes,' she replied, 'of your wife, and I am sure you are too sensible
+a man--so much older than that sweet creature!--to make any
+unnecessary bother about it.'
+
+"She knew well how to plant daggers in my heart.
+
+"'My wife, then, is one of those young lovers? You really must answer
+me, madam. These are, after all, but foolish experiences.'
+
+"'I am glad you are taking it so sensibly,' she rejoined. 'Yes, your
+wife is one of the young lovers.'
+
+"'And the other, madam.'
+
+"'Why, who else should it be but M. Gabriel?'
+
+"I did not speak for a few moments. The shock was so severe that I
+required time to recover some semblance of composure.
+
+"'My mind is much relieved,' I said. 'There is not the slightest
+foundation for scandal, and I trust that this interview will put an
+effectual stop to it. My wife and M. Gabriel have not been long
+acquainted. They met each other for the first time in this house.'
+
+"'Ah,' cried the lady very vivaciously, 'you want to deceive me now;
+but it is nonsense. Your wife and M. Gabriel have known each other for
+many years. They were once affianced. Had you not stepped in, there is
+no knowing what might have occurred. It is much better as it is--I am
+sure you think so. What can be worse for a young and beautiful
+creature than to marry a poor and struggling artist? M. Gabriel is
+very talented, but he is very poor. By the time he is a middle-aged
+man he may have made his way in the world, and then his little romance
+will be forgotten--quite forgotten. I dare say you can look back to
+the time when you were as young as he is, and can recall somebody you
+were madly in love with, but of whom you never think, except by the
+merest chance. These things are so common, you see. And now don't let
+us talk any more about it.'
+
+"I had no desire to exchange another word with the lady on the
+subject; I allowed her to rest in the belief that I had been
+acquainted with the whole affair, and did not wish it to get about.
+She promised me never to speak of it again to her friends in any
+injurious way, said it was a real pleasure to see what a sensible view
+I took of the matter, and our interview was at an end.
+
+"I had learnt all. At length, at length my eyes were opened, and the
+perfidy which had been practised towards me was revealed. All was
+explained. My wife's constant coldness, her insensibility to the
+affectionate advances I had made towards her, her pleasure at meeting
+her lover--the unworthy picture lay before my sight. There was no
+longer any opportunity for self-deception. Had I not recognised and
+acknowledged the full extent of the treason, I should have become base
+in my own esteem. It was not that they had been lovers--that knowledge
+in itself would have been hard to bear--but that they should have
+concealed it from me, that they should have met in my presence as
+strangers, that they should have tacitly agreed to trick me!--for
+hours I could not think with calmness upon these aspects of the misery
+which had been forced upon me. For she, my wife, was in the first
+instance responsible for our marriage; she could have refused me. I
+was in utter ignorance of a love which, during all these years, had
+been burning in her heart, and making her life and mine a torture. Had
+she been honest, had she been true, she would have said to me: 'I love
+another; how, then, can I accept the love you offer me, and how can
+you hope for a return? If circumstances compel me to marry you there
+must be no concealment, no treason. You must take me as I am, and
+never, never make my coldness the cause of reproach or unhappiness.'
+Yes, this much she might have said to me when I offered her my name--a
+name upon which there had hitherto been no stain and no dishonour. I
+should not have married her; I should have acted as a father towards
+her; I should have conducted her to the arms of her lover, and into
+their lives and mine would not have crept this infamy, this blight,
+this shame which even death cannot efface.
+
+"Of such a nature were my thoughts during the day.
+
+"Then came the resolve to be sure before I took action in the matter.
+The evidence of my own senses should convince me that in my own house
+my wife and her lover were playing a base part, were systematically
+deceiving me and laughing at me.
+
+"Of this man, this friend, whom I had taken to my heart, my horror and
+disgust were complete. I, whose humane instincts had in my youth been
+made the sport of my companions, who shrank from inflicting the
+slightest injury upon the meanest creature that crawled upon the
+earth, who would not even strip the leaves from a flower, found myself
+now transformed. Had M. Gabriel been in my presence at any moment
+during these hours of agonising thought, I should have torn him limb
+from limb and rejoiced in my cruelty. So little do we know ourselves."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                       M. GABRIEL IS DISMISSED
+
+
+"I was up the whole of the night; I did not close my eyes, and when
+morning broke I had schooled myself to the task before me--to assure
+myself of the truth and the extent of the shame.
+
+"I kept watch, and did not betray myself to them, and what I saw
+filled me with amazement at my blindness and credulity. That my wife
+was not guilty, that she was not faithless to me in the ordinary
+acceptation of the term, was no palliation of her conduct.
+
+"Steadfastly I kept before me one unalterable resolve. In the eyes of
+the world the name I bore should not be dishonoured, if by any means
+it could be prevented. We would keep our shame and our deep
+unhappiness within our own walls. In the light of this resolve it was
+impossible that I could challenge M. Gabriel; he must go unpunished by
+me. My name should not be dragged through the mire, to become a
+byeword for pity.
+
+"By degrees, upon one excuse and another, I got rid of my visitors,
+and there remained in the villa only I, my wife and child, and M.
+Gabriel. Then, in M. Gabriel's studio, I broke in upon the lovers, and
+found my wife in tears.
+
+"For a moment or two I gazed upon them in silence, and they, who had
+risen in confusion when I presented myself, confronted me also in
+silence, waiting for the storm of anger which they expected to burst
+from me, an outraged husband. They were mistaken; I was outwardly
+calm.
+
+"'Madam,' I inquired, addressing my wife, 'may I inquire the cause of
+your tears?'
+
+"She did not reply; M. Gabriel did. 'Let me explain,' he said, but I
+would not allow him to proceed.
+
+"'I do not need you,' I said, 'to interpose between man and wife. I
+may presently have something to say to you. Till then, be silent.'
+Again I addressed my wife, and asked her why she was weeping.
+
+"'They are not the first tears I have shed,' she replied, 'since I
+entered this unhappy house.'
+
+"'I am aware of it, madam,' I replied; 'yet the house was not an
+unhappy one before you entered it. Honour, and truth, and faithfulness
+were its characteristics, and towards no man or woman who has received
+hospitality within these walls has any kind of treachery been
+practised by me, its master and your husband. Tears are a sign of
+grief, and suffering from it, as I perceive you are, I ask you why
+have you not sought consolation from the man whose name you bear, and
+whose life since you and he first met has had but one aim--to render
+you happy.'
+
+"'You cannot comfort me,' she said.
+
+"'Can he?' I asked, pointing to M. Gabriel.
+
+"'You insult me,' she said with great dignity. 'I will leave you. We
+can speak of this in private.'
+
+"'You will not leave me,' I said, 'and we will not speak of this in
+private, until after some kind of explanation is afforded me from your
+own lips and the lips of your friend. In saying I insult you, there is
+surely a mistaken idea in your mind as to what is due from you to me.
+M. Gabriel, whom I once called a friend, is here, enjoying my
+hospitality, of which I trust he has had no reason to complain. I find
+you in tears by his side, and he, by his attitude, endeavouring to
+console you. When I ask you, in his presence, why, being in grief, you
+do not come to me for consolation, you reply that I cannot comfort
+you. Yet you were accepting comfort from him, who is not your husband.
+It suggests itself to me that if an insult has been passed it has been
+passed upon me. I do not, however, receive it as such, for if an
+insult has been offered to me, M. Gabriel is partly responsible for
+it, and it is only between equals that such an indignity can be
+offered.'
+
+"'Equals!' cried M. Gabriel; he understood my words in the sense in
+which I intended them. 'I am certainly your equal.'
+
+"'It has to be proved,' I retorted. 'I use the term in so far as it
+affects honour and upright conduct between man and man. You can bring
+against me no accusation of having failed in those respects in my
+behaviour towards you. It has to be seen whether I can in truth bring
+such an accusation against you, and if I can substantiate it by
+evidence which the commonest mind would not reject, you are not my
+equal. I see that this plain and honest reasoning disturbs you; it
+should not without sufficient cause. Something more. If in addition I
+can prove that you have violated my hospitality, you are not only not
+my equal, but you have descended to a depth of baseness to describe
+which I can find no fitting terms.'
+
+"He grew hot at this. 'I decline to be present any longer,' he said,
+'at an interview conducted in such a manner.' And he attempted to
+leave me, but I stood in his way, and would not permit him to pass.
+
+"'From this moment,' I said, 'I discharge myself of all duties towards
+you as your host. You are no longer my guest, and you will remain at
+this interview during my pleasure.'
+
+"He made another attempt to leave the room, and as he accompanied it
+by violence, I seized his arms, and threw him to the ground. He rose,
+and stood trembling before me.
+
+"'I make no excuse, madam,' I said to my wife, 'for the turn this
+scene has taken. It is unseemly for men to brawl in presence of a
+lady, but there are occasions when of two evils the least must be
+chosen. Should I find myself mistaken, I shall give to M. Gabriel the
+amplest apology he could desire. Let me recall to your mind the day on
+which M. Gabriel first entered my gates as my guest. I brought him to
+you, and presented him to you as a friend whom I esteemed, and whom I
+wished you also to esteem. You received him as a stranger, and I had
+no reason to suspect that he and you had been intimate friends, and
+that you were already well known to each other. You allowed me to
+remain in ignorance of this fact. Was it honest?'
+
+"'It was not honest,' she replied.
+
+"'It made me happy,' I continued, 'to see, after the lapse of a few
+days, that you found pleasure in his society, and I regarded him in
+the light of a brother to you. I trusted him implicitly, and although,
+madam, you and I have been most unhappy, I had no suspicion that there
+was any guilt in this, as I believed, newly-formed friendship.'
+
+"'There was no guilt in it,' she said very firmly.
+
+"'I receive your assurance, and believe it in the sense in which you
+offer it. But in my estimation the word I use is the proper word. In
+the concealment from me of a fact with which you or he should have
+hastened to make me acquainted; in the secret confidences necessarily
+involved in the carrying out of such an intimacy as yours; there was
+treachery from wife to husband, from friend to friend, and in that
+treachery there was guilt. By an accident, within the past month, a
+knowledge has come to me of a shameful scandal which, had I not nipped
+it in the bud, would have brought open disgrace upon my name and
+house--but the secret disgrace remains, and you have brought it into
+my family.'
+
+"'A shameful scandal!' she exclaimed, and her white face grew whiter.
+'Who has dared----'
+
+"'The world has dared, madam, the world over whose tongue we have no
+control. The nature of the intimacy existing between you and M.
+Gabriel, far exceeding the limits of friendship, has provoked remark
+and comment from many of your guests, and we who should have been
+the first to know it, have been the last. From a lady stopping in my
+house I learnt that you and M. Gabriel were lovers before you and I
+met--that you were affianced. Madam, had you informed me of this fact
+you would have spared yourself the deepest unhappiness under which any
+human being can suffer. For then you and I would not have been bound
+to each other by a tie which death alone can sever. I have, at all
+events, the solace which right doing sometimes sheds upon a wounded
+heart; that solace cannot unhappily be yours. You have erred
+consciously, and innocent though you proclaim yourself, you have
+brought shame upon yourself and me. I pity you, but cannot help you
+further than by the action I intend to take of preventing the
+occurrence of a deeper shame and a deeper disgrace falling upon me.
+For M. Gabriel I have no feelings but those of utter abhorrence. I
+request him to remove himself immediately from my presence and from
+this house. This evening he will send for his paintings, which shall
+be delivered to his order. They will be placed in this summer-house.
+And in your presence madam, I give M. Gabriel the warning that if
+at any time, or under any circumstances, he intrudes himself within
+these walls, he will do so at his own peril. The protection which my
+honour--not safe in your keeping, madam--needs I shall while I live be
+able to supply.'
+
+"This, in substance, is all that took place while my wife was with us.
+When she was gone I gave instructions that M. Gabriel's paintings and
+property should be brought to the summer-house immediately, and I
+informed him of my intentions regarding them and the room he had used
+as a study. He replied that I would have to give him a more
+satisfactory explanation of my conduct. I took no notice of the
+threat, and I carried out my resolve--which converted the study into a
+tomb in which my honour was buried. And on the walls of the study I
+caused to be inscribed the words 'The Grave of Honour.'
+
+"On the evening of that day my wife sent for me, and in the presence
+of Denise, our faithful servant, heard my resolve with reference to
+our future life, and acquainted me with her own. The gates would never
+again be opened to friends. Our life was to be utterly secluded, and
+she had determined never to quit her rooms unless for exercise in the
+grounds at such times as I was absent from them.
+
+"'After to-night,' she said, 'I will never open my lips to you, nor,
+willingly, will I ever again listen to your voice.'
+
+"In this interview I learnt the snare, set by my wife's mother, into
+which we both had fallen.
+
+"I left my wife, and our new life commenced--a life with hearts shut
+to love or forgiveness. But I had done my duty, and would bear with
+strength and resignation the unmerited misfortunes with which I was
+visited. Not my wife's, I repeat, the fault alone. I should have been
+wiser, and should have known--apart from any consideration of M.
+Gabriel--that my habits, my character, my tastes, my age, were
+entirely unsuitable to the fair girl I had married. I come now to the
+event which has rendered this record necessary."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V
+
+                        THE THIEF IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+"The impressions left upon me by the tragic occurrence I am about to
+narrate have, strangely enough, given me a confused idea as to the
+exact date upon which it took place, but I am correct in saying that
+it was within a month of the agreement entered into between my wife
+and myself that we should live separate lives under the same roof.
+
+"I expected to receive a challenge from M. Gabriel, a challenge which
+for the reason I have given--that I would not afford the world an
+opportunity of discussing my private affairs--I firmly resolved not to
+accept. To my surprise no such challenge reached me, and I indulged
+the hope that M. Gabriel had removed himself forever from us. It was
+not so.
+
+"The night was wild and dark. The wind was sweeping round the house;
+the rain was falling. I had resumed my old habits, and was awake in my
+study, in which I am now writing. I did no intelligent work during
+those sad days. If I forced myself to write, I invariably tore up the
+sheets when I read them with a clearer mind. My studies afforded me
+neither profit nor relief. The occupation which claimed me was that of
+brooding over the circumstances attendant upon my wooing and my
+marriage. For ever brooding. Walking to and fro, dwelling upon each
+little detail of my intimacy with my girl-wife, and revolving in my
+mind whether I could have prevented what had occurred--whether, if I
+had done this or that, I could have averted the misery in which our
+lives were wrapt. It was a profitless occupation, but I could not tear
+myself from it. There was a morbid fascination in it which held me
+fast. That it harrowed me, tortured me, made me smart and bleed,
+mattered not. It clung to me, and I to it. Thus do we hug our misery
+to our bosoms, and inflict upon ourselves the most intolerable
+sufferings.
+
+"I strove to escape from it, to fix my mind upon some abstruse
+subject, upon some difficult study, but, like a demon to whom I had
+sold my soul, it would not be denied. There intruded always this one
+picture--the face of a baby-boy, mine, my dear son, lying asleep in
+his mother's arms. Let me say here that I never harboured the thought
+of depriving my wife of this precious consolation, that never by the
+slightest effort have I endeavoured to estrange him from her. The love
+he bore to me--and I thank Heaven that he grew to love me--sprang from
+his own heart, which also must have been sorely perplexed and have
+endured great pain in the estrangement that existed between his
+parents. Well, this pretty baby-face always intruded itself--this soul
+which I had brought into life lay ever before me, weighted with myriad
+mysterious and strange suggestions. It might live to accomplish great
+and noble deeds--it might live to inspire to worthy deeds--it might
+become a saviour of men, a patriot, an emancipator. And but for me, it
+would never have been. Even the supreme tribulation of his parents'
+lives might be productive of some great actions which would bring a
+blessing upon mankind. In that case it was good to suffer.
+
+"After some time--not in those days, but later on--this thought became
+a consolation to me, although it troubled and perplexed me to think
+whether the birth of a soul which was destined to shine as a star
+among men was altogether a matter of chance.
+
+"A dark, stormy night. I created voices in the sweeping of the wind.
+They spoke to me in groans, in whispers, in loud shrieks. Was it fancy
+that inspired the wail, 'To-night, to-night shall be your undoing!'
+
+"Midnight struck. I paced to and fro, listening to the voices
+of the wind. Presently another sound--a sound not created by my
+imagination--came to my ears. It was as though something heavy had
+fallen in the grounds. Perhaps a tree had been blown down. Or did it
+proceed from another cause, which warned me of danger?
+
+"I hastened immediately into the grounds. The sense of danger
+exhilarated me. I was in a mood which courted death as a boon.
+Willingly would I have gone out to meet it, as a certain cure for the
+anguish of my soul. Thus I believe it is sometimes with soldiers, and
+they become heroes by force of desperation.
+
+"I could see nothing. I was about to return, when a moving object
+arrested my purpose. I sprang towards it--threw myself upon it. And in
+my arms I clasped the body of a man, just recovering consciousness
+from a physical hurt.
+
+"I did not speak a word. I lifted the body in my arms--it had not yet
+sufficient strength to repel me--and carried it into my study. The
+moment the light of my lamps shone on the face of the man I recognised
+him. It was M. Gabriel.
+
+"I laughed with savage delight as I placed him on a couch. 'You
+villain--you villain!' I muttered. 'Your last hour, or mine, has come.
+This night, one or both of us shall die!'
+
+"I drew my chair before the couch, so that his eyes, when he opened
+them, should rest upon my face. He was recovering consciousness, but
+very slowly. 'I could kill you here,' I said aloud, 'and no man would
+be the wiser. But I will first have speech with you.' His eyelids
+quivered, opened, and we were gazing at each other face to face. The
+sight of me confounded him for a while, but presently he realised the
+position of affairs and he strove to rise. I thrust him back fiercely.
+
+"'Stay you there,' I said, 'until I learn your purpose. You have
+entered my house as a thief, and you have given your life into my
+hands. I told you, if you ever intruded yourself within these walls,
+that you would do so at your peril. What brought you here? Are you a
+would-be thief or murderer? You foul betrayer and coward! So--you
+climb walls in the dark in pursuance of your villainous schemes!
+Answer me--do you come here by appointment, and are you devil enough
+to strive to make me believe that a pure and misguided girl would be
+weak enough to throw herself into your arms? Fill up the measure of
+your baseness, and declare as much.'
+
+"'No,' he replied; 'I alone am culpable. No one knew of my coming--no
+one suspected it. I could not rest.'
+
+"I interrupted him. 'After to-night,' I said gloomily, 'you will rest
+quietly. Men such as you must be removed from the earth. You steal
+into my house, you thief and coward, with no regard for the fair fame
+of the woman you profess to love--reckless what infamy you cast upon
+her and of the life-long shame you would deliberately fling upon one
+who has been doubly betrayed. You have not the courage to suffer in
+silence, but you would proclaim to all the world that you are a martyr
+to love, the very name of which becomes degraded when placed in
+association with natures like yours. You belong to the class of
+miserable sentimentalists who bring ruin upon the unhappy women whom
+they entangle with their maudlin theories. Mischief enough have you
+accomplished--this night will put an end to your power to work further
+ill.'
+
+"'What do you intend to do with me?' he asked.
+
+"'I intend to kill you,' I replied; 'not in cold blood--not as a
+murderer, but as an avenger. Stand up.'
+
+"He obeyed me. His fall had stunned him for a time; he was not
+otherwise injured.
+
+"'I will take no advantage of you,' I said. 'Here is wine to give you
+a false courage. Drink, and prepare yourself for what is to come. As
+surely as you have delivered yourself into my hands, so surely shall
+you die!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+                           THE HIDDEN CRIME
+
+
+"He drank the wine, not wisely or temperately as a cool-headed man
+whose life was at stake would have done, but hastily, feverishly, and
+with an air of desperation.
+
+"'You are a good fencer,' I said, 'the best among all the friends who
+visited me during the days of your treachery. You were proud of
+showing your skill, as you were of exhibiting every admirable quality
+with which you are gifted. Something of the mountebank in this.'
+
+"'At least,' he said, rallying his courage, 'do not insult me.'
+
+"'Why not? Have you not outraged what is most honourable and sacred?
+Here are rapiers ready to our hands.'
+
+"'A duel!' he cried. 'Here, and now?'
+
+"'Yes,' I replied, 'a duel, here and now. There is no fear of
+interruption. The sound of clashing steel will not fall upon other
+ears than ours.'
+
+"'It will not be a fair combat,' he said. 'You are no match for me
+with the rapier. Let me depart. Do not compel me to become your
+murderer.'
+
+"'You will nevermore set foot outside these walls,' I said; 'here you
+will find your grave.'
+
+"It was my firm belief. I saw him already lying dead at my feet.
+
+"'If I should kill you,' he said, 'how shall I escape?'
+
+"'As best you may,' I replied. 'You are an adept at climbing walls. If
+you kill me, what happens to you thereafter is scarcely likely to
+interest me. But do not allow that thought to trouble you. What will
+take place to-night is ordained!'
+
+"I began to move the furniture from the centre of the room, so as to
+afford a clear space for the duel. The tone in which he next spoke
+convinced me that I had impressed him. Indeed, my words were uttered
+with the certainty of conviction, and a fear stole upon him that he
+had come to his death.
+
+"'I will not fight with you,' he said; 'the duel you propose is
+barbarous, and I decline to meet you unless witnesses are present.'
+
+"'So that we may openly involve the fair name of a lady in our
+quarrel,' I retorted quietly. 'No; that will not be. Before witnesses
+it is I who would decline to meet you. Are you a coward?'
+
+"'It matters little what you call me,' he said, 'as no other person is
+near. You cannot force me to fight you.'
+
+"'I think I can,' I said, and I struck him in the face, and proceeded
+with my work.
+
+"My back was towards him; a loaded gun was hanging on the wall;
+unperceived by me he unslung it, and fired at me.
+
+"I did not know whether I was hit or not. Maddened by the cowardly
+act, I turned, and lifting him in the air, dashed him to the ground.
+His head struck against one of the legs of my writing-table; he
+groaned but once, and then lay perfectly still. It was the work of a
+moment, and the end had come. He lay dead before me.
+
+"I had no feeling of pity for him, and I was neither startled nor
+deeply moved. His punishment was a just punishment, and my honour was
+safe from the babble of idle and malicious tongues. All that devolved
+upon me now was to keep the events of this night from the knowledge of
+men.
+
+"There was, however, one danger. A gun had been fired. The sound might
+have aroused my wife or some of the servants, in which case an
+explanation would have to be given. At any moment they might appear.
+What lay on the floor must not be seen by other eyes than mine.
+
+"I dragged a cloth from a table and threw it over the body, and with
+as little noise as possible swiftly replaced the furniture in its
+original position. Then I sat on my chair and waited. For a few
+minutes I was in a state of great agitation, but after I had sat for
+an hour without being disturbed I knew that my secret was safe.
+
+"I removed the cloth from the face of the dead man and gazed at it.
+Strange to say, the features wore an expression of peacefulness. Death
+must have been instantaneous. Gradually, as I gazed upon the form of
+the man I had killed, the selfish contemplation in which I had been
+engaged during the last hour of suspense--a contemplation devoted
+solely to a consideration of the consequences of discovery, so far
+as I was concerned, and in which the fate of the dead man formed no
+part--became merged in the contemplation of the act itself apart from
+its earthly consequences.
+
+"I had taken a human life. I, whose nature had been proverbially
+humane, was, in a direct sense of the word, a murderer. That the deed
+was done in a moment of passion was no excuse; a man is responsible
+for his acts. The blood I had shed shone in my eyes.
+
+"What hopes, what yearnings, what ambitions, were here destroyed by
+me! For, setting aside the unhappy sentiment which had conducted
+events to this end, M. Gabriel was a man of genius, of whose career
+high expectations had been formed. I had not only destroyed a human
+being, I had destroyed art. Would it have been better had I allowed
+myself to be killed? Were death preferable to a life weighed down by a
+crime such as mine?
+
+"For a short time these reflections had sway over me, but presently I
+steadily argued them down. I would not allow them to unman me. This
+coward and traitor had met a just doom.
+
+"What remained for me now to do was to complete the concealment. The
+body must be hidden. After to-night--unless chance or the hand of
+Providence led to its discovery--the lifeless clay at my feet must
+never more be seen.
+
+"There was a part of my grounds seldom, if ever, intruded upon by the
+servants--that portion in which, for the gratification of my wife, I
+had at the time of our marriage commenced improvements which had never
+been completed. There it was that my wife's mother had met with the
+accident which resulted in her death. I thought of a pit deep enough
+for the concealment of the bodies of fifty men. Into this pit I would
+throw the body of M. Gabriel, and would cover it with earth and
+stones. The task accomplished, there would be little fear of
+discovery.
+
+"First satisfying myself that all was quiet and still in the villa,
+and that I was not being watched, I raised the body of M. Gabriel in
+my arms. As I did so, a horror and loathing of myself took possession
+of me; I shuddered in disgust; the work I was performing seemed to be
+the work of a butcher.
+
+"However, what I resolved to do was done. In the dead of night, with
+darkness surrounding me, with the rain beating upon me, and the
+accusing wind shrieking in my ears, I consigned to its last
+resting-place the body of the man I had killed.
+
+"Years have passed since that night. My name has not been dragged into
+the light for scandal-mongers to make sport of. Open shame and
+derision have been avoided--but at what a price! From the day
+following that upon which I forbade M. Gabriel my house, not a single
+word was exchanged between my wife and myself. She sent for me before
+she died, but she knew she would be dead before I arrived. A fearful
+gloom settled upon our lives, and will cover me to my last hour. This
+domestic estrangement, this mystery of silence between those whom he
+grew to love and honour, weighed heavily upon my son Christian. His
+child's soul must have suffered much, and at times I have fancied I
+see in him the germs of a combination of sweetness and weakness which
+may lead to suffering. But suffer as he may, if honour be his guide I
+am content. I shall not live to see him as a man; my days are
+numbered.
+
+"In the time to come--in the light of a purer existence--I may learn
+whether the deed I have done is or is not a crime.
+
+"But one thing is clear to me. Had it not been for my folly, shame
+would not have threatened me, misery would not have attended me, and I
+should not have taken a human life. The misery and the shame did not
+affect me alone; they waited upon a young life and blighted its
+promise. It is I who am culpable, I who am responsible for what has
+occurred. It is impossible, without courting unhappiness, to divert
+the currents of being from their natural channels: youth needs youth,
+is attracted to youth, seeks youth, as flowers seek the sun. Roses do
+not grow in ice.
+
+"Mine, then, the sin--a sin too late to expiate.
+
+"I would have my son marry when he is young, as in the course of
+nature he will love when he is young. It is the happier fate, because
+it is in accordance with natural laws.
+
+"If he into whose hands these pages may fall can discern a lesson
+applicable to himself in the events I have recorded, let him profit by
+them. If the circumstances of his life in any way resemble mine, I
+warn him to bear with wisdom and patience the penalty he has brought
+upon himself, and not to add, in the person of another being to whom
+he is bound and who is bound to him, to an unhappiness--most probably
+a secret unhappiness--of his own creating.
+
+"And I ask him to consider well whether any good purpose will be
+served by dragging into the open day the particulars of a crime, the
+publishing of which cannot injure the dead or benefit the living. It
+cannot afford him any consolation to think, if my son be alive, that
+needless suffering will be brought to the door of the innocent. Let
+him, then, be merciful and pitiful."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VII
+
+                       FALSE WIFE, FALSE FRIEND
+
+
+Thus abruptly the record closed. To the last written page there were
+several added, as though the writer had more to say, and intended to
+say it. But the pages were blank. The intention, if intention there
+were, had never been carried out.
+
+The reading of the record occupied the Advocate over an hour, and when
+he had finished, he sat gazing upon the manuscript. For a quarter of
+an hour he did not move. Then he rose--not quickly, as one would rise
+who was stirred by a sudden impulse, but slowly, with the air of a man
+who found a difficulty in arranging his thoughts. With uneven steps he
+paced the study, to and fro, to and fro, pausing occasionally to
+handle in an aimless way a rare vase, which he turned about in his
+hands, and gazed at with vacant eyes. Occasionally, also, he paused
+before the manuscript and searched in its pages for words which his
+memory had not correctly retained. He did this with a consciousness
+which forced itself upon him, and which he vainly strove to ignore,
+that what he sought was applicable to himself.
+
+It was not compassion, it was not tenderness, it was not horror, that
+moved him thus strangely, for he was a man who had been but rarely, if
+ever, moved as he was at the present time. It was the curious and
+disquieting associations between the dead man who had written and the
+living man who had read the record. And yet, although he could, if he
+had chosen, have reasoned this out, and have placed it mentally before
+him in parallel lines, his only distinct thought was to avoid the
+comparison. That he was unsuccessful in this did not tend to compose
+him.
+
+Upon a bracket lay a bronze, the model of a woman's hand, from the
+life. A beautiful hand, slender but shapely. It reminded him of his
+wife.
+
+He took it from the bracket and examined it, and after a little while
+thus passed, the words came involuntarily from his lips: "Perfect--but
+cold."
+
+The spoken words annoyed him; they were the evidence of a lack of
+self-control. He replaced the bronze hastily, and when he passed it
+again would not look at it.
+
+Suddenly he left the study, and went towards his wife's rooms. He had
+not proceeded more than half a dozen yards before his purpose,
+whatever it might have been, was relinquished as swiftly as it had
+been formed. He retraced his steps, and lingered irresolutely at the
+door of the study. With an impatient movement of his head--it was the
+action of a man who wrestled with thought as he would have done with a
+palpable being--he once more proceeded in the direction of his wife's
+apartments.
+
+At the commencement of the passage which led to the study was a lobby,
+opening from the principal entrance. A noble staircase in the centre
+of the lobby led to the rooms occupied by Christian Almer and Pierre
+Lamont. On the same floor as the study, beyond the staircase, were his
+wife's boudoir and private rooms.
+
+This part of the house was but dimly lighted; one rose-lamp only was
+alight. On the landing above, where the staircase terminated, three
+lamps in a cluster were burning, and shed a soft and clear light
+around.
+
+When he reached the lobby and was about to pass the staircase, the
+Advocate's progress was arrested by the sound of voices which fell
+upon his ears. These voices proceeded from the top of the staircase.
+He looked up, and saw, standing close together, his wife and Christian
+Almer. Instinctively he retreated into the deeper shadows, and stood
+there in silence with his eyes fixed upon the figures above him.
+
+His wife's hand was resting on Almer's shoulder, and her fingers
+occasionally touched his hair. She was speaking almost in a whisper,
+and her face was bright and animated. Almer was replying to her in
+monosyllables, and even in the midst of the torture of this discovery,
+the Advocate observed that the face of his friend wore a troubled
+expression.
+
+The Advocate remembered that his wife had wished him good-night before
+ten o'clock, and that when he made the observation that she was
+retiring early, she replied that she was so overpowered with fatigue
+that she could not keep her eyes open one minute longer. And here,
+nearly two hours after this statement, he found her conversing
+clandestinely with his friend in undisguised gaiety of spirits!
+
+Never had he seen her look so happy. There was a tender expression in
+her eyes as she gazed upon Christian Almer which she had never
+bestowed upon him from the first days of their courtship.
+
+A grave, dignified courtship, in which each was studiously kind and
+courteous to the other; a courtship without romance, in which there
+was no spring. A bitter smile rested upon his lips as this remembrance
+impressed itself significantly upon him.
+
+He watched and waited, motionless as a statue. Midnight struck, and
+still the couple on the staircase lingered. Presently, however, and
+manifestly on Almer's urging, Adelaide consented to leave him.
+Smilingly she offered him her hand, and held his for a longer time
+than friendship warranted. They parted; he ascending to his room, she
+descending to hers. When she was at the foot of the staircase she
+looked up and threw a kiss to Almer, and her face, with the light of
+the rose-lamp upon it, was inexpressibly beautiful. The next minute
+the Advocate was alone.
+
+He listened for the shutting of their chamber-doors. So softly was
+this done both by his friend and his wife that it was difficult to
+catch the faint sound. He smiled again--a bitter smile of
+confirmation. It was in his legal mind a fatal item of evidence
+against them.
+
+Slowly he returned to his study, and the first act of which he was
+conscious was that of standing on a certain spot and saying audibly as
+he looked down:
+
+"It was here M. Gabriel fell!"
+
+He knelt upon the carpet, and thought that on the boards beneath, even
+at this distance of time, stains of blood might be discerned, the
+blood of a treacherous friend. It was impossible for him to control
+the working of his mind; impossible to dwell upon the train of thought
+it was necessary he should follow out before he could decide upon a
+line of action. One o'clock, two o'clock struck, and he was still in
+this condition. All he could think of was the fate of M. Gabriel, and
+over and over again he muttered:
+
+"It was here he fell--it was here he fell!"
+
+There was a harmony in the storm which raged without. The peals of
+thunder, the lightning flashing through the windows, were in
+consonance with his mood. He knew that he was standing on the brink of
+a fatal precipice.
+
+"Which would be best," he asked mentally of himself, "that lightning
+should destroy three beings in this unhappy house, or that the routine
+of a nine-days' wonder should be allowed to take its course? All that
+is wanting to complete the wreck would be some evidence to damn me in
+connection with Gautran and the unhappy girl he foully murdered."
+
+As if in answer to his thought, he heard a distinct tapping on one of
+his study windows. He hailed it with eagerness; anything in the shape
+of action was welcome to him. He stepped to the window, and drawing up
+the blind saw darkly the form of a man without.
+
+"Whom do you seek?" he asked.
+
+"You," was the answer.
+
+"Your mission must be an urgent one," said the Advocate, throwing up
+the window. "Is it murder or robbery?"
+
+"Neither. Something of far greater importance."
+
+"Concerning me?"
+
+"Most vitally concerning you."
+
+"Indeed. Then I should welcome you."
+
+With strange recklessness he held out his hand to assist his visitor
+into the room. The man accepted the assistance, and climbing over the
+window-sill sprang into the study. He was bloody, and splashed from
+head to foot with mud.
+
+"Have you a name?" inquired the Advocate.
+
+"Naturally."
+
+"Favour me with it."
+
+"John Vanbrugh."
+
+
+
+
+
+                       _BOOK VII.--RETRIBUTION_
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I
+
+                    JOHN VANBRUGH AND THE ADVOCATE
+
+
+"A stormy night to seek you out," said John Vanbrugh, "and to renew an
+old friendship----"
+
+"Stop there," interrupted the Advocate. "I admit no idea of a renewal
+of friendship between us."
+
+"You reject my friendship?" asked Vanbrugh, wiping the blood and dirt
+from his face.
+
+"Distinctly."
+
+"So be it. Our interview shall be conducted without a thought of
+friendship, though some reference to the old days cannot be avoided. I
+make no apology for presenting myself in this condition. Man can no
+more rule the storm than he can the circumstances of his life. I have
+run some distance through the rain, and I have been attacked and
+almost killed. You perceive that I am exhausted, yet you do not offer
+me wine. You have it, I know, in that snug cupboard there. May I help
+myself? Thank you. Ah, there's a smack of youth in this liquor. It is
+life to one who has passed through such dangers as have encompassed
+me. You received my letter asking for an interview? I gave it myself
+into your hands on the last evening of the trial."
+
+"I received it."
+
+"Yet you were unwilling to accord me an interview."
+
+"I had no desire to meet you again."
+
+"It was ungrateful of you, for it is upon your own business--yours and
+no other man's--that I wished to speak with you. It was cold work out
+on the hill yonder, watching the lights in your study window, watching
+for the simple waving of a handkerchief, which would mean infinitely
+more to you than to me, as you will presently confess. Dreary cold
+work, not likely to put a man like myself in an amiable mood. I am not
+on good terms with the world, as you may plainly perceive. I have had
+rough times since the days you deemed it no disgrace to shake hands
+with me. I have sunk very low by easy descents; you have risen to a
+giddy height. I wonder whether you have ever feared the fall. Men as
+great as you have met with such a misfortune. Things do not last for
+ever, Edward--pardon me. it was a slip of the tongue."
+
+"Do you come to beg?"
+
+"No--for a reason. If I came on such an errand, I might spare myself
+the trouble."
+
+"Likely enough," said the Advocate, who was too well acquainted with
+human nature not to be convinced, from Vanbrugh's manner, that his was
+no idle visit.
+
+"You were never renowned for your charities. And on the other hand I
+am poor, but I am not a beggar. I am frank enough to tell you I would
+prefer to steal. It is more independent, and not half so disgraceful.
+It may happen that the world would take an interest in a thief, but
+never in a beggar."
+
+"Is it to favour me with your philosophies that you pay me this
+visit?"
+
+"I should be the veriest dolt. No, I will air my opinions when I am
+rich."
+
+"You intend, poor as you confess yourself, to become rich?"
+
+"With your help, old friend."
+
+"Not with my help. You will receive none from me."
+
+"You are mistaken. Forgive me for the contradiction, but I speak on
+sure ground. Ah, how I have heard you spoken of! With what admiration
+and esteem! Almost with awe by some. Your talents, of themselves,
+could not have won this universal eulogy; it is your spotless
+character that has set the seal upon your fame. There is not a stain
+upon it; you have no weaknesses, no blemishes; you are absolutely
+pure. Other men have something to conceal--some family difficulty,
+some domestic disgrace, some slip in the path of virtue, which, were
+it known, would turn the current against them. But against you there
+is not a breath; scandal has never soiled you. In this lies the
+strength of your position--in this lies its danger. Let shame, with
+cause, point its finger at you--old friend, the result is unpleasant
+to contemplate. For when a man such as you falls, he does not fall
+gradually. He topples over suddenly, and to-day he is as low in the
+gutter as yesterday he was high in the clouds."
+
+"You have said enough. I do not care to listen to you further. The
+tone you assume is offensive to me--such as I would brook from no man.
+You can go the way you came."
+
+And with a scornful gesture the Advocate pointed to the window.
+
+"When I inform you which way I came," said Vanbrugh, with easy
+insolence, "you will not be so ready to tell me to leave you before
+you learn the errand which brought me."
+
+"Which way, then, did you come?" asked the Advocate, in a tone of
+contempt.
+
+"The way Gautran came--somewhat earlier than this, it is true, but not
+earlier than midnight."
+
+The Advocate grasped the back of a chair; it was a slight action, but
+sufficient to show that he was taken off his guard.
+
+"You know that?" he said.
+
+"Aye, I know that, and also that you feasted him, and gave him money."
+
+"Are you accomplices, you two knaves?"
+
+"If so, I have at present the best of the bargain. But your surmise is
+not made with shrewdness. I never set eyes on Gautran until after he
+was pronounced innocent of the murder of Madeline. On that night
+I--shall we say providentially?--made his acquaintance."
+
+"You have met him since then?"
+
+"Yes--this very night; our interview was one never to be forgotten.
+Come, I have been frank with you; I have used no disguises. I say to
+you honestly, the world has gone hard with me; I have known want and
+privation, and I am in a state of destitution. That is a condition of
+affairs sufficient not only to depress a man's spirits, but to make
+him disgusted with the world and mankind. I have, however, still some
+capacity for enjoyment left in me, and I would give the world another
+trial, not as a penniless rogue, but as a gentleman."
+
+"Hard to accomplish," observed the Advocate, with a cynical smile.
+
+"Not with a full purse. No music like the jingling of gold, and the
+world will dance to the tune. Well, I present myself to you, and ask
+you, who are rich and can spare what will be the making of me, to hand
+me from your full store as much as will convert a poor devil into a
+respectable member of society."
+
+"I appreciate your confidence. I leave you to supply the answer."
+
+"You will give me nothing?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Mind--I do not ask it of your charity; I ask it of your prudence. It
+will be worth your while."
+
+"That has to be proved."
+
+"Good. We have made a commencement. Your reputation is worth much--in
+sober truth as much as it has brought you. But I am not greedy. It
+lies at my mercy, and I shall be content with a share."
+
+"That is generous of you," said the Advocate, who by this time had
+regained his composure; "but I warn you--my patience is beginning to
+be exhausted."
+
+"Only beginning? That is well. I advise you to keep a tight rein over
+it, and to ask yourself whether it is likely--considering the
+difference of our positions--that I should be here talking in this
+bold tone unless I held a power over you? I put it to you as a lawyer
+of eminence."
+
+"There is reason in what you say."
+
+"Let me see. What have I to sell? The security of your reputation? The
+power to prevent your name being uttered with horror? Your fame--your
+honour? Yes, I have quite that to dispose of, and as a man of
+business, which I never was until now, I recognise the importance of
+being precise. First--I have to sell my knowledge that, after
+midnight, you received Gautran in your study, that you treated him as
+a friend, and filled his pockets with gold. How much is that worth?"
+
+"Nothing. My word against his, against yours, against a hundred such
+as you and he."
+
+"You would deny it?"
+
+"Assuredly--to protect myself." As he made this answer, it seemed to
+the Advocate as if the principle of honour by which his actions had
+been guided until within the last few days were slipping from him, and
+as if the vilest wretch that breathed had a right to call him his
+equal.
+
+"We will pass that by," said Vanbrugh, helping himself to wine.
+"Really, your wine is exquisite. In some respects you are a man to be
+envied. It is worth much to a man not only to possess the best of
+everything the world can give, but to know that he has the means and
+the power to purchase it. With that consciousness within him, he walks
+with his head in the air. You used to be fond of discussing these
+niceties; I had no taste for them. I left the deeper subtleties of
+life to those of thinner blood than mine. Pleasure was more in my
+way--and will be again."
+
+"You are wandering from the point," said the Advocate.
+
+"There is a meaning in everything I say; I will clip my wings. Your
+word against a hundred men such as I and Gautran? I am afraid you are
+right. We are vagabonds--you are a gentleman. So, then, my knowledge
+of the fact that you treated Gautran as a friend after you had
+procured his acquittal is worth nothing. Admitted. But put that
+knowledge and that fact in connection with another and a sterner
+knowledge and fact--that you knew Gautran to be guilty of the murder.
+How then? Does it begin to assume a value? Your silence gives me hopes
+that my visit will not be fruitless. Between men who once were equals
+and friends, and who, after a lapse of years, come together as we have
+come together now, candour is a useful attribute. Let us exercise it.
+I am not here on your account, nor do I hold you in such regard that I
+would trouble myself to move a finger to save your reputation. The
+master I am working for is Self; the end I am working for is an easy
+life, a life of pleasure. This accomplished by your aid, I have
+nothing more to do with you or your affairs. The business is an
+unpleasant one, and I shall be glad to forget it. Refuse what I ask,
+and you will sink lower than I have ever sunk. There are actions which
+the world will forgive in the ignorant, but not in men of ripe
+intellect."
+
+He paused and gazed negligently at the Advocate, who during the latter
+part of Vanbrugh's speech, was considering the dangers of his
+position. The secret of Gautran's guilt belonged not alone to himself
+and Gautran; this man Vanbrugh had been admitted into it, and he was
+an enemy more to be dreaded than Gautran. He saw his peril, and that
+he unconsciously acknowledged it to be imminent was proved by the
+thought which intruded itself--against his will, as it seemed--whether
+it would be wise to buy Vanbrugh off, to purchase his silence.
+
+"It is easy," he said, "to invent tales. You and a dozen men, in
+conjunction with the monster Gautran----"
+
+"As you say," interrupted Vanbrugh, gently nodding his head, "the
+monster Gautran. But why should you call him so unless you knew him to
+be guilty? Were you assured of his innocence, you would speak of him
+pityingly, as one undeservedly oppressed and persecuted. 'The monster
+Gautran!' Thank you. It is an admission."
+
+"----May invent," continued the Advocate, not heeding the
+interruption, but impressed by its logic, "may invent any horrible
+tale you please of any man you please. The difficulty will be to get
+the world to believe it."
+
+"Exactly. But in this case there is no difficulty, although the
+murderer be dead."
+
+"Gautran! Dead!" exclaimed the Advocate, surprised out of himself.
+Gautran was dead! Encompassed as he was by danger and treachery, the
+news was a relief to him.
+
+"Yes, dead," replied Vanbrugh, purposely assuming a careless tone.
+"Did I not tell you before? Singular that it should have escaped me.
+But I have so much to say, and in my brightest hours I was always
+losing the sequence of things."
+
+"And you," said the Advocate, "meeting this man by chance----"
+
+"Pardon me. I asked you whether I should consider our meeting
+providential."
+
+"It matters not. You, meeting this man, come to me after his death,
+for the purpose of extracting money from me. You will fail."
+
+"I shall succeed."
+
+"You killed Gautran, and want money to escape."
+
+"No. He was killed by a higher agency, and I want no money to escape.
+You will hear to-morrow how he met his death, for all the towns and
+villages will be ringing with it. I continue. Say that Gautran at the
+point of death made a dying confession, on oath, not only of his
+guilt, but of your knowledge of it when you defended him;--say that
+this confession exists in writing, duly signed. Would that paper, in
+conjunction with what I have already offered for sale, be worth your
+purchase? Take time to consider. You are dealing with a man in
+desperate circumstances, one who, if you drive him to it, will pull
+you down, high as you are. You will help me, old friend."
+
+"It may be. Have you possession of the paper you speak of?"
+
+"I have. Would you like to hear it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Vanbrugh moved, so that a table was between him and the Advocate, and
+taking Gautran's confession from his pocket read in a clear voice:
+
+
+"I, Gautran the woodman, lately tried for the murder of Madeline the
+flower-girl, being now at the point of death, and conscious that I
+have only a few minutes to live, and being also in the full possession
+of my reason, hereby make oath and swear:
+
+"That being thrown into prison, awaiting my trial, I believed there
+was no escape from the doom I justly merited, for the reason that I
+was guilty of the murder.
+
+"That some days before my trial was to take place, the Advocate who
+defended me voluntarily undertook to prove to my judges that I was
+innocent of the crime I committed.
+
+"That with this full knowledge, he conducted my case with such ability
+that I was set free and pronounced innocent.
+
+"That on the night of my acquittal, after midnight had struck, and
+when every person but himself in the House of White Shadows was
+asleep, I secretly visited him in his study, and remained with him for
+some time.
+
+"That he gave me food and money, and bade me go my way.
+
+"That I am ignorant of the motives which induced him, to whom I was a
+perfect stranger, to deliberately defeat the ends of justice.
+
+"That the proof that he knew me to be guilty lies in the fact that I
+made a full confession to him.
+
+"To which I solemnly swear, being about to appear before a just God to
+answer for my crime. I pray for forgiveness and mercy.
+
+                         "Signed,                      Gautran."
+
+
+Without comment, John Vanbrugh folded the paper, and replaced it
+carefully in his pocket.
+
+"The confession may be forged," said the Advocate.
+
+"Gautran's signature," said Vanbrugh, "will refute such a charge. He
+could write only his name, and documents can certainly be found
+bearing his signature, which can be compared with this."
+
+"With that document in your possession," said the Advocate, speaking
+very slowly, "are you not afraid to be here with me--alone--knowing,
+if it state the truth, how much I have at stake?"
+
+"Excellent!" exclaimed Vanbrugh. "What likenesses there are in human
+nature, and how thin the line that divides the base from the noble!
+Afraid? No--for if you lay a hand upon me, for whom you are no more
+than a match, I will rouse the house and denounce you. Restrain
+yourself and hear me out. I have that to say which will prove to you
+the necessity, if you have the slightest regard for your honour, of
+dealing handsomely with me. It relates to the girl whose murderer you
+set free--to Madeline the flower-girl and to yourself."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                        A TERRIBLE REVELATION
+
+
+Without requesting permission, John Vanbrugh filled his glass with
+wine, which he drank leisurely with his eyes fixed on the Advocate's
+pale face the while. When he spoke, it did not escape the Advocate
+that he seemed to fling aside the flippancy of manner which had
+hitherto characterised him, and that his voice was unusually earnest.
+
+"I do not ask you to excuse me," he said, "for recalling the memory of
+a time when you did not despise my companionship. It is necessary for
+my purpose. We were, indeed, more than companions--we were friends.
+What it was that made you consort with me is just now a mystery to me.
+The contrast in our characters may have tempted you. I, a careless,
+light-hearted fellow who loved to enjoy the hours; you, a serious,
+cold-hearted student, dreaming perhaps of the position you have
+attained. It may be that you deliberately made a study of me to see
+what use you could make of my weakness. However it was, I lived in the
+present, you in the future. The case is now reversed, and it is I who
+live in the future.
+
+"I have said you were cold-hearted, and I do not suppose you will
+trouble yourself to deny it. Such as you are formed to rise, while we
+impulsive, reckless devils are pretty sure to tumble in the mud. But I
+never had such a fall as you are threatened with, and scapegrace,
+vagabond as I am, I am thankful not to have on my conscience what you
+have on yours.
+
+"Now for certain facts.
+
+"I contemplated--no, I mistake, I never contemplated--I settled to go
+on a tour for a few weeks, and scramble through bits of France,
+Switzerland, and Italy. You will remember my mentioning it to you.
+Yes, I see in your face that you are following me, and I shall feel
+obliged by your correcting me if in my statement of facts I should
+happen to trip. The story I am telling needs no effort of the
+imagination to embellish it. It is in its bare aspect sufficiently
+ghastly and cruel.
+
+"When I was about to start on my tour, you, of your own accord,
+offered to accompany me. You had been studying too hard, and a wise
+doctor recommended you to rest a while, if you did not care to have
+brain-fever, and also recommended you to seek new scenes in the
+company of a cheerful friend whose light spirits would be a good
+medicine for an overworked brain. You took the doctor's advice, and
+you did me the honour to choose me for a companion. So we started on
+our little tour of pleasure.
+
+"To shorten what I have to say I will not dwell upon the details of
+our jaunt, but I fix myself, with you, at Zermatt, where we stayed for
+three weeks. The attraction--what was it? The green valleys--the
+grandeur of the scenery? No. A woman. More correctly speaking, two
+women. Young, lovely, inexperienced, innocent. Daughters of a peasant,
+whose cottage door was always open to us, and who was by no means
+unwilling to receive small presents of money from liberal gentlemen
+like ourselves. Again I slip details--the story becomes trite. We
+captivated the hearts of the simple peasant maidens, and amused
+ourselves with them. In me that was natural; it was my way. But in you
+this circumstance was something to be astonished at. For just as long
+as you remained at Zermatt you were a transformed being. I don't
+think, until that time, I had ever heard you laugh heartily. Well,
+suddenly you disappeared; getting up one morning, I found that my
+friend had deserted me.
+
+"It was shabby behaviour, at the best. However, it did not seriously
+trouble me; every man is his own master, and I think we were beginning
+to tire a little of each other. It was awkward, though, to be asked by
+one of our pretty peasant friends where my handsome friend had gone,
+and when he would return, and not be able to give a sensible answer.
+
+"This girl, who had been in your presence always bright and joyous and
+happy, grew sad and quiet and anxious-looking in your absence, and
+appeared to have a secret on her mind that was making her wretched. I
+stayed on at Zermatt for another month, and then I bade good-bye to my
+sweetheart, promising to come again in a year. I kept my promise, but
+when I asked for her in Zermatt I heard that she was dead, and that
+her sister and father had left the village, and had gone no one knew
+whither.
+
+"It will be as well for me here to remind you that during our stay in
+Zermatt we gave no home address, and that no one knew where we came
+from or where we lived. So prudent were we that we acted as if we were
+ashamed of our names.
+
+"Three years afterwards in another part of Switzerland I met the woman
+to whom you had made love; she had lost her father, but was not
+without a companion. She had a little daughter--your child!"
+
+"A lie!" said the Advocate, with difficulty controlling himself; "a
+monstrous fabrication!"
+
+"A solemn truth," replied Vanbrugh, "verified by the mother's oath,
+and the certificate of birth. To dispute it will be a waste of breath
+and time. Hear me to the end. The mother had but one anxiety--to
+forget you and your treachery, and to be able to live so that her
+shame should be concealed. To accomplish this it was necessary that
+she should live among strangers, and it was for this reason she had
+left her native village. She asked me about you, and I--well, I played
+your game. I told her you had gone to a distant part of the world, and
+that I knew nothing of you. We were still friends, you and I, although
+our friendship was cooling. When I next saw you I had it in my mind to
+relate the circumstance to you; but you will remember that just at
+that time you took it into your head to put an end to our intimacy. We
+had a few words, I think, and you were pleased to tell me that you
+disapproved of my habits of life, and that you intended we should
+henceforth be strangers. I was not in an amiable mood when I left you,
+and I resolved, on the first opportunity, to seek the woman you had
+brought to shame, and advise her to take such steps against you as
+would bring disgrace to your door. It would be paying you in your own
+coin, I thought. However, good fortune stood your friend at that time.
+My own difficulties or pleasures, or both combined, claimed my
+attention, and occupied me for many months, and when next I went to
+the village in which I had last seen your peasant sweetheart and your
+child, they were not to be found. I made inquiries, but could learn
+nothing of them, so I gave it up as a bad job, and forgot all about
+the matter. Since then very many years have passed, and I sank and
+sank, and you rose and rose. We did not meet again; but I confess,
+when I used to read accounts of your triumphs and your rising fame,
+that I would not have neglected an opportunity to have done you an ill
+turn had it been in my power. I was at the lowest ebb, everything was
+against me, and I was wondering how I should manage to extricate
+myself from the desperate position into which bad luck had driven me,
+when, not many weeks since, I met in the streets of Geneva two women.
+They were hawking nosegays, and the moment I set eyes upon the elder
+of these women I recognised in her your old sweetheart from Zermatt.
+You appear to be faint. Shall I pause a while before I continue?"
+
+"No," said the Advocate, and he drank with feverish eagerness two
+glasses of wine; "go on to the end."
+
+"It was your sweetheart from Zermatt, and no other. And the younger of
+these women, one of the loveliest creatures I ever beheld, was known
+as Madeline the flower-girl."
+
+The Advocate, with a sudden movement, turned his chair, so that his
+face was hidden from Vanbrugh.
+
+"They were poor--and I was poor. If what I suspected, when I gazed at
+Madeline, was correct, I saw not only an opportunity for revenge upon
+you, but a certainty of being able to obtain money from you. The
+secret to such a man as you, married to a young and beautiful woman,
+was worth a fair sum, which I resolved should be divided between
+Pauline--that was the name adopted by the mother of your child--and
+myself. You cannot accuse me of a want of frankness. I discovered
+where they lived--I had secret speech with Pauline. My suspicion was
+no longer a suspicion--it was a fact. Madeline the flower-girl was
+your daughter."
+
+He paused, but the Advocate made no movement, and did not speak.
+
+"How," continued Vanbrugh, "to turn that fact to advantage? How, and
+in what way, to make it worth a sum sufficiently large to satisfy me?
+That was what now occupied my thoughts. Madeline and her mother were
+even poorer than I supposed, and from Pauline's lips did I hear how
+anxious she was to remove her daughter from the temptations by which
+she was surrounded. In dealing with you, I knew it was necessary to be
+well prepared. You are a powerful antagonist to cope with, and one
+must have sure cards in his hand to have even a chance of winning any
+game he is playing with such a man as yourself. Pauline and I spoke
+frequently together, and gradually I unfolded to her the plan I had
+resolved upon. Without disclosing your name I told her sufficiently to
+convince her that, by my aid, she might obtain a sum of money from the
+man who had wronged her which would enable her to place herself and
+her daughter in a safer position--a position in which a girl as
+beautiful as Madeline would almost certainly meet with a lover of good
+social position whom she would marry and with whom she would lead a
+happy life. Thus would she escape the snare into which she herself
+fell when she met you. This was the mother's dream. Satisfied that I
+could guide her to this end, Pauline signed an agreement, which is in
+my possession, by which she bound herself to pay me half the money she
+obtained from you in compensation for your wrong. Only one thing was
+to remain untouched by her and me--a sum which I resolved to obtain
+from you as a marriage portion for your daughter. Probably, under
+other circumstances, you would not have given me credit for so much
+consideration, but viewed in the light of the position in which you
+are placed, you may believe me. If you doubt it, I can show you the
+clause in black and white. This being settled between Pauline and me,
+I told her who you were--how rich you were, how famous you had grown,
+and how that you had lately married a young and beautiful woman. The
+affairs of a man as eminent as yourself are public property, and the
+newspapers delight in recording every particular, be it ever so
+trivial, connected with the lives of men of your rank. It was then
+necessary to ascertain what proof we held that you were the father of
+Madeline. Our visit to Zermatt could be proved--her oath and mine, in
+connection with dates, would suffice. Then there would, in all
+likelihood, be living in Zermatt men and women whose testimony would
+be valuable. The great point was the birth of the child and the date,
+and to my discomfiture I learnt that Pauline had lost the certificate
+of her daughter's birth. But the record existed elsewhere, and it was
+to obtain a copy of this record, and to collect other evidence, that
+Pauline left her daughter. Her mission was a secret one, necessarily,
+and thus no person, not even Madeline, had any knowledge of its
+purport. What, now, remains to be told? Nothing that you do not
+know--except that when Pauline left her daughter for a few weeks, it
+was arranged that she and I should meet in Geneva on a certain date,
+to commence our plan of operations, and that I, having business
+elsewhere, was a couple of hundred miles away when Gautran murdered
+your hapless child. I arrived in Geneva on the last day of Gautran's
+trial; and on that evening, as you came out of the court-house, I
+placed in your hands the letter asking you to give me an interview. I
+will say nothing of my feelings when I heard that you had successfully
+defended, and had set free, the murderer of your child. What I had to
+look after was myself and my own interest. And now you, who at the
+beginning of this interview rejected a renewal of the old friendship
+which existed between us, may probably inwardly acknowledge that had
+you accepted the hand I offered you, it is not I who would have been
+the gainer."
+
+Again he paused, and again, neither by word or movement, did the
+Advocate break the silence.
+
+"It will be as well," presently said Vanbrugh, "to recapitulate
+what I have to sell. First, the fact that you, a man of spotless
+character--so believed--deliberately betrayed a simple innocent girl,
+and then deserted her. Inconceivable, the world would say, in such a
+man, unless the proofs were incontestable. The proofs are
+incontestable. Next, the birth of your child, and your brutal--pardon
+me, there is no other word to express it, and it is one which would be
+freely used--negligence to ascertain whether your conduct had brought
+open shame and ruin upon the girl you betrayed. Next, the knowledge of
+the life of poverty and suffering led by the mother and the child,
+while you were in the possession of great wealth. Next, the murder of
+your child by a man whose name is uttered with execration. Next, your
+voluntary espousal of his cause, and your successful defence of a
+monster whom all men knew to be guilty of the foul crime. Next, your
+knowledge, at the time you defended him, that he was guilty of the
+murder of your own child. Next, in corroboration of this knowledge,
+the dying declaration of Gautran, solemnly sworn to and signed by him.
+A strong hand. No stronger has ever been held by any man's enemy, and
+until you come to my terms, I am your enemy. If you refuse to purchase
+of me what I have to sell--the documents in my possession, and my
+sacred silence to the last day of my life upon the matters which
+affect you--and for such a sum as will make my future an easy one, I
+give you my word I will use my power against you, and will drag you
+down from the height upon which you stand. I cannot speak in more
+distinct terms. You can rescue me from poverty, I can rescue you from
+ignominy."
+
+The Advocate turned his face to Vanbrugh, who saw that, in the few
+minutes during which it had been hidden from his sight, it had assumed
+a hue of deadly whiteness. All the sternness had departed from it, and
+the cold, piercing eyes wavered as they looked first at Vanbrugh, then
+at the objects in the study. It was as though the Advocate were
+gazing, for the first time, upon the familiar things by which he was
+surrounded. Strange to say, this change in him seemed to make him more
+human--seemed to declare, "Stern and cold-hearted as I have appeared
+to the world, I am susceptible to tenderness." The mask had fallen
+from his face, and he stood now revealed--a man with human passions
+and human weaknesses, to whom a fatal sin in his younger days had
+brought a retribution as awful as it was ever the lot of a human being
+to suffer. There was something pitiable in this new presentment of a
+strong, earnest, self-confident nature, and even Vanbrugh was touched
+by it.
+
+During the last half-hour the full force of the storm had burst over
+the House of White Shadows. The rain poured down with terrific power,
+and the thunder shook the building to its foundations. The Advocate
+listened with a singular and curious intentness to the terrible
+sounds, and when Vanbrugh remarked, "A fearful night," he smiled in
+reply. But it was the smile of a man whose heart was tortured to the
+extreme limits of human endurance.
+
+Once again he filled a glass with wine, and raised it to his mouth,
+but as the liquor touched his lips, he shuddered, and holding the
+glass upright in his hand, he turned it slowly over and poured it on
+the ground; then, with much gentleness, he replaced the glass upon the
+table.
+
+"What has become of the woman you speak of as Pauline?" he asked. His
+very voice was changed. It was such as would proceed from one who had
+been prostrated by long and almost mortal sickness.
+
+"I do not know," replied Vanbrugh. "I have neither seen nor heard from
+her since the day before she left her daughter."
+
+"Say that I was disposed," said the Advocate, speaking very slowly,
+and pausing occasionally, as though he was apprehensive that he would
+lose control of speech, "to purchase your silence, do you think I
+should be safe in the event of her appearing on the scene? Would not
+her despair urge her to seek revenge upon the man who betrayed and
+deserted her, and who set her daughter's murderer free?"
+
+"It might be so--but at all events she would be ignorant of your
+knowledge of Gautran's guilt. This danger at least would be averted.
+The secret is ours at present, and ours only."
+
+"True. You believe that I knew Gautran to be guilty when I defended
+him?"
+
+"I am forced to believe it. Explain, otherwise, why you permitted him
+to visit you secretly in the dead of night, and why you filled his
+pockets with gold."
+
+"It cannot be explained. Yet what motive could I have had in setting
+him free?"
+
+"It is not for me to say. What I know, I know. I pretend to nothing
+further."
+
+"Do you suppose I care for money?" As the Advocate asked the question,
+he opened a drawer in the escritoire, and produced a roll of notes.
+"Take them; they are yours. But I do not purchase your silence with
+them. I give the money to you as a gift."
+
+"And I thank you for it. But I must have more."
+
+"Wait--wait. This story of yours has yet to be concluded."
+
+"Is it my fancy," said Vanbrugh, "or is it a real sound I hear? The
+ringing of a bell--and now, a beating at the gates without, and a
+man's voice calling loudly?"
+
+Without hesitation, the Advocate went from his study into the grounds.
+The fury of the storm made it difficult for him to keep his feet, but
+he succeeded in reaching the gate and opening it. A hand grasped his,
+and a man clung to him for support. The Advocate could not see the
+face of his visitor, nor, although he heard a voice speaking to him,
+did the words of the answer fall upon his ears. Staggering blindly
+through the grounds, they arrived at the door of the villa, and
+stumbled into the passage. There, by the aid of the rose lamp which
+hung in the hall, he distinguished the features of his visitor. It was
+Father Capel.
+
+"Have you come to see me?" asked the Advocate, "or are you seeking
+shelter from the storm?"
+
+"I have come to see you," replied Father Capel. "I hardly hoped to
+find you up, but perceived lights in your study windows, and they gave
+me confidence to make the attempt to speak with you. I have been
+beating at the gates for fully half an hour."
+
+He spoke in his usual gentle tones, and gazed at the Advocate's white
+face with a look of kindly and pitying penetration.
+
+"You are wet to the skin," said the Advocate. "I must find a change of
+clothing for you."
+
+"No, my son," said the priest; "I need none. It is not the storm
+without I dread--it is the storm within." As though desirous this
+remark should sink into the Advocate's heart, he paused a few moments
+before he spoke again. "I fear this storm of Nature will do much harm.
+Trees are being uprooted and buildings thrown down. There is danger of
+a flood which may devastate the village, and bring misery to the poor.
+But there is a gracious God above us"--he looked up reverently--"and
+if a man's conscience is clear, all is well."
+
+"There is a significance in the words you utter," said the Advocate,
+conducting the priest to his study, "which impresses me. Your mission
+is an important one."
+
+"Most important; it concerns the soul, not the body."
+
+"A friend of mine," said the Advocate, pointing to Vanbrugh, who was
+standing when they entered, "who has visited me to-night for the first
+time for many years, on a mission as grave as yours. It was he who
+heard your voice at the gates."
+
+Father Capel inclined his head to Vanbrugh, who returned the courtesy.
+
+"I wish to confer with you privately," said the priest. "It will be
+best that we should be alone."
+
+"Nay," said the Advocate, "you may speak freely in his presence. I
+have but one secret from him and all men. I beg you to proceed."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III
+
+                               PAULINE
+
+
+"I have no choice but to obey you," said Father Capel, "for time
+presses, and a life is hanging in the balance. I should have been here
+before had it not been that my duty called me most awfully and
+suddenly to a man who has been smitten to death by the hand of God.
+The man you defended--Gautran, charged with the murder of an innocent
+girl--is dead. Of him I may not speak at present. Death-bed
+confessions are sacred, and apart from that, not even in the presence
+of your dearest friend can I say one further word concerning the
+sinner whose soul is now before its Creator. I came to you from a
+dying woman, who is known by the name of Pauline."
+
+Both Vanbrugh and the Advocate started at the mention of the name.
+
+"Fate is merciful," said the Advocate in a low tone; "its blows are
+sharp and swift."
+
+"Before I left her I promised to bring you to her tomorrow,"
+continued the priest, "but Providence, which directed me to Gautran in
+his dying moments, impels me to break that promise. She may die before
+to-morrow, and she has that to say which vitally concerns you, and
+which you must hear, if she has strength enough to speak. I ask you to
+come with me to her without a moment's delay, through this storm,
+which has been sent as a visitation for human crime."
+
+"I am ready to accompany you," said the Advocate.
+
+"And I," said Vanbrugh.
+
+"No," said the priest, "only he and I. Who you are I do not seek to
+know, but you cannot accompany us."
+
+"Remain here," said the Advocate to Vanbrugh; "when I return I will
+hide nothing from you. Now, Father Capel."
+
+It was not possible for them to engage in conversation. The roaring of
+the wind prevented a word from being heard. For mutual safety they
+clasped hands and proceeded on their way. They encountered many
+dangers, but escaped them. Torrents of water poured down from the
+ranges--great branches snapped from the trees and fell across their
+path--the valleys were in places knee-deep in water--and occasionally
+they fancied they heard cries of human distress in the distance. If
+the priest had not been perfectly familiar with the locality, they
+would not have arrived at their destination, but he guided his
+companion through the storm, and they stood at length before the
+cottage in which Pauline lay.
+
+Father Capel lifted the latch, and pulled the Advocate after him into
+the room.
+
+There were but two apartments in the cottage. Pauline lay in the room
+at the back. In a corner of the room in which they found themselves a
+man lay asleep; his wife was sitting in a chair, watching and waiting.
+She rose wearily as the priest and the Advocate entered.
+
+"I am glad you have come, father," she said, "she has been very
+restless, and once she gave a shriek, like a death-shriek, which
+curdled my blood. She woke and frightened my child."
+
+She pointed to a baby-girl, scarcely eighteen months old, who was
+lying by her father with her eyes wide open. The child, startled by
+the entrance of strangers, ran to her mother, who took her on her lap,
+saying petulantly, "There, there--be quiet. The gentlemen won't hurt
+you."
+
+"Is Pauline awake now?" asked Father Capel.
+
+The woman went to the inner room and returned. "She is sleeping," she
+said, "and is very quiet."
+
+Father Capel beckoned to the Advocate, who followed him to the bedside
+of the dying woman. She lay so still that the priest lowered his head
+to hers to ascertain whether she was breathing.
+
+"Life appears to be ebbing away," he whispered to the Advocate; "she
+may die in her sleep."
+
+Quiet as she was, there was no peace in her face; an expression of
+exquisite suffering rested on it. The sign of suffering, denoting how
+sorely her heart had been wrung, caused the Advocate's lips to quiver.
+
+"It is I who have brought her to this," he thought. "But for me she
+would not be lying in a dying state before me."
+
+He was tortured not only by remorse, but by a terror of himself.
+
+Notwithstanding that so many years had passed since he last gazed upon
+her, she was not so much changed that he did not recognise in her the
+blooming peasant girl of Zermatt. Since then he had won honour and
+renown and the admiration and esteem of men; the best that life could
+offer was his, or had been his until the fatal day upon which he
+resolved to undertake the defence of Gautran. And now--how stood the
+account? He was the accomplice of the murderer of his own child--the
+mother of his child was dying in suffering--his wife was false to
+him--his one friend had betrayed him. The monument of greatness he had
+raised had crumbled away, and in a very little while the world would
+know him for what he was. His bitterest enemy could not have held him
+in deeper despisal than he held himself.
+
+"You recognise her?" said the priest.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And her child, Madeline, was yours?"
+
+"I am fain to believe it," said the Advocate; "but the proof is not
+too clear."
+
+"The proof is there," said the priest, pointing to Pauline; "she has
+sworn it. Do you think--knowing that death's door is open for her to
+enter--knowing that her child, the only being she loved on earth, is
+waiting for her in the eternal land--that she would, by swearing
+falsely, and with no end in view that could possibly benefit herself,
+imperil the salvation of her soul? It is opposed to human reason."
+
+"It is. I am forced to believe what I would give my life to know was
+false."
+
+"Unhappy man! Unhappy man!" said the priest, sinking--on his knees. "I
+will pray for you, and for the woman whose life you blighted."
+
+The Advocate did not join the priest in prayer. His stern sense of
+justice restrained him. The punishment he had brought upon himself he
+would bear as best he might, and he would not inflict upon himself the
+shameful humiliation of striving to believe that, by prayers and
+tears, he could suddenly atone for a crime as terrible as that of
+which he was guilty.
+
+"Father Capel," he said, when the priest rose from his knees, "from
+what you have said, I gather that the man Gautran made confession to
+you before he died. I do not seek to know what that confession was,
+but with absolute certainty I can divine its nature. The man you saw
+in my study brought to me Gautran's dying declaration, signed by
+Gautran himself, which charges me with a crime so horrible that, were
+I guilty of it, laden as I am with the consequences of a sin which I
+do not repudiate, I should deserve the worst punishment. Are you aware
+of the existence of this document?"
+
+"I hear of its existence now for the first time," replied the priest.
+"When I left the bedside of this unhappy woman, and while I was
+wending my way home through the storm, I heard cries and screams for
+help on a hill near the House of White Shadows, as though two men were
+engaged in a deadly struggle. I proceeded in the direction of the
+conflict, and discovered only Gautran, who had been crushed to the
+earth by the falling of a tree which had been split by the storm. He
+admitted that he and another man were fighting, and that the design
+was murder. I made search, both then and afterwards, for the other
+man, but did not succeed in finding him. I left Gautran for the
+purpose of obtaining assistance to extricate him, for the tree had
+fallen across his body, and he could not move. When I returned he was
+dead, and some gold which he had asked me to take from his pocket was
+gone; an indication that, during my absence, human hands had been busy
+about him. If Gautran's dying declaration be authentic, it must have
+been obtained while I was away to seek for assistance."
+
+"I can piece the circumstances," said the Advocate. "The man you saw
+in my study was the man who was engaged in the struggle with Gautran.
+It was he who obtained the confession, and he who stole the gold. In
+that confession I am charged with undertaking the defence of Gautran
+with the knowledge that he was guilty. It is not true. When I defended
+him I believed him to be innocent; and if he made a similar
+declaration to you, he has gone to his account with a black lie upon
+his soul. That will not clear me, I know, and I do not mention it to
+you for the purpose of exciting your pity for me. It is simply because
+it is just that you should hear my denial of the charge; and it is
+also just that you should hear something more. Up to the hour of
+Gautran's acquittal I believed him, degraded and vile as he was, to be
+innocent of the murder; but that night, as I was walking to the House
+of White Shadows, I met Gautran, who, in the darkness, supposing me to
+be a stranger, would have robbed me, and probably taken my life. I
+made myself known to him, and he, overcome with terror at the
+imaginary shadow of his victim which his remorse and ignorance had
+conjured up, voluntarily confessed to me that he was guilty. My
+error--call it by what strange name you will--dated from that moment.
+Knowing that the public voice was against me, I had not the honesty to
+take the right course. But if I," he added, with a gloomy recollection
+of his wife and friend, "had not by my own act rendered valueless the
+fruits of a life of earnest endeavour, it would have been done for me
+by those in whom I placed a sacred trust."
+
+For several hours Father Capel and the Advocate remained by the
+bedside of Pauline, who lay unconscious, as if indeed, as the priest
+had said, life was ebbing away in her sleep. The storm continued and
+increased in intensity, and had it not been that the little hut which
+sheltered them was protected by the position in which it stood, it
+would have been swept away by the wind. From time to time the peasant
+gave them particulars of the devastation created by the floods, which
+were rushing in torrents from every hill, but their duty chained them
+to the bedside of Pauline. An hour before noon she opened her eyes,
+and they rested upon the face of the Advocate.
+
+"You have come," she sighed.
+
+He knelt by the bed, and addressed her, but it was with difficulty he
+caught the words she spoke. Death was very near.
+
+"Was Madeline my daughter?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," answered Pauline, "as I am about to appear before my God!"
+
+The effort exhausted her, and she lay still for many minutes. Then her
+hand feebly sought her pillow, and the Advocate, perceiving that she
+wished to obtain something from under it, searched and found a small
+packet. He knew immediately, when she motioned that she desired him to
+retain it, that it contained the certificate of his daughter's birth.
+The priest prayed audibly for the departing soul. Pauline's lips
+moved; the Advocate placed his ear close. She breathed the words:
+
+"We shall meet again soon! Pray for forgiveness!"
+
+Then death claimed her, and her earthly sorrows were ended.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                           ONWARD--TO DEATH
+
+
+Late in the afternoon the Advocate was stumbling, almost blindly,
+through the tempest towards the House of White Shadows. Father Capel
+had striven in vain to dissuade him from making the attempt to reach
+the villa.
+
+"There is safety only in the sheltered heights," said the priest. "By
+this time the valleys are submerged, and the dwellings therein are
+being swept away. Ah me--ah me! how many of my poor are ruined; how
+many dead! Not in my experience have I seen a storm as terrible as
+this. It is sent as a warning and a punishment. Only the strongest
+houses in the villages that lie in the valleys will be able to
+withstand its fury. Be persuaded, and remain here until its force is
+spent."
+
+He spoke to one who was deaf to reason. It seemed to the Advocate as
+though the end of his life had come, as though his hold upon the world
+might at any moment be sapped; but while he yet lived there was before
+him a task which it was incumbent upon him to perform. It was
+imperative that he should have speech with his wife and Christian
+Almer.
+
+"I have work to do," he said to the priest, "and it must be done
+to-day."
+
+An unaccustomed note in his voice caused Father Capel to regard him
+with even a more serious attention than he had hitherto bestowed upon
+him.
+
+"There are men," said the priest, "who, when sudden misfortune
+overtakes them, adopt a desperate expedient to put an end to all
+worldly trouble, and thus add sin to sin."
+
+"Have no fear for me," said the Advocate. "I am not contemplating
+suicide. What fate has in store for me I will meet without repining.
+You caution me against the storm, yet I perceive you yourself are
+preparing to face it."
+
+"I go to my duty," said the priest.
+
+"And I to mine," rejoined the Advocate.
+
+Thus they parted, each going his separate way.
+
+The Advocate had not calculated the difficulties he was to encounter;
+his progress was slow, and he had to make wide detours on the road,
+and frequently to retrace his steps for a considerable distance, in
+order to escape being swept to death by the floods. From the ranges
+all around the village in which the House of White Shadows was
+situated the water was pouring in torrents, which swirled furiously
+through the lower heights, carrying almost certain destruction to
+those who had not already availed themselves of the chances of escape.
+Terrific as was the tempest, he took no heed of it. It was not the
+storm of Nature, but the storm within his soul which absorbed him. He
+met villagers on the road flying for safety. With terror-struck
+movements they hurried past, men, women, and children, uttering cries
+of alarm at the visitation. Now and then one and another called upon
+him to turn back.
+
+"If you proceed," they said, "you will be engulfed in the rapids. Turn
+back if you wish to live."
+
+He did not answer them, but doggedly pursued his way.
+
+"My punishment has come," he thought. "I have no wish to live, nor do
+I desire to outlast this day."
+
+Once only, of his own prompting, did he pause. A woman, with little
+children clinging to her, passed him, sobbing bitterly. His eyes
+happening to light upon her face, he saw in it some likeness to the
+peasant girl whom in years gone by he had betrayed. The likeness might
+or might not have been there, but it existed certainly in his fancy.
+He stopped and questioned her, and learned that she had been utterly
+ruined by the storm, her cottage destroyed, her small savings lost,
+and all her hopes blasted. He emptied his pockets of money, and gave
+her what valuables he had about him.
+
+"Sell them," he said; "they will help to purchase you a new home."
+
+She called down blessings on his head.
+
+"If she knew me for what I am," he muttered as he left her, "she would
+curse me."
+
+On and on he struggled and seemed to make no progress. The afternoon
+was waning, and the clouds were growing blacker and thicker, when he
+saw a man staggering towards him. He was about to put a question to
+him respecting the locality of the House of White Shadows--his course
+had been so devious that he scarcely knew in what direction it
+lay--when a closer approach to the man showed him to be no other than
+John Vanbrugh.
+
+"Ah!" cried Vanbrugh, seizing the Advocate's arm, and thus arresting
+his steps, "I feared we had lost you. A fine time I have had of it
+down in your villa yonder! Had it not been for the storm, I should
+have been bundled before a magistrate on a charge of interloping; but
+everybody had enough to do to look after himself. It was a case of the
+devil take the hindmost. A scurvy trick, though, of yours, to desert a
+comrade; still, for my sake, I am glad to see you in the land of the
+living."
+
+"Have you come straight from the villa?" asked the Advocate.
+
+"Straight!" cried Vanbrugh with a derisive laugh. "I defy the soberest
+saint to walk straight for fifty yards in such a hurricane. Three
+bottles of wine would not make me so unsteady as this cursed
+wind--enough to stop one's breath for good or ill. What! you are not
+going on?"
+
+"I am. What should hinder me?"
+
+"Some small love of life--a trivial but human sentiment. There is no
+one in your house. It is by this time deserted by all but the rats."
+
+"My wife----"
+
+"Was the last to leave, with a friend of yours, Christian Almer by
+name. He and I had some words together. Let me tell you. I happened to
+drop a remark concerning you which he considered disparaging, and had
+I been guilty of all the cardinal sins he could not have been more
+angered. A true friend--but probably he does not know what I know.
+Well for you that I did not enlighten him. You will meet them a little
+lower down on the road, but I advise you not to go too far. The
+valleys are rivers, carrying everything, headlong, in their course."
+
+"There was an old lawyer in the house. Do you know what has become of
+him?"
+
+"I saw him perched on the back of a fool, and by their side a girl
+with the sweetest face, and an old woman I should take to be her
+grandmother."
+
+"Farewell," said the Advocate, wrenching himself free. "Should we meet
+again I will pay you for your friendly services."
+
+"Well said," replied Vanbrugh. "I am content. No man ever knew you to
+be false to your word. A woman perhaps--but that lies in the past. Ah,
+what a storm! It is as though the end of the world had come."
+
+"To those whose minutes are numbered," said the Advocate between his
+set teeth, "the end of the world has come. Farewell once more."
+
+"Farewell then," cried Vanbrugh, proceeding onward. "For my sake be
+careful of yourself. If this be not the Second Deluge I will seek you
+to-morrow."
+
+"For me," muttered the Advocate, as he left Vanbrugh, "there may be no
+to-morrow."
+
+Bearing in mind the words of Vanbrugh that he would meet his wife and
+Christian Almer lower down on the road, he looked out for them. He saw
+no trace of them, and presently he began to blunder in his course; he
+searched in vain for a familiar landmark, and he knew not in which
+direction the House of White Shadows was situated. Evening was fast
+approaching when he heard himself hailed by loud shouts. The sounds
+proceeded from a strongly-built stone hut, protected on three sides
+from wind and rain, and so placed that the water from the ranges
+rolled past without injuring it. Standing within the doorway was Fritz
+the Fool.
+
+Thinking his wife might have sought shelter there, the Advocate made
+his way to it, and found therein assembled, in addition to Fritz, old
+Pierre Lamont, Mother Denise and her husband Martin, and their pretty
+granddaughter Dionetta.
+
+"Welcome, comrade, welcome," cried Pierre Lamont. "It is pleasant to
+see a familiar face. We were compelled to fly from the villa, and
+Fritz here conveyed us here to this hospitable hut, where we shall be
+compelled to stay till the storm ceases. Where is 'your fair lady?"
+
+"It is a question I would ask of you," said the Advocate. "She is not
+here, then?"
+
+"No. She left the villa before we did, in the company of your
+friend"--the slight involuntary accent he placed upon the word caused
+the Advocate to start as though he had received a blow--"Christian
+Almer. They have doubtless found another shelter as secure as this. We
+wished them to stop for us, but they preferred not to wait. Fritz had
+a hard job of it carrying me to this hut, which he claims as his own,
+and which is stored with provisions sufficient for a month's siege. I
+have robbed the old house of its servants--Dionetta here, for whom"
+(he dropped his voice) "the fool has a fancy, and her grandmother,
+whom I shall pension off, and Fritz himself--an invaluable fool.
+Fritz, open a bottle of wine; do the honours of your mansion. The
+Advocate is exhausted."
+
+The Advocate did not refuse the wine; he felt its need to sustain his
+strength for the work he had yet to perform. He glanced round the
+walls.
+
+"Is there an inner room?" he asked.
+
+"Yes; there is the door."
+
+"May I crave privacy for a few minutes?"
+
+Pierre Lamont waved his hand, and the Advocate walked to the inner
+room, and closed the door upon himself.
+
+"What has come over this man?" mused Pierre Lamont. "There is in his
+face, since yesterday, such a change as it is rare in life's
+experience to see. It is not produced by fatigue. Has he made
+discovery of his wife's faithlessness and his friend's treachery. And
+should I not behave honestly to him, and make him as wise as I am on
+events within my knowledge? What use? What use? But at least he shall
+know that the secret of Gautran's guilt is not his alone."
+
+In the meantime the Advocate was taking advantage of the solitude for
+which he had been yearning since he left the bedside of Pauline. It
+was not until this moment that he could find an opportunity to examine
+the packet she had given him.
+
+It contained what he imagined--the certificate of the birth of his
+child. He read it and mentally took note of the date and also of
+certain words written on the back, in confirmation of the story
+related to him by John Vanbrugh. No room was there for doubt. Madeline
+was his child, and by his means her murderer had escaped from justice.
+
+"A just Heaven smote him down," he thought; "so should retribution
+fall upon me. I am partner in his crime. Upon my soul lies guilt
+heavier than his."
+
+Within the certificate of birth was a smaller packet, which he had
+laid aside. He took it up now, and removed the paper covering. It was
+the portrait of his daughter, Madeline the flower-girl. The picture
+was that of a young girl just budding into womanhood--a girl whose
+laughing mouth and sparkling eyes conveyed to his heart so keen a
+torture that he gave utterance to a groan, and covered his eyes with
+his hand to shut out the reproach. But in the darkness he saw a vision
+which sent violent shudders through him--such a vision as had pursued
+Gautran in the lonely woods, as he had seen in the waving of branch
+and leaf, as had hovered over him in his prison cell, as he stood by
+his side in the courthouse during the trial from which he emerged a
+free man. Bitterly was this man, who had reached a height so lofty
+that it seemed as if calumny could not touch him, bitterly was he
+expiating the error of his youth.
+
+He folded the portrait of his child within the certificate of birth,
+and replaced them in his pocket. Then, with an effort, he succeeded in
+summoning some kind of composure to his features, and the next minute
+he rejoined Pierre Lamont.
+
+"You will remain with me," said the old lawyer; "it will be best."
+
+"Nay," responded the Advocate, "a plain duty lies before me. I must
+seek my wife."
+
+"She herself is doubtless in a place of shelter," said Pierre Lamont,
+"and while this tempest is raging, devastating the land in every
+direction, you can scarcely hope to find her."
+
+"I shall find her," said the Advocate in a tone of conviction. "Stern
+fate, which has dogged my steps since I arrived in Geneva, and brought
+me to a pass which, were you acquainted with the details, would appear
+incredible to you, will conduct me to her side. Were I otherwise
+convinced I must not shrink from my duty."
+
+"Outside these walls," urged Pierre Lamont, "death stares you in the
+face."
+
+"There are worse things than death," said the Advocate, with an air of
+gloomy and invincible resolution.
+
+"Useless to argue with such a man as yourself," said Pierre Lamont. He
+turned to Fritz. "Go, you and your friends, into the inner room for a
+while. I wish to speak in private with my friend."
+
+"One moment," said the Advocate to the fool as he was preparing to
+obey Pierre Lamont. "You were the last to leave the House of White
+Shadows."
+
+"We were the last humans," replied Fritz.
+
+"In what condition was it at the time?"
+
+"In a most perilous condition. The waters were rising around the
+walls. It had, I should say, not twelve hours to live."
+
+"To live!" echoed Pierre Lamont, striving to impart lightness to his
+voice, and signally failing. "How do you apply that, Fritz?"
+
+"Trees live!" replied Fritz, "and their life goes with the houses they
+help to build. If the walls of the old house we have run from could
+talk, mysteries would be brought to light."
+
+"You have been my wife's maid," said the Advocate to Dionetta, as she
+was about to pass him. Dionetta curtsied. "Has she discharged you?"
+
+Dionetta cast a nervous glance at Pierre Lamont, and another at Mother
+Denise. The old grandmother answered for her.
+
+"I thought it as well," said Mother Denise, "in all respect and
+humility, that so simple a child as Dionetta should be kept to her
+simple life. My lady was good enough to give Dionetta a pair of
+diamond earrings and a diamond finger-ring, which we have left behind
+us." Fritz made a grimace. "These things are not fit for poor
+peasants, and the pleasure they convey is a dangerous pleasure."
+
+"You are not favourably disposed towards my wife," said the Advocate.
+Mother Denise was silent. "But you are right in what you say. Diamonds
+are not fit gifts for simple maids. I wish you well, you and your
+grandchild. It might have been----" The thought of his own child, of
+the same age as Dionetta, and as beautiful, crossed his mind. He
+brushed his hand across his eyes, and when he looked round the room
+again, he and Pierre Lamont were alone.
+
+"A fool of fools," said Pierre Lamont, looking after Fritz. "If he and
+the pretty Dionetta wed--it will be a suitable match for beauty to
+mate with folly--he will be father to a family of fools who may, in
+their way, be wiser in their generation than you and I. Your decision
+is irrevocable?"
+
+"It is irrevocable."
+
+"If you do not find your wife you will endeavour to return to us?"
+
+"I shall find her."
+
+"And then?" asked Pierre Lamont with a singular puckering of his
+brows.
+
+"And then?" echoed the Advocate absently, and added: "Who can tell
+what may happen from one hour to another?"
+
+"How much does he know?" thought Pierre Lamont; "or are his suspicions
+but just aroused? There is a weight upon his soul which taxes all his
+strength. It is grand to see a strong man suffer as he is suffering.
+Is there a mystery in his trouble with which I am not acquainted? His
+wife--I know about her. Gautran--I know about him. But the stranger
+he left in his study in the middle of the night--a broken-down
+gentleman--vagabond, with a spice of wickedness in him--who is he, and
+what was his mission? Of one thing I must satisfy myself before I am
+assured that he is worthy of my compassion." Then he spoke aloud. "You
+said just now there are worse things than death."
+
+"Aye."
+
+"Disgrace?"
+
+"In a certain form that may be borne, and life yet be worth the
+having."
+
+"Good. Dishonour?"
+
+"It matters little," said the Advocate; "but were the time not
+precious, I should be curious to learn why you desire to get at the
+heart of my secrets."
+
+"The argument would be too long," said Pierre Lamont with earnestness,
+"but I can justify myself. There are worse things than death. Pardon
+me--an older man than yourself, and one who is well disposed towards
+you--for asking you bluntly whether such things have come to you?"
+
+"They have. You can read the signs in my face."
+
+"But if you have a secret, the revealing of which would be hurtful to
+you, cannot the mischief be averted? As far as I can expect you have
+been frank with me. Frankness for frankness. Say that the secret
+refers to Gautran and to your defence of him?"
+
+"I have been living in a fool's paradise," said the Advocate with a
+scornful smile. "To whom is this known?"
+
+"To Fritz the Fool, and to me, through him. He saw Gautran in your
+study after the trial----"
+
+"Have I been watched?"
+
+"The discovery was accidental. He was moved by some love-verses I read
+to him, and becoming sentimental, he dallied outside Dionetta's
+window, after the manner of foolish lovers. Then the lights of your
+study window attracted him, and he peeped through. When Gautran left
+the villa, Fritz followed him, and heard him in his terrified
+soliloquies proclaim his guilt. Were this to go out to the world, it
+would, according to its fashion, construe it in a manner which might
+be fatal to you. But Gautran is dead, and I can be silent, and can put
+a lock on Fritz's tongue--for in my soul I believe you were not aware
+the wretch was guilty when you defended him."
+
+"I thank you. I believed him to be innocent."
+
+"Why, then, my mind is easy. Friend, shake hands." He held the
+Advocate's hand in his thin fingers, and with something of
+wistfulness, said: "I would give a year of my life if I could prevail
+upon you to remain with us."
+
+"You cannot prevail upon me. So much being said between us, more is
+necessary. The avowal of my ignorance of Gautran's guilt at the time I
+defended him--I learnt it after the trial, mind you--will not avail
+me. A written confession,--sworn upon his dying oath, exists, which
+accuses me of that which the world will be ready to believe. Strange
+to say, this is my lightest trouble. There are others of graver moment
+which more vitally concern me--unknown to you, unless, indeed, you
+possess a wizard's art of divination."
+
+"Comrade," said Pierre Lamont, slowly and with emphasis, "there
+breathes not in the world a woman worth the breaking of a man's
+heart."
+
+"Stop!" cried the Advocate in a voice of agony.
+
+In silence he and Pierre Lamont gazed upon each other, and in the old
+lawyer's face the Advocate saw that his wife's faithlessness and his
+friend's treachery were known.
+
+"Enough," he said; "there is for me no deeper shame, no deeper
+dishonour."
+
+And he turned abruptly from Pierre Lamont, and left the hut staggering
+like a drunken man.
+
+"Fritz, Fritz!" cried Pierre Lamont. "Come quickly!" Fritz instantly
+made his appearance from the inner room. "Look you, Fritz," said the
+old lawyer, in hurried, excited tones, "the Advocate has gone upon his
+mad errand--has gone alone. After him at once, and if you can save him
+from the consequences of his desperate resolve--if you can advise,
+assist him, do so for my sake. Quick, Fritz, quick!"
+
+"Master Lamont," said Fritz, "are you asking me to do a man's work?'
+
+"Yes, Fritz--you can do no more."
+
+"Well and good. As far as a man dare go, I will go; but if a madman
+persists in rushing upon certain death, it will not help him for a
+fool to follow his example. I am fond of life, Master Lamont, doubly
+fond of it just now, for reasons." He jerked his thumb over his
+shoulder to the room which contained Dionetta. "But I will do what can
+be done. You may depend upon me."
+
+He was gone at least two hours, and when he returned he was exhausted
+and panting for breath.
+
+"I was never born to be drowned," he said, and he threw himself into a
+chair, and sat there, gasping.
+
+"Well, Fritz, well?" cried Pierre Lamont.
+
+"Wait till I get my breath. I followed this great Advocate as you
+desired, and for some time, so deep was he in his dreams, he did not
+know I was with him. But once, when he was waist high in water--not
+that he cared, it was as though he was inviting death--and I, who was
+acquainted with the road through which he was wading, pulled him
+suddenly back and so saved his life, he turned upon me savagely, and
+demanded who I was. He recognised me the moment he spoke the words--I
+will say this of him, that in the presence of another man he never
+loses his self-possession, and that, in my belief he would be a match
+for Death, if it presented itself to him in a visible, palpable shape.
+'Ah,' said he, 'you are Fritz the Fool; why do you dog me?' 'I do not
+dog you,' I replied; 'Master Lamont bade me guide and assist you, if
+you needed guidance and assistance. He is the only man for whom I
+would risk my life.' 'Honesty is a rare virtue,' he said; 'keep with
+me, then, for just as long as you think yourself to be safe. You saw
+my wife and Mr. Almer leave the House of White Shadows. Is it likely
+they took this road?' 'They could take no other, and live,' I said,
+'but there is no trace of them. They must have turned back to the
+villa.' 'Could they reach it, do you think?' he asked. 'A brave man
+can do wonders,' I replied; 'some hours ago they may have reached it;
+but they could not stop in the lower rooms, which even at that time
+must have been below water-mark. I will not answer for the upper part
+of the house at this moment, and before morning it will be swept
+away.' 'Guide me as far on the road as you care to accompany me,' said
+he, 'and when you leave me point me out the way I should go.' I did
+so, and we encountered dangers, and but for me he would not have been
+alive when I left him. We came to the bridge which spans the ravine of
+pines, two miles this side of the House of White Shadows. A great part
+of it had been torn away, and down below a torrent was rushing fierce
+enough to beat the life out of any living being, human or animal.
+'There is no other way but this,' I said, 'to the House of White
+Shadows. I shall not cross the bridge.' He said no word, but struggled
+on to the bridge, which--all that was left of it--consisted of three
+slender trunks half hanging over the ravine. It was nothing short of a
+miracle that he got across; no sooner was he upon the other side than
+the remaining portion of the bridge fell into the ravine. He waved his
+hand to me, and I soon lost sight of him in the darkness. I stumbled
+here as well as I could. Master Lamont, I never want another journey
+such as that; had not the saints watched over me I should not be here
+to tell the tale. This is the blackest night in my remembrance."
+
+"Do you think he can escape, Fritz?" asked Pierre Lamont.
+
+"His life is not worth a straw," replied Fritz. "Look you here, Master
+Lamont. If I were to see him tomorrow, or any other day, alive, I
+should know that he is in league with the Evil One. No human power can
+save him."
+
+"Peace be with him," said Pierre Lamont. "A great man is lost to us--a
+noble mind has gone."
+
+"Master Lamont," said Fritz sententiously, "there is such a thing as
+being too clever. Better to be a simpleton than to be over-wise or
+over-confident. I intend to remain a fool to the end of my days. I
+have no pity for such a man. Who climbs must risk the fall. Not rocky
+peaks, but level ground, with bits of soft moss, for Fritz the Fool."
+
+He slept well and soundly, but Pierre Lamont tossed about the whole of
+the night, thinking with sadness and regret upon the downfall of the
+Advocate.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V
+
+                THE DOOM OF THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS
+
+
+An unerring instinct guided him; a superhuman power possessed him; and
+at midnight--though he could keep no count of time--he found himself
+within the gates of the House of White Shadows. Upon his lips,
+contracted and spasmodic with pain and suffering, appeared a pitiable
+smile as he gazed at a window on the upper floor, and saw a light. It
+was reflected from the window of Christian Almer's room.
+
+"There they are," he muttered; "I shall not die unavenged."
+
+The water was breast high. He battled through it, and reached the open
+door of the villa. Slowly he ascended the stairs until he arrived at
+the landing above. He listened at Christian Almer's door, but heard no
+sound. Enraged at the thought that they might, after all, have escaped
+him, he dashed into the room, and called out the names of his wife and
+friend. Silence answered him. He staggered towards the lamp, which
+stood on a table covered with a shade which threw the light downward.
+Before the lamp was a sheet of paper, with writing upon it, and
+bending over it the Advocate saw that it was addressed to him, and was
+intended for his perusal.
+
+A steadier survey of the room brought its revelations. At the extreme
+end of the apartment lay a woman, still and motionless. He crept
+towards her, knelt by her, and lowered his face to hers. It was his
+wife, cold and dead!
+
+A rosy tint was in her cheeks; a smile was on her lips; her death had
+brought no suffering with it.
+
+"Fair and false," he said. "Beauty is a sinful possession."
+
+Her clothes were wet, and he knew that she had been drowned.
+
+Then, turning, he saw what had before escaped his notice--the body of
+Christian Almer, lying near the table. He put his ear to Almer's heart
+and felt a slight beating.
+
+"He can wait," muttered the Advocate. "I will first read what he has
+written."
+
+He was about to sit at the table when he heard a surging sound
+without. He stepped into the passage, and saw the waters swaying
+beneath him.
+
+"It is well," he thought. "In a little while all will be over for
+those who have sinned."
+
+This reflection softened him somewhat toward those who lay within the
+room, and by whom he believed himself to have been wronged. Was he not
+himself the greatest sinner in that fatal house? He returned to the
+table and read what Christian Almer had written.
+
+
+"Edward:
+
+"I pray that these words may reach your eyes. Above all things on
+earth have I valued your friendship, and my heart is wrung with
+anguish by the reproach that I have not been worthy of it. Last night,
+when your wife and I parted, I knew that you had discovered the weak
+and treacherous part I have played towards you, for as I turned
+towards my room--at that very moment, looking downward, I saw you
+below. I did not dare to come to you--I did not dare to show my face
+to the man I had wronged. It was my intention to fly this morning from
+your presence and hers, and never to see you more; and also to write
+to you the words to which, by the memory of all that I hold sacred, I
+now solemnly swear--that the wrong I have done you is compassed by
+sentiment. I do not seek to excuse myself; I know that treachery in
+thought is as base between you and me, as treachery in act. Yet in all
+humbleness I implore you to endeavour to find some palliation, though
+but the slightest, of my conduct in the reflection that sometimes in
+the strongest men--even in such a man as yourself, whose mind and life
+are most pure and noble--error cannot be avoided. We are hurried into
+wrong by subtle forces which wither one's earnest endeavours to step
+in the right path. Thus it has been with me. If you will recall
+certain words which were spoken in our conversation at midnight in the
+room in which this is written, you will understand what was meant when
+I said that I flew to the mountains to rid myself, by a happy chance,
+of a terror which possessed me. You who have never erred, you who have
+never sinned, may not be able to find it in your heart to forgive me.
+If it be so, I bow my head to your judgment--which is just, as in all
+your actions you are known to be. But if you cannot forgive me, I
+entreat you to pity me.
+
+"You were not in the house to-day when we endeavoured to escape to a
+place of shelter in which we should be protected from this terrible
+inundation. We did not succeed--we were beaten back; and being
+engulfed in a sudden rush of waters, I could not save your wife. The
+utmost I could do was to bear her lifeless body back to this fatal
+house. It was I who should have died, not she; but my last moments are
+approaching. Think kindly of her if you can.
+
+                                  "Christian Almer."
+
+
+Had he not been absorbed, not only in the last words written by
+Christian Almer, but by the reflections which they engendered, the
+Advocate would have known that the floods were increasing in volume,
+and that, in the short time he had been in the house, the waters had
+risen several feet. But he was living an inner life--a life in which
+the spiritual part of himself was dominant.
+
+He stepped to the body of his wife and said:
+
+"Poor child! Mine the error."
+
+Then he knelt by the side of Christian Almer, and raised him in his
+arms. Aroused to consciousness by the action, Almer opened his eyes.
+They rested upon the Advocate's face vacantly, but presently they
+dilated in terror.
+
+"Be not afraid," said the Advocate, "I have read what you have
+written. I know all."
+
+"I am very weak," murmured Christian Almer. "Do not torture me; say
+that you pity me."
+
+"I pity and forgive you, Christian," replied the Advocate in a very
+gentle voice.
+
+"Thank God! Thank God!" said Almer, and closed his eyes, from which
+the warm tears gushed.
+
+"God be merciful to sinners!" murmured the Advocate.
+
+When daylight broke, the House of White Shadows, and all that it
+contained, had been swept from the face of the earth. A bare waste was
+all that remained to mark the record of human love and human ambition.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The House of the White Shadows, by 
+B. L. (Benjamin Leopold) Farjeon
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42973 ***