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diff --git a/42973-8.txt b/42973-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4e214f9..0000000 --- a/42973-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17084 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The House of the White Shadows, by -B. L. (Benjamin Leopold) Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The House of the White Shadows - -Author: B. L. (Benjamin Leopold) Farjeon - -Release Date: June 18, 2013 [EBook #42973] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF THE WHITE SHADOWS *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page images provided by -Google Books (Harvard University) - - - - - - - - - - - -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 -"Athenćum" 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. 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