diff options
Diffstat (limited to '31535-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 31535-8.txt | 8583 |
1 files changed, 8583 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/31535-8.txt b/31535-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9bca690 --- /dev/null +++ b/31535-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8583 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Monk of Cruta, by E. Phillips Oppenheim + +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: A Monk of Cruta + +Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim + +Release Date: March 7, 2010 [EBook #31535] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MONK OF CRUTA *** + + + + +Produced by Alcina Hadwin, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: All typographical errors have been corrected. All +other inconsistencies in the text, including an unfinished sentence, +have been left as is.] + + + + +A MONK OF CRUTA + +BY + +E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM, + +_Author of "The Peer and the Woman," "A Millionaire of Yesterday," +Etc., Etc._ + + NEW YORK: + J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, + 57 ROSE STREET. + + + COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY + F. TENNYSON NEELY. + + + + +A MONK OF CRUTA. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. "THE BLACK-ROBED PHANTOM, 'DEATH'" 11 + + II. "THE NEW ART" 32 + + III. "THE DANCING GIRL" 39 + + IV. "ADREA'S DIARY" 47 + + V. "THE FAR-OFF MUTTERING OF THE STORM TO COME" 50 + + VI. "AN ASHEN GREY DELIGHT" 61 + + VII. "WHO ARE YOU, AND WHAT YOUR MISSION" 73 + + VIII. "I AM WEARY OF A HOPELESS LOVE" 80 + + IX. "AH! HOW FAIR MY WEAKNESS FINDS THEE" 91 + + X. "I AM BUT A SLAVE, AND YET I BID THEE COME" 104 + + XI. "ADREA'S DIARY" 114 + + XII. "WE ARE LIKE SHOOTING STARS, WHOSE MEETING IS THEIR RUIN" 122 + + XIII. "THE PATH THAT LEADS TO MADMEN'S KINGDOMS" 129 + + XIV. "THE POISON OF HONEY FLOWERS" 136 + + XV. "AND MOST OF ALL WOULD I FLY FROM THE CRUEL MADNESS OF LOVE" 144 + + XVI. "'TWIXT YOU AND ME A NOISOME SHADOW CAST" 154 + + XVII. "IF LOVE YOU CHOOSE, THEN LOVE SHALL BE YOUR RUIN" 159 + + XVIII. "SOFTLY GLIMMERING THROUGH THE LAURELS AT THE QUIET + EVENFALL" 166 + + XIX. "BLOOD CALLS ALOUD FOR BLOOD AND NOT FOR HANDS ENTWINED" 174 + + XX. "THE NEW, STRONG WINE OF LOVE" 180 + + XXI. "ADREA'S DIARY" 185 + + XXII. "OH! HEART OF STONE, YET FLESH TO ALL SAVE ME" 195 + + XXIII. "MY LIPS ARE CHARGED WITH TRUTH, AND JUSTICE BIDS ME SPEAK" 206 + + XXIV. "THE SHATTERED VASE OF LOVE'S MOST HOLY VOWS" 218 + + XXV. "A BECKONING VOICE FROM OUT A SHADOWY LAND" 224 + + XXVI. "LATE THOU COMEST, CRUEL THOU HAST BEEN" 232 + + XXVII. "GRIM FIGURES TRACED BY SORROW'S FIERY HAND" 241 + + XXVIII. "ADREA'S DIARY" 249 + + XXIX. "ADREA'S DIARY" 263 + + XXX. "ADREA'S DIARY" 275 + + XXXI. "ADREA'S DIARY" 280 + + XXXII. "THE LORD OF CRUTA" 291 + + XXXIII. "THE DAWN OF A SHORT, SWEET LIFE" 298 + + XXXIV. "A VOICE AND FIGURE FROM THE DISTANT PAST" 308 + + XXXV. "FROM OUT LIFE'S THUNDERS TO A STRANGE, SWEET WORLD" 322 + + XXXVI. "LOVE THAN DEATH ITSELF MORE STRONG" 329 + + + + +A MONK OF CRUTA. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +"THE BLACK-ROBED PHANTOM 'DEATH'" + + +"Father Adrian!" + +"I am here!" + +"I saw the doctor talking with you aside! How long have I to live? He +told you the truth! Repeat his words to me!" + +The tall, gaunt young priest drew nearer to the bedside, and shook his +head with a slow, pitying gesture. + +"The time was short--short indeed. Yet, why should you fear? Your +confession has been made! I myself have pronounced your absolution; +the holy Church has granted to you her most holy sacrament." + +"Fear! Bah! I have no fear! It is a matter of calculation. Shall I see +morning break?" + +"You may; but you will never see the mid-day sun." + +The dying man raised himself with a slow, painful movement, and +pointed to the window. + +"Throw up the window." + +He was obeyed. A servant who had been sitting quietly in the shadows +of the vast apartment, with his head buried in his hands, rose and did +his master's bidding. + +"What hour is it?" + +"Three o'clock." + +"Gomez, strain your eyes seaward. Is there no light on the horizon?" + +"None! The storm has wrapped the earth in darkness. Listen!" + +A torrent of rain was swept against the streaming window pane, and a +gust of wind shook the frame in its sockets. The watcher turned away +from the window with a mute gesture of despair. No eye could pierce +that black chaos. He sank again into his seat, and looked around +shuddering. The high, vaulted chamber was lit by a pair of candles +only, leaving the greater part of it in gloom. Grim, fantastic shadows +lurked in the corners, and lay across the bare floor. Even the tall +figure of the priest, on his knees before a rude wooden crucifix, +seemed weird and ghostly. The heavy, mildewed bed-hangings shook +and trembled in the draughts which filled the room, and the candles +flickered and burnt low in their sockets. Gomez watched them with a +sort of anxious fascination. His master's life was burning out, +minute for minute, with those candles. Twenty-five years of constant +companionship would be ended in a few brief hours. Gomez was not +disposed to trouble much at this; but he bethought himself of a snug +little abode in Piccadilly, where the discomforts now surrounding them +were quite unknown. Surely, to die there would be a luxury compared +with this. He began to feel personally aggrieved that his master +should have chosen such an out-of-the-way hole to end his days in. +Then came a rush of thought, and he was grave. He knew why! Yes! he +knew why! + +The dying man lay quite still, almost as though his time were already +come. Once he raised himself, and the feeble light flashed across a +grey, haggard face and a pair of burning eyes. But his effort was +only momentary. He sank back again, and lay there with his eyes half +closed, and breathing softly. He was nursing his strength. + +One, two, three, four, five! The harsh clanging of a brazen clock +somewhere in the building had penetrated to the chamber, followed by a +deep, resonant bell. The man on the bed lifted his head. + +"How goes the storm?" he asked softly. + +Gomez stood up and faced the window. + +"The storm dies with the night, sir," he answered. "The wind has +fallen." + +"When does day break?" + +Gomez looked at his watch. + +"In one hour, sir." + +"Stay by the window, Gomez, and let your eyes watch for the dawn." + +The priest frowned. "Surely the time has come when you should quit +your hold on earthly things," he said quietly. "What matters the dawn! +soon you will lose yourself in an everlasting sleep, and the dawn for +you will be eternity. Take this crucifix, and pray with me." + +The dying man pushed it away with a gesture almost contemptuous. + +"Is there no light on the sea yet, Gomez?" he asked anxiously. + +Gomez leant forward till his face touched the window pane. He strained +his eyes till they ached; but the darkness was impenetrable. Yet +stay,--what was that? A feeble yellow light was glimmering far away +in the heart of that great gulf of darkness. He held his breath, and +watched it steadily. Then he turned round. + +"There is a light in the far distance, sir," he said. "I cannot tell +what it may be, but there is a light." + +A wave of excitement passed over the strong, wasted features of the +man upon the bed. He half raised himself, and his voice was almost +firm. + +"Push my bed to the window," he ordered. + +The two men, priest and servant, bent all their strength to the task, +and inch by inch they moved the great, creaking structure. When at +last they had succeeded, and paused to take breath, the light in the +distance had become stronger and more apparent. Together the three men +watched it grow; master and servant, with breathless eagerness, the +priest with a show of displeasure in his severe face. Suddenly Gomez +gave a little cry. + +"The dawn!" he exclaimed, pointing to the north of the light. "Morning +is breaking." + +Sure enough, a grey, pallid light was stealing down upon the water. +The darkness was becoming a chaos of grey and black; of towering seas +and low-lying clouds, with cold white streaks of light falling through +them, and piercing the curtains of night. There was no vestige of +colouring--nothing but cold grey and slate white. Yet the dawn moved +on, and through it the yellow light in the distance gleamed larger and +larger. + +"Hold me up," ordered the man on the bed. "Prop me up with pillows!" + +They did as he bade them, and for the first time his face was fully +revealed in the straggling twilight. A flowing grey beard, still +plentifully streaked with black, rested upon his chest; and the eyes, +steadily fixed upon the window pane, were dark and undimmed. A long +illness had wasted his fine features, but had detracted nothing from +their strength and regularity of outline. His lips were closely +set, and his expression, though painfully eager, was not otherwise +displeasing. There was none of the fear of death there; nor was there +anything of the passionless resignation of the man who has bidden +farewell to life, and made his peace with God and man; nor, in +those moments of watching, had his face any of the physical signs of +approaching death. + +"Ah!" + +They started at the sharp, almost triumphant exclamation which had +escaped from his white lips, and followed his long, quivering finger. +Above that glimmering light was a faint, dim line of smoke, fading on +the horizon. + +"It is a steamer, indeed," the priest said, with some interest. "She +is making for the island." + +"When is the supply boat due?" Gomez asked. + +"Not for a fortnight," the priest answered; "it is not she, it is a +stranger." + +There was no other word spoken. Soon the dawn, moving across the great +waste of waters, pierced the dark background behind the steamer's +light. The long trail of white, curdling foam in her track gleamed +like a silver cleft in a dark gulf. The dim shape of her sails stole +slowly into sight, and they could see that she was carrying a great +weight of canvas. Then into the grey air, a rocket shot up like a +brilliant meteor, and the sound of a gun came booming over the waters. + +"Can she make the bay?" Gomez asked suddenly. "Look at the surf." + +They all removed their eyes from the steamer, and fixed them nearer +home. The darkness had rolled away, and the outlook, though a little +uncertain in the misty morning light, was still visible. Right before +the window, a little to the left, a great rocky hill, many hundreds +of feet high, ran sheer down into the sea, and facing it on the right, +was a lower range of rocks running out from the mainland. Inside the +natural harbour thus formed, the sea was quiet enough; but at the +entrance, a line of white breakers and huge ocean waves were leaping +up against the base of the promontory, and dashing over the lower +range of rocks. Beyond, the sea was wild and rough, and the steamer +was often almost lost to sight in the hollow of the Waves. + +"Ah!" + +The faces of all three men underwent a sudden change. Three rockets, +one after another, shot up into the sky from the top of the rocky +hill, leaving a faint, violet glow overhead. The dying man set his +teeth hard, and his eyes glistened. + +"Three rockets," he muttered. "What is the meaning of that signal, +Father?" he asked. + +The priest looked downward, pityingly. "It is a warning that the +entrance to the bay is unsafe," he answered. "Take comfort; it is +the hand of God keeping from you those who would distract your dying +thoughts from Heaven. Take comfort, and pray with me." + +He seemed strangely deaf to the priest's words, and made no movement +or sign in response. Only he kept his eyes the more steadfastly +fixed upon the steamer, now plainly visible. His face showed no +disappointment. It seemed almost as though he might have seen across +the grey sea, and heard the stern orders thundered out from a slim, +motionless figure on the captain's bridge. "Right ahead, helmsman! +Never mind the signal. There's fifty pounds for every man of you if we +make the bay. It's not so bad as it looks! Back me up like brave lads, +and I'll remember it all your lives!" + +Almost, too, he might have heard the answering cheer, for a faint +smile parted his white lips as he saw the steamer ploughing her way +heavily straight ahead, paying no heed to the warning signal. + +On she came. The priest and the servant started as they saw her +intention, and a sharp ejaculation of surprise escaped from the +former. Side by side, they watched the labouring vessel with strained +eyes. Her hull and shape were now visible in the dim morning twilight, +as she rose and fell upon the waves. It was evident that she was a +large, handsome pleasure yacht, daintily but strongly built. + +Close up against the high, bare window the three watchers, +unconsciously enough, formed a striking-looking group. The priest, +tall, pale, and severe, stood in the shadow of the bed-curtains, an +impressive and solemn figure in his dark, flowing robes, but with the +impassibility of his features curiously disturbed. He, who had been +preaching calm, was himself agitated. He had drawn a little on one +side, so that the cold grey light should not fall upon his face and +betray its twitching lips and quivering pallor; but if either of the +men who shared his watch had thought to glance at him, the sickly +candlelight would have shown at once what he was so anxious to +conceal. It was little more than chance which had brought this man +to die in his island monastery, and under his care; little more than +chance which had revealed to him this wonderful secret. But the agony +of those last few hours, and the gloomy words of the priest who leant +over his bedside, had found their way in between the joints of the +dying man's armour of secrecy. Word by word, the story had been +wrested from him. In the cold and comfortless hour of death, the +strong, worldly man felt his physical weakness loosen the iron bands +of his will, and he became for a time almost like a child in the hands +of the keen, swiftly-questioning priest. He had not found much comfort +in the mumbled prayers and absolution, which were all he got in +exchange for his life's secret,--and such a secret! He had not, +indeed, noticed the fixed, far-away gaze in the priest's dark eyes as +he knelt by the bedside; but his prayers, his faint words of comfort, +had fallen like drops of ice upon his quickened desire to be brought +a little nearer to that mysterious, shadowy essence of goodness which +was all his mind could conceive of a God. It had seemed like a dead +form of words, lifeless, hopeless, monotonous; and all that faint +striving to attain to some knowledge of the truth--if indeed truth +there was--had been crushed into ashes by it. As he had lived, so must +he die, he told himself with some return of that philosophic quietude +which had led him, stout-hearted and brave, through many dangers. And, +at that moment when he had been striving to detach his thoughts from +their vain task of conjuring up useless regrets, there had come what +even now seemed to be the granting of his last passionate prayer. The +man whom he had longed to see once more before his eyes were closed +forever upon the world, with such a longing that his heart had grown +sick and weary with the burden of it, had been brought as though by a +miracle almost to his side. He knew as though by some strange instinct +the measure of his strength. He had no fear of dying before his +heart's dearest wish could be gratified. If only that fiercely +labouring vessel succeeded in her brave struggle, he knew that there +would be strength left to him to bear the shock of meeting, to bear +even the shock of the tidings which could either sweeten his last few +moments, or deepen the gloom of his passage into the unknown world. +And so he lay there, with fixed, glazed eyes and shortened breath, +watching and waiting. + +The supreme moment came; the steamer had reached the dangerous point, +and the waves were breaking over her with such fury that more than +once she vanished altogether from sight, only to reappear in a moment +or two, quivering and trembling from stern to hull like a living +creature. After all, the struggle was a brief one, though it seemed +long to the watchers at the window. In less than ten minutes it +was over; she had passed the line of breakers, and was in the +comparatively smooth water of the bay, heading fast for the shore +under leeway of the great wall of towering rocks, at the foot of which +she seemed dwarfed almost into the semblance of a boy's toy vessel. +Within a quarter of a mile from the shore, she anchored, and a boat +was let down from her side. + +A new lease of life seemed to have come to the man on the bed. The +morning sun had half emerged from a bank of angry purple-coloured +clouds, and its faint slanting beams lay across the white coverlet of +the bed, and upon his face. His eyes were bright and eager, and the +death-like pallor seemed to have passed from his features. His voice, +too, was firm and distinct. + +"Place my despatch-box upon the table here, Gomez," he ordered. + +Gomez left his seat by the window, and, opening a portmanteau, brought +a small black box to the bedside. His master passed his hand over it, +and drew it underneath the coverlet. + +"I am prepared," he murmured, half to himself. "Father, according to +the physician's reckoning, how long have I to live?" + +"Barely an hour," answered the priest, without removing his eyes from +the boat, whose progress he seemed to be scanning steadfastly. "Is +your eternal future of so little moment to you," he went on in a tone +of harsh severity, "that you can give your last thoughts, your last +few moments, to affairs of this world? 'Tis an unholy death! Take this +cross in your hands, and listen not to those whose coming will surely +estrange you from heaven. Let the world take its own course, but lift +your eyes and heart in prayer! Everlasting salvation, or everlasting +doom, awaits you before yonder sun be set!" + +"I have no fear, Father," was the quiet reply. "What is, is; a few +frantic prayers now could alter nothing, and, besides, my work on +earth is not yet over. Speak to me no more of the end! Nothing that +you or I could do now would bring me one step nearer heaven. Gomez, +your eyes are good! Whom do you see in the boat?" + +Gomez answered without turning round from the window, "Mr. Paul is +there, sir, steering!" + +"Thank God!" + +"There are others with him, sir!" + +"Others! Who?" + +"Strangers to me, sir. There is a man, a gentleman by his dress and +appearance, and a child--a girl, I think. Two sailors from the yacht +are rowing." + +The dying man knitted his brows, and his fingers convulsively clutched +at the bed-clothes. He had lost something of that calm and effortless +serenity which seemed to have fallen upon him since the safety of the +steamer had been assured. + +"The boat is quite close, Gomez! Can you not describe the stranger?" + +"I can only see that he is thin, rather tall, and, I think, elderly, +sir. He is very much wrapped up, as though he were an invalid." + +"Lift me up so that I can see them. Father Adrian will help you." + +The priest shook his head. "The effort would probably cost you your +life," he said, "and it would be useless. Before you could see them +the boat would be round the corner." + +"So near! God grant me strength! Gomez, give me a tablespoonful of the +brandy!" + +Gomez moved silently to his side, and poured out the brandy. +Afterwards his master closed his eyes, and there was an intense +silence in the chamber--the deep, breathless silence of expectancy. + +The monastery itself, a small and deserted one, tenanted only by a +few half-starved monks of one of the lower orders of the Church, was +wrapped in a profound gloom. There was no sound from the half-ruined +chapel or the long, empty corridors. The storm had ceased, and the +casements no longer rattled in the wind. To the man who lay there, +nursing his fast-ebbing strength, it seemed indeed like the silence +before the one last tragedy of death, looming so black and so grim +before him. + +It was broken at last. Away at the end of the corridor the faint sound +of hurrying footsteps and subdued voices reached the ears of the three +watchers. They came nearer and nearer, halting at last just outside +the door. There was a knock, a quick, impetuous answer, and the +visitors entered, ushered in by the priest, who had met them on the +threshold. + +Of the two men, one advanced hastily with outstretched hand and +pitying face to the bedside; the other moved only a step or two +further into the room, and stood looking intently, yet without any +salutation or form of recognition, at the dying man. The former, when +he reached the bed, sank on his knees and took the white hand which +lay upon the coverlet between his. + +"Father! My father! I would have given the world to have found you +better. Tell me that it is not true what they say. You will pull round +now that I have come!" + +There was no answer. The dying man did not even look into the handsome +young face so close to his. His eyes, bright and unnaturally large, +were rivetted upon the figure at the foot of the bed. His breath came +quickly, and he was shivering; an inarticulate sort of moan came from +his lips. + +"Father! you are agitated, and no wonder, to see him here. You had my +letter preparing you; nothing that I could do would stop his coming." + +It was Gomez who answered, advancing out of the gloom: "There has been +no letter." + +There was an instant's silence. Then the younger man rose up, pale +as death. "God! what a fool I was to trust to mails in this +out-of-the-way hole! Father! I shall never forgive myself. Blind idiot +that I was, to bring him in like this." + +It seemed as if no one save he possessed the power of speech. There +was a dead silence. He looked from one to another of the figures in +that silent drama in fast-growing despair. The face of the man whom +he had brought there revealed little, although in a certain way its +expression was remarkable. The lips were parted in a slow, +quiet smile, not in itself sardonic or cruel, although under the +circumstances it seemed so, for it was difficult to associate any +idea of mirth with the scene which was passing in that grim, gloomy +chamber. Something of the awe inseparable from this close approach of +death was visible in the faces of all the other watchers. Not so in +his! It was the contrast which seemed so strange. He stood there, with +his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his long travelling coat, +returning the fixed, glazed stare of the dying man with a sort of +indifferent good humour. Perhaps a very close observer might have +detected a shade of mockery in those soft black eyes and faintly +twitching lips, but the light in the room was too obscure for any one +there to penetrate beneath the apparent indifference. It was he who +broke that deep, tragic silence, and his voice, light and even gay, +struck a strange note in that solemn chamber of death. + +"So you are dying, Martin, _mon ami_? How odd! If any one had told me +one short month ago that I should have been here to watch your last +moments, and start you on your journey to hell, bah! how mad I should +have thought them. 'Tis a pleasure I never anticipated." + +His words seemed to dissolve the lethargy which his presence had cast +over the dying man. He turned away towards the younger figure by his +side. + +"How came he here?" he asked feebly. + +"Listen, and I will tell you," was the low reply. "I sought him first +at Monaco, but he had not been heard of there for two years. Then I +found traces of him at Algiers; and followed up the clue to Cairo, +Athens, Syracuse, and Belgrade. It was at Constantinople I found +him at last--an officer--actually an officer in the Turkish army; +'Monsieur le Captaine,' my interpreter called him," the young man +added, with a fine scorn in his raised voice. "Imagine it! Well, +I gave him your letter, delivered the messages, and awaited his +pleasure. He kept me waiting for two days before he vouchsafed +one word of answer. On the third day he announced his intention of +accompanying me here. Nothing that I could say made any difference. +'His answer should be given to you in person, or not at all.' I +wrote to you three days before we started; that letter you never had. +Forgive me, father, for the shock! As for you," he continued, turning +abruptly towards the motionless figure at the foot of the bed, "I have +kept my word, and brought you here in safety, though no one in the +world will ever know how near I came to breaking it, and throwing you +into the Dardanelles. Ah! I was sorely tempted, I can tell you. Speak +your answer, and go! This is no place for you to linger in." + +"Upon my word, you are courteous, very! But, my dear friend Martin, +as this is to be our farewell, I must really see you a little more +distinctly." + +For the first time, the man in the long overcoat changed his position, +and came a little nearer to the bed. The movement showed him the +priest, kneeling with closed eyes and uplifted hands before an iron +crucifix. + +"Ah! we are not quite alone then, Martin, _cher ami_! the gentleman in +the long robe appears to be listening." + +"He is as dead," answered the man on the bed slowly. "He is a monk; +you can speak." + +He raised himself slightly on the bed. One hand remained grasping his +despatch-box under the bed-clothes; the other was held by the young man +who knelt by his side. His face was curiously changed; all the effect +of his unlooked-for visitor's arrival seemed to have passed away. His +eyes were bright and eager. His white lips were closely set and firm. + +"You can speak," he repeated. + +His visitor was leaning over the foot of the bed now, and the smile +had quite gone, leaving his face cold and white. He spoke a little +quicker than before. + +"Here is your answer, Martin de Vaux! You offer me a fortune, on +condition that I give up to you on your deathbed the power by which I +hold those whom you love, my slaves. Money is dear to me, as it is to +most men, but I would die sooner than touch yours. Curse you, and +your money, and your family! Not for all the gold that was ever coined +would I yield up my power! My day will come, and may the evil spirit +bring you tidings of it down into hell! Curse you, Martin de Vaux! Now +you know my mind." + +The dying man was strangely calm. From under the bed-clothes came the +faint sound of the opening and shutting of the despatch-box. + +"Yes, I know your mind," he repeated quietly. "You mean me to die with +the torturing thought that I have left a poisonous reptile to suck +the life and blood from those I love, and the honour from a grand old +name. But I will not! We will take our next journey together, Victor." + +A sudden change had crept into his tone before the last sentence; and +before it had died away, the priest and the man by the bedside had +leaped to their feet in horror. He whom they had thought too weak to +stir was sitting bolt upright in bed, his eyes blazing and his hand +extended. There was a line of fire, a loud report, and then a single +cry of agony. The man who had leaned over the foot of the bed lay on +the ground just as he had fallen, shot dead through the heart, and a +child, dark-skinned and thin, who had rushed in at the sound of the +report, was sobbing passionately with her arms wound around him. +Across the bed, still grasping the pistol, but with his hands hanging +helplessly down, lay the man who had fired the shot. The effort had +killed him. + +The priest was the first in the room to move. He slowly bent over both +bodies, and then turned round to the other man. + +"Dead?" he asked, with a dry, choking gasp. + +"Both dead." + +The priest and his companion, shocked and unnerved, looked at one +another in silence. The child's sobs grew louder, and the morning +sunlight stole across the bare floor, and fell upon the white, still +faces. + +The tragedy was over, and the seeds of another sown. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +"THE NEW ART" + + +A tall, fair young man stood in the small alcove of Lady Swindon's +drawing-room, with his eyes fixed upon the door. He was accurately +dressed in the afternoon garb of a London man about town, and carried +in his hand, or rather in his hands, for they were crossed behind him, +that hall-mark of Western civilization--a well-brushed, immaculate +silk hat. Neither in his clothes nor personal appearance was there any +striking difference between him and the crowd of other young men who +thronged the rooms, except perhaps that he was a trifle better made, +and pleasanter to look at than most of them, and that the air of +boredom, so apparent on most of their faces and in their manners, was +in his case perfectly natural. As a matter of fact, he hated afternoon +receptions, and was only waiting for a favourable opportunity to make +his exit unnoticed. + +"Paul, my boy, you don't look happy," exclaimed a voice in his ear. + +Paul de Vaux turned upon the new-comer sharply. "Not likely to, +Arthur. You know I hate all this sort of thing, and, as far as I can +see, it's just a repetition of the usual performance--stale speeches, +lionizing, gossip, and weak tea. I consider you've brought me here +under false pretences. Where's the startling novelty you promised me?" + +"All in good time," was the cool reply. "You'll thank your stars +you're here in a minute or two." + +Paul de Vaux looked at his brother incredulously. "Some sell of yours, +I suppose," he remarked. "At any rate, no one here whom I have spoken +to seems to be expecting anything unusual." + +Arthur--no one ever called him anything else--laughed, and beat an +impatient tattoo upon the floor with his foot. He was several inches +shorter than his brother, and altogether unlike him. Yet he, too, was +good-looking, in a certain way. + +"That's just the beauty of it," he said. "Lady Swindon has prepared +a little surprise for her guests. She's just that sort of woman, you +know. Denison told me about it at the club, a few minutes before you +came in for lunch. I shouldn't have bothered you to come if I hadn't +known there was something good on." + +"I dislike surprises," his brother answered wearily. "Half the +pleasure of a thing lies in anticipation, and surprises rob one of +that. Let us go, Arthur; there are plenty here to enjoy this novelty, +whatever it is. Come and have a weed at my rooms, and we'll talk over +something for to-night." + +Arthur shook his head and laid his hand upon Paul's coat-sleeve. +"You don't know what's coming off, old fellow; I wouldn't miss it for +anything. Great Scott! there's the bishop. Wonder how he'll like it? +and there's Lady May over there, Paul. You're booked, old man, if she +looks this way." + +Paul leant forward with a faint show of interest, and looked in +the direction indicated. "I thought that the Westovers went North +yesterday," he remarked. "Lady May said that they expected it." + +"Likely enough. 'Gad! the performance is going to commence," Arthur +exclaimed, quickly. "Paul, you are going to have a new sensation. You +are going to see the most beautiful woman in the world." + +There was a little hush, and every one had turned towards the upper +end of the room. Some heavy curtains had been rolled aside, disclosing +a space, only a few yards square, which had been covered by a tightly +stretched drugget. There was a little curious anticipation amongst the +uninitiated. Then the comparative silence was broken by the strains +of a waltz from a violin, somewhere in the background. No one had +ever heard it before. There was a wilder, dreamier air with it, +than anything Waldteufel had ever written. And, while every one was +wondering whose music it could be, a woman glided out from behind a +screen, and stood for a second swaying herself slightly in the centre +of the drugget. Even that slight rhythmical motion of her body seemed +to bring her into perfect sympathy with the curious melody which was +filling the hushed room. And while the people watched her, already, in +varying degrees, under the spell of that curious fascination which her +personality and the exercise of her art seldom failed to excite, she +commenced to dance. + +Long afterwards Paul de Vaux tried to describe in words, that dance, +and found that he could not, for there was indeed a charm beyond +expression or portrayal in the slow, almost languid movements, full of +infinite and inexpressible witchery. Every limb of her body and every +feature of her face followed, with a sort of effortless grace, +the movements of her feet. Yet the general effect of the whole was +suggestive of a sweet and dainty repose, voluptuous yet refined, +glowing with life, yet dreamily restful. In a certain sense her +physical movements, even her body itself, seemed merged and lost in +the artistic ideal created and born of her performance. And so it +was that he carried away that day no vivid thought-portrait of her +features, only a confused dream of a beautiful dusky face, rising +above a cloud of amber draperies, the lips slightly parted in a +wonderful smile, and a pair of heavily-lidded eyes, which, more than +once, had rested upon him, soft, dark, and lustrous. After all, it was +but a tangled web of memories, yet, such as it was, it became woven +into the pattern of his life, wonderfully soft and brilliant beside +some of those dark, gloomy threads which fate had spun for him. + +The performance ended, as such performance should end, suddenly, +and without repetition. Her disappearance was so swift and yet so +graceful, that for a moment or two people scarcely realized that she +was gone. It was wonderful what a difference her absence made to the +room. The little stretch of drugget looked mean and bare. To Paul de +Vaux it seemed as though some warm, beautiful light, omniscient and +richly coloured, had suddenly burnt out, and left a damp chilliness in +the air. The silence was gloomy enough after that wonderful music, but +the babble of tongues which presently arose was a hundred times +worse. He found himself chafing and angry at the commonplacisms which +everywhere greeted his ear. Lady Swindon's afternoon entertainment had +been a great success, and every one was telling her so, more or +less volubly. There were some there, a handful of artists and a few +thoughtful men, who were silent, or who spoke of it only amongst +themselves in subdued voices. They recognised, in what had happened +that afternoon, the dawn of a new art, or rather the regeneration of +an old one, and they discussed in whispers its possible significance +and influence. She was an artist, that woman. No one doubted it. But +the woman was there as well as the artist. Who was she? Would she +realize the sanctity of her mission, and keep herself fit and pure for +its accomplishment? Had she character to sustain her, and imagination +to idealize her calling? She was on a pinnacle now, but it was a +pinnacle as dangerous as the feet of woman could press. If only she +could keep herself unspotted from the world, which would do its best +to drag her down, they all felt, painter, poet, and musician, that her +influence with the age might rank with their own. But was it possible? +A certain Diana-like coldness had been apparent to those who had the +eyes to see it, even in her most voluptuous movements. They knew +that it was not assumed for the sake of adding piquancy to her +performance--it was there indeed. But side by side with it there +were unprobed depths of passion in her soft, deep eyes; a slumbering +passion even in the sinuous, graceful movements of every limb. Some +day the struggle would come, even if it had not already commenced. +The woman against the artist--the woman tempted and flattered by a +thousand tongues, and dazzled with visions of all those things so +naturally sweet to her, her own nature even, so keenly susceptible to +love and sympathy, siding with the enemy. This, all against what? Only +that inward worshipping of all things sweet and pure and lofty, which +is the artist's second life. The odds were heavy indeed. No wonder +that the select few who spoke of her that afternoon should shake their +heads and look grave. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +"THE DANCING GIRL" + + +"What do you think of it?" + +Paul started. He had been standing, like a man in a dream, with +folded arms, looking across the room with idle eyes, and unconsciously +ignoring many salutations. His brother's tone sounded oddly in his +ears, and he looked flushed and a little nervous. + +"What did I think of it!" It was a difficult question to answer. He +repeated it, and was glad when Arthur spared him the necessity of +replying, by adding his own opinion. + +"It was glorious, magnificent! I'm going to find out more about her!" + +He strolled away, and joined one of the little groups of men who were +discussing the performance. Paul, at first, had made a gesture as +though to detain him, but on second thoughts he had changed his mind. +Better let him go and find out what he could. + +He himself watched carefully for his opportunity, and then left the +room. He felt like a man who has received a silent shock. Something +fresh had come into his life, noiselessly, insidiously, without +effort. He pressed on his hat, and passed down the steps out into the +street, scarcely conscious of what he was doing. + +The rush of fresh air somewhat revived him, and he stood still for a +moment to collect his thoughts. He felt the need of absolute +solitude for a while, to help him to realize--or at any rate to +understand--this thing which had happened, and with almost feverish +haste he called a hansom from the other side of the road. The man +whipped up the horse, but hesitated as he reached the pavement. +Looking around, Paul saw the cause of his indecision. A woman, +standing only a few yards behind, had called him at the same time, and +was waiting also for his approach. + +There was a gas-lamp between them, and as their eyes met, he +recognised her. Even in that flickering light, and through her +veil, there was no mistaking those wonderful eyes. As a rule, he was +possessed of as much _savoir faire_ as most men of his class, but at +that moment it had deserted him. He stood there on the edge of the +pavement, without moving or saying anything, simply looking at +her, startled at her sudden appearance, and magnetised by her close +presence. He had heard no footfall behind him, and the fact of her +being alone seemed so strange to him, that he simply could not realize +for a moment that it was indeed she who stood so close to him. The +cabman, leaving them to decide who had the prior claim upon him, sat +motionless, with his eyes discreetly fixed upon his horse's ears. It +was an odd little tableau, insignificant enough to a spectator, save, +perhaps, for the curious look in the woman's face and softly flashing +eyes. Yet it left its mark for ever in the lives of the two principal +figures. + +The curious sensation which had kept Paul standing there dazed and +tongue-tied, passed away. Yet it did not immediately occur to him to +raise his hat and walk on, as in any ordinary case he would have done. +He was conscious of the exact nature of the situation, but he felt a +strong disinclination to leave the spot; nor, strangely enough, did +she seem to expect it. Yet something had to be done. + +He moved a step nearer her. He was no schoolboy, this tall, +grave-looking young Englishman. The lines across his fair, smooth +forehead, and by his close-set mouth spoke for themselves. He had seen +life in many aspects, and in a certain Indian jungle village, there +were natives and coolies who still spoke admiringly of the wonderful +nerve and pluck of the English sahib during a terrible and unexpected +tiger rush. But at that moment his nerve seemed to have deserted him. +He could almost hear his heart beat as he took that step forward. He +had intended to have made some trifling apology, and to have handed +her into the cab, but the words would not come. Some instinct seemed +to revolt at the thought of uttering any such commonplacism. She was +standing on the edge of the pavement, close to the step, with her +skirts in one hand, slightly raised. He held out his hand to her in +silence. + +She gave him hers; and yet she did not at once step into the cab. +She seemed to be expecting that little speech from him which he found +impossible to frame, and, seeing that it did not come, recognising, +perhaps, his suppressed agitation behind that calm, almost cold, +gravity of demeanour, she spoke to him. + +"It is a shame to take your cab, and leave you in the rain! I am +sorry." + +Afterwards her admirers spoke of her voice as being one of her chief +charms; to Paul it sounded like a soft strain of very sweet, throbbing +music, reaching him from some far distant world. Yet, curiously +enough, it went far to dissolve the spell which her presence seemed to +have laid upon him. He was able to look at her steadily, and standing +upon the wet pavement in the cold, grey light of that November +afternoon, their eyes met in a long, searching gaze. He was able even +to notice trifles. He saw the rich fur which lined her plain, black +cloak, and he could even admire the absolute perfection with which +it followed the lines of her slim, supple, figure. He saw the glowing +eyes shining out from her dusky face, and the coils of brown hair, not +very securely fastened under her turban hat. As she put out her foot +to enter the cab, he could even catch a glimpse of the amber draperies +concealed by her cloak. A dancer! A public dancer! His eyes swept over +her again, taking in every detail of her simple but rich toilette, and +he shivered slightly. Then he answered her, "It is of no consequence, +thank you. I can walk." + +"But you will get very wet! Let us make a compromise! You may come +with me. I am going only a very little distance, and then you can take +the cab on to your home, or wherever you want to go to." + +She stepped in, taking it for granted that he would accept her offer, +and he followed her at once. He was not in the least surprised. From +the first he had not expected to leave her, and her invitation seemed +perfectly natural to him. She gave the cabman her address through the +trap-door, and they drove off together. + +At the corner of the square, two men were standing together talking, +and as the hansom passed within a yard or two of them both glanced +idly in, and then started. Paul, who had been looking straight ahead +of him, and seeing nothing, turned round, startled by a familiar +exclamation, just in time to see his brother Arthur, and Leslie +Horton, gazing after the cab. The incident troubled him, as much for +her sake as his own. But, looking into her face, he could not see that +she was in any way disturbed, although she must have seen the two men, +and would probably have recognised them as having been present at Lady +Swindon's reception. Her face was quite unmoved, but in a moment or +two she asked a question. + +"Who was the younger and better looking of those two men; the one with +violets in his coat, like yours?" + +"It was my brother," he answered simply. "I am afraid, too, that he +recognised you." + +"So far as I am concerned, that is of no consequence at all," she +answered lightly. + +He turned away with a sudden sinking of the heart. He knew, too well, +that her carelessness was not assumed. How was he to interpret it? + +Their drive was finished in silence, and they pulled up before a +handsome, though somewhat sombre-looking house in a back street. + +"My rooms are here," she remarked. + +He stepped on to the pavement, and assisted her to alight. The thought +of leaving her so abruptly was painful to him, and yet he dreaded to +hear her invite him to go in with her; nevertheless, she did so. + +"If you are not in a hurry, perhaps you will come in, and let me give +you a cup of tea," she said, looking him full in the face. + +His heart sank. What was he to think now? And yet he was absurdly glad +that he was not to leave her. + +"Do you mean it?" he asked. + +"Of course! I should not have asked you else. Are you very much +shocked?" she added, with a mocking gleam in her eyes. "It is not +proper, is it! I confess I did not think of that. But do come," she +added, with a sudden bewitching smile. + +"I shall be delighted," he answered, gravely enough, but truthfully. +He turned to pay the cabman, and followed her into the house. + +"My rooms are upstairs," she remarked, leading the way. "The luxury of +a first floor is at present beyond me." + +Her words pleased him, but their effect died away when she opened a +door on the first landing, and ushered him in. Such of the interior +of the house as he had seen was handsomely furnished, but the room in +which he stood was almost like a fairy chamber. Curtains divided it in +the centre, and beyond he could see a table laid for dinner. + +"That half I use for a dining-room," she remarked, pointing towards it +with one of her gloves, which she had just taken off. "It makes this +room small, but it is a convenient arrangement. Do sit down!" + +He bowed, but remained standing, with his elbow resting upon the +draped mantel-board. She took off her hat and coat, hanging them over +the back of a chair, and advanced towards him. + +She was in her dancing dress, a floating mass of yellow draperies, and +the firelight gleamed strangely upon her dusky, perfect face, with its +olive colouring, and soft, glowing eyes. She came so close to him that +a faint odour from the handkerchief in her hand stole up to him. + +He was playing with an ornament on the shelf, and his fingers +tightened convulsively around it. It snapped in two in his hand; he +did not notice it. He leaned forward towards her, and his strong voice +vibrated with feeling. + +"And it was for this then, Adrea Kiros, that you ran away from the +convent St. Lucile! My God!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"ADREA'S DIARY" + + +To-day I have made my entrance in the first scene of the drama of +life. To-day, therefore, I commence my memoirs. Everything before goes +for nothing! + +As I have removed myself altogether from all association with +the humdrum existence which might have been mine, I am naturally +friendless for the present. So far as the other sex is concerned, I +fancy that that could be easily remedied. But no women are likely +to care about making my acquaintance, and I am glad of it. I hate +women--men, too, I think! At any rate, there will be no one of whom I +shall make a confidant, so I have chosen you, my silent friend. I gave +a guinea for you in Bond Street, and with your dainty morocco case +and binding, I think you are well worth it. At any rate, you will be +faithful so far as silence is concerned. + +To-day has been an eventful one. I have made my _debut_ as a dancer, +and Paul de Vaux has been here, in this house, alone with me! That is +hard to realize, but it is so! He has altered since he used to pay +me periodical visits at the convent--and so have I, I imagine! Yet he +recognised me! How pale and stern he looked when he stood up on the +hearthrug and called me by my name! He is very handsome--handsomer now +even than on that day when he stood by, in that chamber of death, and +saw my father murdered, without lifting his hand. Ah! Paul de Vaux, +Paul de Vaux! that was an evil day for you! Did you never think that +that little brown girl, as you called her, would grow up some day; or +did you think that she would forget! Bah! What fools men are! + +He remembered me! How grave he looked, and yet how tender his voice +sounded! He did not forget that he was my guardian, and I his ward. +How bewildered and anxious he was! Was I living quite alone, had I no +friends, did I think it wise to lay myself open to so much notice? + +He had come close to my chair, and was leaning down, so that his head +nearly touched mine. Really, when I looked up, I thought that he was +going to take me into his arms. I looked up and laughed softly into +his face. + +He said no more. I invited him to dine with me, and promised to dance +to him afterwards. I even let my hand rest for a moment upon his +shoulder, and whispered--but _n'importe_! He behaved just as I would +have had him behave! He took up his hat and walked straight out of the +room! It was rude, but it was magnificent. Ah! Paul de Vaux! you may +struggle as long as you like, but in the end you will be mine! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +"THE FAR-OFF MUTTERING OF THE STORM TO COME" + + +"Paul!" + +Paul had walked unannounced into his mother's favourite little +sitting-room at Vaux Court, tired and travel-stained. She rose to her +feet and looked at him anxiously. + +"Don't be alarmed, mother," he said, stooping down and kissing her. +"There's nothing at all the matter." + +"Arthur is well?" + +"Quite well; I was with him yesterday afternoon. There's nothing the +matter. London was boring me, that's all, and I thought I'd run down +here and have a look at the old place, and perhaps a day's hunting." + +Relieved of her anxiety, Mrs. de Vaux was unaffectedly pleased to see +her eldest son. She was a fine, white-haired old lady, dignified and +handsome, but with very few soft lines about her comely face. + +"I am delighted to see you, of course, Paul! The meet is at Dytchley +woods to-morrow! I hope you'll have a good day. Take your coat off. I +have rung for some tea." + +"Thanks! How bright and cheerful the fire seems. I walked from the +station, and it was miserably cold." + +"Of course it was. I wish I had known you were coming. We have so +little work for the carriage horses." + +"I did not make up my mind until half an hour before the train +started," Paul answered. "Dick Carruthers wanted me to run over to +Paris with him for a couple of days, and I was undecided which to do. +I heard that it was cold and wet there, though; and there is always a +charm about this old place which makes me glad to come back to it." + +"There is not such another place in England," his mother remarked, +pouring out the tea. "Although this is such an outlandish county, +there have been a dozen people here this week, asking to be allowed +to see over the Abbey. I always give permission when you are away, and +there is no one stopping here." + +Paul drank his tea, and stretched himself out in his low chair with an +air of comfort. + +"I am glad you let them see the place, mother," he said. "It is only +right. What class of people do you have, as a rule? Clergymen and +ecclesiastical architects, I suppose?" + +"Chiefly. There are a good many Americans, though; and yesterday, +or the day before, a Roman Catholic priest. He spent the day in the +cloisters and wandering about the Abbey, I believe." + +Paul looked up suddenly, and drew his chair back out of the firelight. +For the first time, his mother noticed how pale and ghastly his face +was. + +"Paul, are you ill?" she asked anxiously. "What is the matter with +you?" + +"Nothing. I am only tired. It is a long journey, you know,--and the +walk from the station. Indeed, it is nothing else. I am quite well." + +His mother resumed her seat. She had risen in sudden alarm. Her son's +face had frightened her. + +"You look just as your poor father used to look sometimes," she said +softly. "It always frightened me. It was as though you had a pain +somewhere, or had suddenly seen a ghost. You are sure you are well?" + +"Quite, mother! You need have no fear. Arthur and I have your +constitution, I think." + +His tone was deeper, almost hollow. He still kept his chair back +amongst the shadows. Mrs. de Vaux was only partially satisfied. + +"I am afraid you have been keeping too late hours, Paul, or reading +too much. Lord Westover was saying the other day that you were in a +very Bohemian set--journalists and artists, and those sort of people. +I am afraid they keep awful hours." + +"Lord Westover knows nothing about it," Paul answered wearily. +"Ordinary London society would tire me to death in a fortnight. There +is another class of people, though, whose headquarters are in London, +far more cultured, and quite as exclusive, with whom association is a +far greater distinction. I can go anywhere in the first set, because +I am Paul de Vaux, of Vaux Abbey, and have forty thousand a year. I +am permitted to enter the other only as the author of an unfashionable +novel, which a few of them have thought leniently of. Which seem the +worthier conditions?" + +"I am answered, Paul. Of course, in a sense, you are right. I am +an old woman, and the twaddle of a London drawing-room would fall +strangely upon my ears now, but I had my share of it before Arthur was +born. If I were a man, I should want variety,--a little sauce,--and +you are right to seek for it. And now, won't you go and have a bath, +and change your things. You still look pale, and I think it would +refresh you. Shall I ring for Reynolds? I suppose you have not brought +your own man?" + +He stretched out his hand, and arrested her fingers upon the bell. "In +a moment, mother. It is so comfortable here, and I really think it is +my favourite room." + +He looked round approvingly. It was a curious, hexagonal chamber, with +an oak-beamed ceiling, curving into a dome. The walls were hung with +a wonderful tapestry of a soft, rich colour, and every piece of +furniture in the room was of the Louis Quinze period. There was +scarcely a single anachronism. The Martin de Vaux of forty years ago +had been an artist, and a man of taste; and when he had brought home +his bride, a duke's daughter, he had spent a small fortune on this +apartment. Since then it had always been her favourite, and she was +always glad to hear any one praise it. + +"I seldom sit in any other," she remarked complacently. "The blue +drawing-room is open to-night, but that is because Lord and Lady +Westover are dining here. I am afraid May will not be able to come; +she has a cold or something of the sort. I wonder whether it is true, +what they say, that she is delicate." + +Paul did not appear much interested. He had a purpose in lingering +here, and it had nothing to do with May Westover's health. There was +a little information he wished to obtain without exciting his mother's +curiosity. But it was not exactly an easy matter. + +"I was interested in what you said about the visitors here," +he remarked. "I daresay to Americans this place must be very +interesting." + +"You would think so if you saw some of them. They are a great deal too +inquisitive and familiar for Reynolds. He detests them. It is far more +interesting to think of that Catholic priest who was here the other +day. He lingered about the place as though he had known it all his +life, and loved it; and, Reynolds says, he prayed for two hours in the +chapel." + +"Did you see him yourself?" + +"Yes, in the distance. I did not notice him particularly. I wished +afterwards that I had. Reynolds' report of him pleased me so much. I +daresay he was conjuring up pictures of the days when the old Abbey +was full of grey-hooded monks, and the chapel was echoing day and +night to their solemn chants and prayers. Sometimes, in the gloaming, +I can almost fancy myself that I see them kneeling in long rows in +those rich stalls, and hear the rustle of their gowns as they pass +slowly down the aisles. I think he must have found it sad to linger +about in that beautiful chapel, so cold, and empty, and bare. That +is why I like Roman Catholics. They have such a strong reverential +affection for their places of worship, and take such a delight in +adorning them. It is almost like a personal love." + +Paul moved uneasily in his chair and looked steadily into the fire. +"Then you did not notice him particularly?" + +"Notice him! Notice whom?" + +"This priest, or whoever he was." + +"I did not see his face, Paul, if that is what you mean. I only +remember that he was tall. You seem very much interested in him. No +doubt Reynolds could tell you anything you wish to know. Here he is; +you had better ask him." + +A grey-headed man-servant had entered, bearing a lamp. Mrs. de Vaux +turned to him. + +"Reynolds, Mr. Paul is interested in hearing about the priest who +spent so much time looking over the Abbey yesterday. Can you describe +him?" + +Reynolds set down the lamp and turned respectfully around. "Not very +well, I'm afraid, sir," he said doubtfully. "They all seem so much +alike, you know, sir, in those long gowns. He was tall, rather thin, +and no hair on his face at all. I can't say that I noticed anything +else, except that he spoke in rather a foreign accent." + +"You are sure he was a priest, I suppose," Paul asked carelessly. "We +hear so much now of impostors, and of things being stolen from places +of interest, that it makes one feel suspicious." + +"I am quite sure he was no impostor, sir." Reynolds answered +confidently. "He was too interested in the place for that. He knew its +history better than any one who has ever been here in my day. If he +had been one of those sneaking sort of fellows, looking about for what +he could get, he would have offered me money, and tried to get rid of +me for a time, I think, sir." + +"That's true," Paul remarked. "Were you with him all the time, then?" + +"Very nearly, sir. He did not like my leaving him at all. He was +afraid of missing something worth seeing. Besides, he did not ask to +come into the house at all, not even to see the pictures. He spent all +his time in the ruins. + +"That ends the matter, of course," Paul answered shortly. "There is +nothing out there to attract pilferers. Sorry I said anything about +it." + +"He asked whether you spent much of your time here, and when you would +be down again, sir," Reynolds remarked, as he turned to quit the room. + +Paul looked up, and then stood quite still for a moment without +speaking. A great fear had fallen upon him. Out of the shadows of +the past, he seemed to see again that deathbed scene, and the tragedy +which had brought down the curtain upon two lives. Almost he could +fancy himself again upon his yacht, with the salt sea spray beating +against his face, and the white breakers hissing and seething around +him, as they made the dangerous passage towards that faint light, +which flickered and gleamed in the distant monastery tower. They are +safe! They reach the land; they are hurried into that great, gloomy +bed-chamber, where chill draughts rustled ghost-like amongst the +heavy, faded hangings, and the feeble candlelight left weird shadows +moving across the floor and upon the walls. Again he heard the +rattling of the window-panes, bare and exposed to every gust of wind; +the far-off thunder of the sea, like a deep, continuous undernote; +and, from an almost unseen corner of the chamber, the monotonous, +broken rhythm of sad prayers for the dying, mumbled by that dark, +curious-looking priest. And then, when the background of the picture +had formed itself in his memory, he saw the deed itself. He saw +the white, stricken face suddenly ablaze with that last effort of +passionate life; he saw the outstretched arm, the line of fire, and +the sudden change in the countenance of the man who stood at the foot +of the bed. He saw the cool cynicism replaced by a spasm of ghastly +fear, and he heard the low, gurgling cry dying away into a faint moan +of terror, as the murdered man sank on to the floor, a crumpled heap. +And, last of all, he saw that little brown girl, with her tumbled hair +and tear-stained face, clasping the dead body and glaring at every one +in the room, with a storm of hatred and impotent fury in her flashing +eyes. And that last recollection brought him, like a flash, back +to the present,--brought him swift, bewildering memories of Adrea, +shaking his heart, and bringing the hot colour streaming into his +face. He remembered where he was, and why he had left London. He +remembered, too, that he was not alone, and with a little start he +awoke to the present. + +Reynolds had left the room, and his mother was watching him curiously. +He found it hard to meet her steady, questioning gaze without +flinching. + +"Paul," she said slowly, "you are in trouble." + +He shook his head. "It is nothing, mother--nothing at all. I ought to +beg your pardon for letting my thoughts run away with me so." + +She was too proud to ask him for his confidence, and at that moment +the rumbling of a gong reached them from the distant hall. Mrs. de +Vaux rose:-- + +"There are a few people dining here, Paul, so you will not be late." + +"I will be down, mother. The usual time, I suppose." + +"Yes, eight o'clock." + +They left the room together, but parted in the hall. Mrs. de Vaux +stayed to speak to the housekeeper for a moment, and Paul ascended +the broad staircase alone. On the first corridor he paused, standing +before the deep-cushioned sill of a high-arched window, and gazing at +the ruined portion of the abbey. The air outside was frosty and clear, +and though the moon as yet was only faintly yellow, every arch and +cloister was clearly visible. Paul gazed down at them, as he had done +all his life, with reverent eyes. There was something almost awesome +in the graceful yet bold outline, and in the great age of those +rugged, moss-grown pillars and arches, so ecclesiastical in their +shape and suggestiveness,--as indeed they might well be, for they were +practically the ruins of the old monastery chapel. But, as he looked, +the expression in his eyes suddenly changed. A dark figure had passed +slowly out from the shadow of the arches, and stood looking up towards +the house, rigid, solemn, and motionless. Paul covered his face with +his hands, and sank down upon the cushioned window-sill. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +"AN ASHEN GREY DELIGHT" + + +"Mr. de Vaux!" + +Paul turned quickly around in his saddle towards the young lady who +had addressed him. He looked into a fair, thoughtful face, whose +general amiability was discounted, just then, by a decided frown. + +"I beg your pardon, Lady May! Didn't you say something just now?" + +"Didn't I say something just now!" she repeated, with fine scorn. +"Upon my word, Mr. de Vaux, I think that you must have left your wits +in London! What is the matter with you?" + +"The matter! Why, nothing! I'm sorry----" + +"Oh! pray don't apologise!" she interrupted hastily. "I think I'll +ride on and catch papa up." + +He laid his hand upon her rein. "Please don't, Lady May," he begged. +"I know I've been inattentive! I'm very sorry--really I am. Let me try +and make up for it!" + +She looked into his face, and she was mollified. He was evidently in +earnest. + +"Oh! very well," she said. "You mustn't think that I complained +without due cause, though, for I spoke to you three times before you +answered me. Oh, it's all right," she went on, as he commenced to +frame another apology. "I don't mind now, but I really should like to +know what is the matter with you. You have ridden all day like a man +who valued neither his own life nor his horse's. Some of your jumps +were simply reckless! I have heard other people say so, too! I like +bold riding, but there is a limit; and though I've ridden two hounds +since papa gave me my first pony, I've never seen any one try to jump +Annisforth brook below the bridge, before,--and don't want to again," +she added, with a little shudder. "I know you ride fine horses, but +you are not generally foolhardy. I saw your dark bay mare being taken +home at Colbourne Spinneys, and I don't think she'll be fit to ride +again this season. Old Harrison had tears in his eyes when he saw +her!" + +"Harrison is an old woman about horses! I never touched Meg with the +spurs. She was as fresh as paint, and there was no holding her." + +"You can't deceive me or yourself," Lady May continued calmly. "You +have been riding for a fall, all day, and you may think yourself +pretty fortunate that you haven't a broken neck. It seemed as though +you were trying for one. And now that you haven't succeeded, you have +nearly ridden ten miles alone with me, and scarcely opened your mouth. +You are very provoking, Mr. de Vaux. I wish I had ridden home with +Captain Fellowes." + +He was on the point of reminding her that the arrangement had not been +of his making, but he checked himself. After all, Lady May had some +grounds for her irritation. They had been friends since they had been +children, and Paul knew that every one expected him, someday, to ask +Lady May to become the mistress of Vaux Abbey. There had been a little +more than intimacy even in their friendship up till twelve months ago; +and Paul had certain recollections of their last interview, which had +made him more than once a trifle uneasy. As a matter of fact, Lady May +had quite made up her mind that Paul de Vaux would certainly ask her +to marry him some time; and she had, on his account, refused two very +eligible offers. Their people desired it, and, in her heart, Lady May +was conscious that Paul was a little more to her than any other man +could be. So she felt herself at first, aggrieved by his long silence +during their ride home, which, to tell the truth, she had carefully +planned for, and afterwards was just on the verge of being seriously +offended. + +"Don't be angry with me, please," he said quietly. "You are right; +something is the matter. I am worried." + +She was sympathetic and kindly at once. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive +me for bothering you. You used to tell me your troubles once! Are we +too old now?" + +He shook his head. "I hope we never shall be," he said. "I can't tell +you all, but one thing is this. I had a letter from a man in town +to-day--a man whom I can trust--about Arthur. You know what an +impressionable, sensitive boy he is. Anyone who once obtains an +influence over him can do nearly what they like with him. He seems--so +my correspondent tells me--to have become completely fascinated with +a--a--dancer--Adrea Kiros I think she calls herself." + +"I have heard of her," Lady May murmured. "She dances only at private +houses, I think. Everyone says she is wonderful." + +"She is--wonderful," Paul said slowly. He was about to say more, but +he checked himself. Lady May was watching him, and he knew that he +could not speak of Adrea Kiros unmoved. So he went on:-- + +"I am not complaining, for after all it is perfectly natural, but +Arthur is certainly his mother's favorite son. You know how strict she +is in some of her notions; so you can understand what a shock it would +be to her if any rumors were to reach her ears. It would be a terrible +blow to her. But, apart from that, the thing is serious in itself. +Arthur was always delicate, and Cis--my friend--speaks of him as +looking ghastly ill. The girl is probably only amusing herself, +although she seems to have given him plenty of encouragement. But I +know Ad--Adrea Kiros. She is no ordinary girl of her class. In the +whole world I doubt if there breathes a more dangerous woman," he +wound up, in a low tone. + +Lady May was quite sympathetic now, but a little mystified. "I am so +sorry," she said softly. "Ought you not to go to London, and try what +your influence can do with him? That is disinterested advice, at any +rate," she added, with a little laugh, "for I don't want you to go. +But Arthur always seemed to look up to you so! You might be able to +get him away. Don't you think it would be a good thing if you could +get him down here? We would make it as lively as possible for him up +at the Castle; and, I don't know how your preserves are, but ours +have been scarcely touched yet. Between the two of us, at any rate, he +could have as much shooting as he liked. And I would ask the Fergusson +girls to come and stay," she went on, getting more and more in love +with her plan. "He was so much taken with Amy, you know, when they +were down here before. We could get up some theatricals, or something, +and have quite a good time. What do you think of my plan?" + +He was thankful for her long speech, for it had enabled him to get +over the slight agitation which the thought of that unavoidable +journey to London had called up in him. From the first he had felt +that it was his duty to go. He had received this disquieting letter +two days ago, and since then he had telegraphed twice and written to +Arthur without getting any reply. Yes, he must go. And mingled with +that reluctance and nameless apprehension which he felt at the thought +of returning into her neighbourhood, he was acutely conscious, all the +time, of a certain vague but sweet pleasure at the thought that fate +had so ordained it. Perhaps it would be necessary for him to see +her! A thrill of pleasure passed through him at the thought, followed +almost immediately by a reaction of keen and bitter disgust with +himself. He set his teeth, and quite unconsciously dug his spurs into +his horse's sides, with the natural result that she reared up, almost +unseating him, and then plunged forward. He had to gallop her along +the road for a few hundred yards, and then turned round and rejoined +Lady May. Fortunately she had not seen the commencement of the little +episode. + +"Whatever was the matter?" she asked. + +"I fancy my spurs must have pricked her," he said apologetically. "I +was riding quite carelessly." + +"Well, please don't let it happen again," she begged, eyeing his +mare's flanks suspiciously. "Dandy is very tired now, and is generally +good tempered; but I don't think he would stand much of that sort of +thing." + +"I'm really very sorry," he said. + +She nodded. "All right. And now, what do you think of my plan? Are you +going to London?" + +"I think your plan is a very good one indeed, and I shall run up +to town to-morrow," he said. "It is very good of you to be so +interested." + +He looked down into her face, a fair, sweet face it was, and then +glanced away over the bare moorland which stretched on one side of +them. It was a late November afternoon, and a faint yellow light +was lingering in the west, where the sun had just set, colouring the +clouds which stretched across the sky in long, level streaks. A fresh, +healthy breeze, strong with the perfume of the sea, blew in their +teeth, and afar off they could hear the waves dashing against the +iron-bound line of northern cliffs. Inland, the country was more +cultivated, but hilly and broken up with masses of lichen-covered +rock, and little clumps of thin fir trees. He knew the scenery so +well. The rugged, barren country, with its great stretches of moorland +and little patches of cultivated land, with its silent tarns, its +desolation, and the ever-varying music of the sea, they all meant home +to him, and he loved them. It had always been so, and yet he felt it +at that moment as he had never felt it before. The prospect of that +journey to London was suddenly loathsome to him. The clear, physical +healthfulness of his North-country home was triumphant, for the +moment, over that other passion, which seemed to him then weak and +artificial. It seemed to him also, looking down into Lady May's +fresh, thoughtful face, that she was somehow in accord with these +surroundings,--that she was, indeed, the link, the safeguard which +should bind him to them, the good influence which should keep him fit +to breathe God's pure air, and to keep himself, as he had ever striven +to, _sans peur et sans reproche_. Paul was no sentimentalist, in the +idle and common sense of the word. In his attitude to every-day +life, he was essentially practical, sometimes perhaps a little too +practical. But he was capable of strong feeling, and it came then with +a rush. He leant over towards Lady May, and laid his hand upon her +saddle. + +"You are very kind and sympathetic," he said softly. "You are always +kind." + +She looked up at him, pleased, and with a soft look in her deep grey +eyes. "You do not give me very much opportunity," she said quietly. +"At one time you used to tell me all your troubles; do you remember?" + +"Yes! I remember," he answered, almost in a whisper, for they were +riding up a grass-grown avenue,--a back way to the Abbey,--and their +horses' hoofs sank noiselessly into the soft turf. "Sometimes I have +dared to hope that those days may come again." + +She was silent, and her head was turned away lest he might see the +tears trembling in her eyes. So they rode on for a moment or two, +walking their horses in the dim twilight; she in the shadow of the +grey wall and the overhanging trees, and he very close to her, with +his hand still upon her saddle and his reins loose in his hand. + +"If ever they did, if ever I was so fortunate," he went on in a low +tone, "you would find your office no sinecure. I have troubles, or +rather, one trouble, and a great one, May." + +She looked at him for a moment, her eyes full of sympathy. She dimly +remembered the time when strange stories were current in the county of +Martin de Vaux, and their echo had remained for years. It was not for +her to inquire about them, and she never had done so. But that their +burden should have fallen upon Paul; it was hard! Her heart was sore +with the injustice of it. A woman is a swift and censorious judge of +any one who brings trouble upon the man she loves. + +He was a little closer to her still; and suddenly the hand which +carried her small whip felt itself grasped in strong fingers and held +tightly. + +"May----" + +It was not his fault this time that his mare stood still, and then ran +backwards, dislodging the topmost stones from the grey stone wall with +her hind quarters, and then plunging violently. This time there was +cause for her alarm. A tall, forbidding-looking figure stood in the +middle of the avenue, grasping the rein of Lady May's terrified horse. +He had come out of the twilight so suddenly, and his attire was +so unusual, that Paul and Lady May were almost as surprised as the +animals. Paul's first instinct was one of anger. + +"What the----" + +He stopped short. The man who had startled them so had quieted Lady +May's horse with a few soothing words, and now stood out of the deep +shade of the overhanging trees into the centre of the avenue. Even +here his face was scarcely visible, but his figure and attire were +sufficient. He wore the long robes and shovel hat of a Roman Catholic +priest. + +Paul broke off in the middle of his exclamation, and the arm which had +been grasping his whip tightly sank nervelessly to his side. He was +thankful for the twilight, which concealed the grey shade which had +stolen into his face. Yet now that the blow had fallen, he was calmer +than he had been in some of his anticipations of it. For it had +indeed fallen! In the dusky twilight he had recognised the face of the +priest, changed though it was. He rode up, and addressed him. + +"Have you lost your way?" he asked quietly. "This is a private road, +and the gate at the other end is locked." + +The priest looked at him steadily for a moment, and then drew on one +side, as though to let them pass. + +"I am sorry that I startled your horses," he said, in a soft, pleasant +voice, marked with a strong foreign accent; "I was standing with my +back to you, waiting for the moon to rise behind the ruins there, +and the soft ground made your approach noiseless. And, if I am +trespassing, I am sorry. The steward at the Abbey yonder gave me +permission to wander anywhere around the ruins. I have perhaps +exceeded a little his bounds." + +"It is of no consequence," Paul said. "You find the ruins interesting, +then?" + +"Very." + +"There are some pictures in the Abbey you might care to see--mostly +modern, but there is a Rubens and two Giorgiones." + +The priest removed his hat. "I thank you, but I am only interested in +ecclesiastical art. These ruins are more to me than any pictures--save +those which Rome alone possesses," he added. "I spend all my evenings +here, and hope to be allowed to, for the short time that I remain in +the neighbourhood." + +"You have my permission to come and go as you please. I am Mr. de +Vaux," Paul said, touching his horse with the whip. "Good-evening!" + +"Good-evening, sir! Good-evening, madam! I thank you!" + +They rode on down the avenue, Paul silent and absorbed, and making no +attempt to pursue the conversation. At the bend of the lane he turned +round in his saddle. The priest was standing with his back to them, +motionless and silent as a figure of stone. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"WHO ARE YOU, AND WHAT YOUR MISSION?" + + +The winter moon, soft and bright and full, looked down upon the +ruins of Vaux Abbey. A strange beauty lay upon the bare, rock-strewn +hillside and desolate moor. Afar off a grey, brawling stream was +touched by its light, and in its place a band of gold seemed coiled +around the grey, sleeping hill. A black, reed-grown tarn at the foot +of the Abbey gleamed and quivered like a fair silver shield. The dark +pines which crowned their sandy slopes lost their forbidding frown in +an unaccustomed softness, and every harsh line and broken pillar of +the ruined chapel was toned down into a rich, sad softness. A human +face, too, uplifted to the sky, so silent and motionless that it +seemed almost set into the side of one of those groined arches, had +lost all its harshness and worldliness in the glow of that falling +light. It might have been the face of a saint, save for the vague +unhappiness which shone in the clear, dark eyes; for at that moment, +spirituality, wistfulness, and reverence seemed carved into the white, +still features. But there was disquiet, too; and, after a while, as +though some cloud had passed across the moon, a dark shade stole into +the white face. The brows were contracted into a frown, and the eyes +filled with restless doubt. Father Adrian moved away from the shadow +of the pillar, and stood, tall and motionless, on the ruined chapel +floor, with his eyes fixed upon the distant landscape. After a moment +or two, his lips began to move and he commenced to speak aloud in a +low, deep tone. + +"Six nights has my voice gone up to God from amongst these silent +ruins, six nights I have prayed in rain. These fair, still evenings +mock me! Whose is their beauty, if it be not God's; and, if there be a +God, and if the Blessed Virgin, our Holy Mother, indeed dwells amongst +the stars, why are their faces turned from me? Oh! that man knew a +little more or a little less--enough to pierce the mystery of yon +star-crowned heavens, or so little as to gaze on them unmoved and +unfeeling! What is our little knowledge? A mockery, a dreary, hopeless +mockery! I had better have rotted in that miserable monastery, a +soulless, lifeless being, than have stepped out to struggle with a +world which is only a terrible riddle to me. I cannot reason with it; +I cannot laugh or weep with it; I am in it, but not of it! Why was I +sent? Oh I why was I sent?" + +The snapping of a twig caused him to turn suddenly round. Paul de Vaux +was advancing through the ruins, with a loose cloak thrown over his +evening clothes. + +Father Adrian turned round to meet him. The two men stood for a moment +face to face without speaking. Both recognised that this interview +was to be no ordinary one; and in a certain sense, each seemed to be +measuring the other's strength. It was Paul who spoke first. + +"We have met before, Father Adrian." + +"Yes." + +"You will scarcely wonder that I am surprised to see you here in +England. Have you left the monastery at Cruta?" + +"I left it a month after you did." + +"But your vows,--were they not for life?" Paul asked. + +Father Adrian smiled scornfully. "I was not bound to Cruta," he +answered. "There had been complaints, and I was there to investigate +them. The monastery was poverty and disease-stricken. It is closed now +forever." + +"Then you are no monk?" + +Father Adrian shook his head. "I am, and I am not. In my youth I +served my novitiate, but I never took the oaths. The cloisters are for +holier men than I." + +"Then who are you?" + +"I am--Father Adrian, priest of the Roman Catholic Church, I can tell +you no more." + +The moonlight was falling full upon his dark, striking face. Paul, +with bent brows, scanned every feature of it intently. Father Adrian +bore the scrutiny without flinching and without discomposure. Only +once the colour mounted a little into his cheeks as the eyes of the +two men met. + +"What brings you to Vaux Abbey, Father Adrian?" Paul asked at length. + +"To see your home," was the quiet reply. + +"What do you want with me? It must be something more than curiosity +which has brought you all this way. What is it?" + +Father Adrian was silent. Yet his silence was not one of confusion. +He was looking down through the gaps in the ruined chapel walls at the +dark Gothic front of the old Abbey. Paul waited for an answer, and it +came at last. + +"I wished to see the home of Martin de Vaux, the Englishman who died +in my arms at the monastery of Cruta. For six nights I have prayed +for his soul in Purgatory, amongst the ruins here. He died in grievous +sin!" + +"Have you come to remind me of it?" Paul asked bitterly. "Perhaps +you have repented of your silence, and have come to break the widow's +heart by telling her the story of his last moments. Perhaps--perhaps +in those dark hours he told you his secret--told you why he had come +to Cruta!" + +"He did," said the priest gravely. + +"My God!" + +It was a great shock to Paul. Hitherto he had feared only one thing: +that the story of his father's tragical death might come to light, and +break his mother's heart. Now there was more to fear,--far more. He +looked into Father Adrian's face with a new and keener interest. He +recognised at once that everything dear to him in life might be at +this man's mercy. + +"You were intrusted with this secret by a dying man," Paul said, with +a little hoarseness in his tone. "It is to you as the secrets of the +confessional!" + +The priest shook his head gently. "He refused to confess. He told me +distinctly that it was as man to man he spoke to me." + +Paul looked away into the night with white, stricken face, and cursed +his father's weakness. Supposing that this priest had discovered +that his conscience would not allow him to keep the secret! What +more likely! Why else was he here,--why else did he disclaim the +confessional? There was only one other alternative! Perhaps he desired +to trade upon his secret. Yet how was that possible? Of what use could +money be to him? What could he gain by it? Besides, his was not the +face of an adventurer. + +"I do not understand," Paul said at last. "Once more let me ask you, +Father Adrian, why are you here?" + +Father Adrian looked thoughtfully away. "You ask more than I can +tell you," he said gravely. "The time has not yet come. We shall meet +again. Farewell!" + +The priest turned away, but Paul laid his hand on his shoulder. + +"If there is anything which you ought or mean to tell me, tell me +now," he demanded hoarsely. "I can bear everything but suspense. I +know only--that there was a secret. No more. Proceed! Tell me more!" + +The priest shook his robe free from Paul's restraining hand, and +turned away. + +"Not yet! Not yet! My mind is not yet clear. We shall meet again. +Farewell!" + +"But----" + +"Farewell!" + +The priest had passed from the ruins, and was already out of sight in +the gathering darkness. + +"Come back, Father Adrian! One word more!" + +"Farewell!" + +The priest did not turn his head. Paul was left alone, gazing after +him with stern, troubled face and anxious heart. It was a danger which +he had always foreseen, always dreaded. Henceforth he must live like +a man who paces, day by day, the brink of a volcano. At any moment the +blow might fall. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +"I AM WEARY OF A HOPELESS LOVE" + + +Paul and Arthur shared a bachelor residence in Mayfair; shared it, +that is to say, insomuch as Paul had purchased it, and was the sole +proprietor, and Arthur used it whenever he could get leave from his +regiment. It was here Paul found his brother on the morning of his +arrival in London. + +They shook hands in silence; Paul did not wish to say anything for a +moment. His brother's appearance had choked him. It was one o'clock, +but he was still in his dressing-gown; with sunken, pale cheeks, save +for one bright spot, and with faint, dark rims underneath his eyes. +There were a pile of blue papers and some ominous-looking envelopes +on the table before him, and Paul could not help noticing the intense +pallor of the hand which rested upon them. + +"I wish you would let a fellow know what time you were coming," Arthur +said, rather peevishly, but with an attempt at a smile. "I didn't +expect you till evening, so I was having a shack before dressing. I +was late last night!" + +Paul banished his gravity, as far as possible, and stood with his +hands in his pockets, leaning against the mantel-piece. He heartily +disliked the part of mentor, and he did not wish to play it, unless he +were obliged. + +"It was beastly early to get up," he said, "but the connection at +Normanton is so much better. One has to wait two hours by the late +train, and Normanton is such a hole. I don't know that I should have +come up to town at all, just yet," he continued after a slight pause, +"only that I'm on the committee at the club this term, you know, and I +haven't attended a single meeting yet. Besides, I promised Westover +to put him up this time, and the half-yearly meeting's to-morrow, you +know. Got any engagement? If not, you might dine with me there. Always +a full night election time, you know!" + +"Beastly sorry! but my leave's up to night," Arthur answered ruefully. +"I shall have to go down to Aldershot by the four o'clock train, and +do a week's close grind." + +Paul nodded. "I'm sorry; I'd have liked you to run down home with me +for a few days, and see the mater. The Westovers have some very nice +people coming to the Castle, and are going to get up some theatricals. +Lady May says they must have you! Will you come in a week, if I work +the Colonel?" + +"I'm afraid I can't," Arthur answered, with a slight flush in his +cheeks. "I have some engagements for next week, and--and--I'm sure I +can't manage it." + +"The mater'll be disappointed," Paul said quietly. "She is counting on +seeing you, and it's some time since you were down, isn't it? Tell you +what, old man! I'd try and manage it, if I were you!" + +"I can't promise! I will, if I can manage it! I'll write you from +Aldershot!" + +"You don't look quite the thing," Paul said kindly. "Nothing the +matter, is there?" + +"Nothing at all," Arthur assured him hastily. "I'm quite well. A bit +of a head, that's all." + +"Not too many of those bits of paper about, eh?" Paul asked, pointing +to an oblong strip of blue paper which lay, face uppermost, on the +table. + +Arthur coloured, and threw a book over it. + +"I am sorry I saw it," Paul went on; "but it was there to be seen, +wasn't it?" + +"Oh, yes! that's all right! I oughtn't to have left it about, that's +all. I'm not exactly a Croesus, like you, you know, Paul, and now +and then I'm obliged to raise the wind somehow. Yes! I know what +you're going to say. My allowance is a good one, and I ought to make +it do. But, you see, sometimes I can't." + +"I hope you won't mind my asking, Arthur, but is that an acceptance of +your own?" + +Arthur nodded. "There are a few accounts which I must pay," he said. +"So I'm going to ask Plimsoll to do it for me. He's a decent fellow of +his sort, you know! Lots of fellows go to him!" + +Paul stretched out his hand. "Give it to me," he said, "and I will +discount it for you. Thanks!" + +Paul took it, and, just glancing at the amount, threw it into the +fire. "I haven't my cheque book here," he said, "but we will call at +the bank on our way to the club, and I can get the money. I'm glad I +saw it!" + +"It's awfully good of you," Arthur said hesitatingly. "I shouldn't +have thought of asking you. I must owe you an awful lot already." + +"Never mind what you owe me! I'll write it all off, Arthur, and this +last amount too, if you'll do me a favour. Come down home with me next +week, as soon as you can get leave." + +Arthur rose to his feet, and then, leaning against the mantel-board, +buried his face in his hands. "I can't leave London, Paul!--or, if +I did, it could only be for a day," he said in a low tone. "I wish I +could tell you why, but I can't; you wouldn't understand!" + +"I think I know," Paul said quietly. "There is some one whom you do +not care to leave! Is that not it?" + +Arthur looked up quickly. His face was very white, and his lip was +quivering. + +"Who told you that? What do you know?" + +"I know nothing! I want you to tell me. Perhaps I could help you. +There is a--lady in the case, isn't there?" + +Arthur stood up on the hearthrug, and spoke, with a subdued passion +trembling in his tone. + +"Yes! it's Adrea Kiros, the dancer! I daresay you've heard all about +it! I don't see why you shouldn't! I can't leave her! I know all that +you would say! It doesn't make any difference. She isn't good! Well! +I know it! She doesn't care for me! I don't believe she does. She's +as cruel as a woman can be. Sometimes, when I am away from her, the +thought of going back makes me shudder; and yet, I could no more keep +away than lift the roof from this house. Of course, this sounds like +rigmarole to you. You think I'm raving! I don't blame you. Only it is +so, and I can't help it! I am as much a prisoner as any poor devil in +Newgate." + +Paul laid his hand upon his brother's shoulder, and looked kindly into +his face. "Arthur, I'm very sorry! And don't think I don't understand! +I do! I do not know much of A--of Adrea Kiros, but I know enough +to tell me that she is a very dangerous woman. Can't I help you, +somehow?" + +"I--I don't think you can! I don't think any one can," Arthur +exclaimed unsteadily. He had been prepared for a lecture, for good +advice, for a little contempt even; but his brother's attitude was +unexpected, and it almost unnerved him. "It is the uncertainty of it +all that is so tormenting," he went on. "Sometimes she is so kind, +and sweet, and thoughtful, that I could almost worship her. And then, +without any cause, she will suddenly become cold, and hard, and cruel, +till I hate myself for bearing quietly all that she says. But I do! I +can't help it! I am never quite happy even when she is in one of her +sweetest moods, for I never know how long it will last. The moment I +leave her I begin to get anxious, and wonder how she will be the next +day." + +"Try what a change will do, Arthur!" his brother begged. + +Arthur shook his head. "It's no use; I've tried! If I went away I +should only be miserable, and hurry back by the first train. Oh, if +only I could make you understand!" he cried, with a little passionate +gesture, which gained pathos and almost dignity from the expression on +his white, sorrowing face. "Adrea is as necessary to me as the air we +breathe! The sun has no light, and the day no ending, till I have seen +her! She is the measure of all things to me: joy, grief, happiness, +misery, it is her hand that deals them out to me! She can play upon +the chords of my being as she chooses. A look or word from her can +pull me down into hell, or transport me into a seventh heaven! Who +gave her this power, I cannot tell! But she has it! she has it!" + +Paul said no more. Perhaps he recognised that, for the present at +any rate, it was useless. He walked up and down the room for a few +minutes, in sympathetic silence. When he spoke again he made no +reference to the subject, but Arthur understood. "Get your things on, +and come out to lunch with me," he said pleasantly. "I am too hungry +to be sympathetic, and we can call at Coutts' on the way." + +Arthur nodded and disappeared. Paul took his chair for a while, and, +as he sat there gazing into the fire, his face grew grey and haggard. +Was Adrea Kiros seeking vengeance on the son of her father's murderer? +he wondered. If so, it seemed as though she were indeed succeeding. +How could he save Arthur? and what would happen if those rumours +should reach his mother's ears, as some day they certainly would? At +any rate, he would see Adrea himself before he left London. He had +made up his mind that, if Arthur refused to listen to him, that should +be his course. + +Things somehow seemed brighter when they walked down to the club +together. Dress makes so much difference to a man, and Arthur, spruce +and _debonair_, with a gardenia in his button-hole, and every part +of his attire almost "faultily faultless," according to the canons +of London fashion, presented a very different appearance to the +tragical-looking personage of half an hour ago. There was a slight air +of subdued feverishness about him, though, not altogether healthy, and +the dark rims had not quite vanished from underneath his eyes. + +"Paul, I wonder whether you will do something for me?" he asked, as +they were crossing Pickadilly. "I hate asking you!" + +"I'll try," Paul answered. "What is it?" + +"I don't believe you'll like it, but--the fact is, Adrea wants you to +go and see her. I promised that I would do my best to get you to call +with me this afternoon. If you don't mind, I wish you would," he added +wistfully. + +"I will go with you certainly, if you wish it," Paul answered, not too +cordially, for he did not wish his brother to know that it was what +he had already planned to do. "Did she tell you that we had already a +slight acquaintance?" + +"Yes! You rode home in a cab together from Lady Swindon's, didn't you? +There was only one, and it was raining, so you shared it. Adrea told +me that." + +Paul nodded. He meant, after he had seen Adrea, to consider whether +it would not be best to tell his brother everything. But, for the +present, her story was enough. They turned into Pall Mall, and, almost +immediately, Arthur's hat was in his hand, and he was on the edge of +the pavement, colouring with pleasure. A small victoria had pulled up +by the side, and Paul found himself face to face with Adrea. + +She was muffled up in rich brown furs, and almost invisible, but her +dark eyes flashed into his from underneath her thick veil. After the +first greeting she scarcely noticed Arthur; it was Paul upon whom her +eyes were bent. + +"You are in London again, then, Mr. de Vaux," she remarked. "Have you +discovered that, after all, the country is a little _triste_ in this +land of damp and fogs--the country in November, I mean--or is it only +important business which has brought you up!" + +"The latter," he answered, "as it happens. I am glad to see that the +damp and fogs which you complain of have not affected your health." + +"I am quite well, thanks," she answered. "How long are you staying in +town?" + +"For less than a week, I think." + +"Well, it is too cold to talk here. Will you come and let me give you +some tea this afternoon, after the fashion of you strange islanders? I +want you to, please." + +Paul looked her straight in the face. "You are very kind; I shall be +glad to," he answered. + +She nodded. "About five o'clock. I go to sleep till then. Shall you +come, Arthur?" she added carelessly. + +"I cannot, so late as that," he answered despondently. + +"Ah, I forgot. You are going down to Aldershot, aren't you? Don't +overwork yourself." + +She nodded, and the carriage drove on. Arthur watched it until it +was out of sight. "She might have said a little earlier," he remarked +despondently. "She knew I couldn't come so late as that." + +Paul passed his arm through his brother's and was silent. He knew very +well that Adrea had thought of this when she had made the arrangement. + +They lunched together, and Paul did his utmost to make the time +pass pleasantly for his brother. When they parted, too, late in the +afternoon, he referred once more to Mrs. de Vaux's desire that he +should come down to the Abbey for a few days. + +"I want you to think of it seriously, Arthur," he said, as they shook +hands through the carriage window. "The mother is very anxious to have +you, and I am sure we can make things pleasant for you. I shall speak +to Drummond about leave if I see him to-morrow." + +Arthur assented dubiously, and without any enthusiasm. + +"Awfully good of you to want me," he remarked. "I daresay I'll be able +to come. I'll try, anyhow--just for a day or two." + +The train steamed off, and Paul walked slowly back to his carriage. + +"Where to, sir?" the man asked. + +Paul hesitated for a moment. Then he gave Adrea's address, and was +driven away. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +"AH! HOW FAIR MY WEAKNESS FINDS THEE" + + +Paul found no one in the hall of the house where Adrea lived to take +him to her, so after waiting a few minutes for her maid, whom the +porter had twice fruitlessly summoned, he ascended the stairs alone, +and knocked at the door of her rooms. + +At first there was no reply. He tried again a little louder, and this +time there was a sound of some one stirring within. + +"Come in, Celeste," was the drowsy answer. + +He turned the handle and walked in, carefully closing the door behind +him. At first the room appeared to be in semi-darkness, for a clear +spring day's sunshine was brightening the streets which he had just +left, and here the heavy curtains were closely drawn, as though +to keep out every vestige of daylight. But gradually his eyes grew +accustomed to the shaded twilight and he could make out the familiar +objects of the room; for although it was only his second visit, they +were familiar already in his thoughts. + +Strangely enough it seemed to him, after his first hasty glance +around, that the room was empty; but just then a sudden gleam from +the bright fire fell upon Adrea's hair, and he saw her. He stood for a +moment silent and motionless. She was curled up on a huge divan +drawn close to the fireplace, with her limbs doubled under her like a +panther's, and her arms, from which the loose sleeves had fallen back, +clasped half-bare underneath her head. The peculiar grace of movement +and carriage, which had made her dancing so famous, was even more +striking in repose, for there was a faint, insidious suggestion of +voluptuous movement in those motionless, crouching limbs, and the +_abandon_ of the shapely, dusky head, with its crown of dark, wavy +hair thrown back amongst the cushions. It was beauty of a strange +sort, the beauty almost of some wild animal; but Paul felt a most +unwilling admiration steal through his senses as he gazed down upon +her. Her tea-gown, a wonderful shade of shimmering green, tumbled and +disarranged out of all similitude to its original shape, followed the +soft perfections of her outline with such peculiar faithfulness that +it seemed to suggest even more than it concealed, leaving the gentle +tracery of her figure outlined there like a piece of living Greek +statuary. She turned slightly upon the couch, and a slipperless little +foot stole out from a sea of lace and white draperies which her uneasy +movement had left exposed, and swayed slowly backwards and forwards, +trying to reach the ground. Her eyes were still closed, but she was +not sleeping, for in a moment or two she spoke in a low, drowsy tone. + +"Celeste, I told you not to disturb me for an hour. It isn't five +o'clock yet, is it?" + +He roused himself, and moved a step further into the room. "It is +still a quarter to five, I think," he said. "I have come before my +time." + +She opened her eyes, and then, seeing him, sprang into a sitting +posture. Her hair, which had escaped all bounds, was down to her +shoulders, and her gown, still further disarranged by her hasty +movement, floated around her in wonderful curves and angles. Had she +been a past mistress in the art of picturesque effects she could have +conceived nothing more striking. Paul felt all the old fear upon him +as he watched the firelight gleaming upon her startled, dusky face, +and the faint pink colouring, wonderfully suggestive of a blush, steal +into her cheeks. It seemed to him that she was as beautiful as a woman +could be, and yet so different from Lady May. + +She rose, and, with a shrug of the shoulders and a quick, graceful +movement, shook out her skirts, and pushed the hair back from her +face. Then she held out her hand, and Paul found himself compelled, +against his will, to stand by her side. + +"How strange that I should have overslept like this, and have taken +you for Celeste!" she said. "Yet perhaps it was natural; for, Monsieur +Paul, save Celeste, no one yet has permission to enter my chamber +unannounced. How comes it that I find you here to laugh at my +_deshabille_?" + +He was silent for a moment, while she looked at him questioningly. +Her soft, delicate voice, with its very slight but piquant foreign +intonation, had often sounded in his reluctant yet charmed ears since +their last meeting; but now that he heard it again he felt how weak +were his imaginings, and what sweet music it indeed was. + +"I am sorry," he answered; and the constraint which he was placing +upon his voice made it sound hard and cold. "The porter rang for your +maid twice whilst I waited in the hall; but as she did not come, I +thought I had better try and find the way myself." + +"And I mistook your knock for Celeste's, and let you discover me +_comme cela_. Well, you were not to blame. See, I will just arrange my +hair here, and you need not look at me unless you like." + +She stood up in front of a mirror, over which she lighted a shaded +candle, and for a moment or two her white hands flashed deftly in and +out amongst the dark, silky coils of disordered hair. Paul sat down, +and taking up a magazine which he found lying on the divan, tried to +concentrate his thoughts upon its contents. But he could not. Every +moment he found his eyes and his thoughts straying to that slim, lithe +figure, watching the play of her arms and the grace of her backward +pose. When she looked suddenly round, on the completion of her task, +their eyes met. + +"Monsieur Paul, you are like all your sex--curious," she said lightly. +"Tell me, then, do you admire my coiffure?" + +"Very much," he answered, glancing at the loose Grecian knot into +which she had gathered her disordered hair, and confined it with a +band of dull gold. "It is quite oriental, and it seems to suit you. +Not that I am any judge of such matters," he added quickly. + +She moved away with a little, low laugh, and lit two or three more of +the shaded candles or fairy lamps which were placed here and there on +brackets round the room. Then she rang the bell, and gave some orders +to the maid. + +"So you think my hair looks oriental," she said, sinking down upon a +huge cushion in front of the fire. "That is what the papers call me +sometimes--oriental. My early associations asserting themselves, you +see. I think I remember more of Constantinople than any place," she +went on dreamily, with her eyes fixed on the fire. "I was only a child +in those days, but it seemed to me then that nothing could be more +beautiful than the City of Mosques and the Golden Horn on a clear +summer evening. Why do I think of those days?" she added, shaking her +head impatiently. "Such folly! And yet I always think of them when I +am lonely." + +He was suddenly and deeply moved with altogether a new feeling towards +her--one of responsibility. She was alone in the world, and it was his +father's hand which had rendered her so. How empty and barren had been +his conception of the burden which that deed had laid upon him! Like a +flash he seemed to see the whole situation in a new light. If, indeed, +she had drifted into ruin, the sin lay at his door. He should have +found her a mother; it should have been his care to have watched her +continually, and to have assured himself that she was contented and +happy. In those few moments the whole situation seemed to change, and +he even felt a hot flush of shame at his own coldness towards her. He +forgot the dancer, the woman of strange fascinations, the idol of the +_jeunesse dorée_ of West London clubdom, and he remembered only the +fact that she was a lonely orphan with a most womanly light in her +soft, dark eyes, and that he had failed in his duty towards her. +Paul was essentially a "manly" man, self-contained, and with all +his feelings very much at his control; but at that moment he felt +something like a rush of tenderness towards this strange, dark-eyed +girl who lay coiled up at his feet. Involuntarily he stretched out his +hand and laid it, with an almost caressing gesture, upon her hair. + +She started around, as though electrified, and looking up saw the +change in his face. It was the first kindly look or speech she had +had from him since they had met in London, and it had come so suddenly +that it seemed to have a strange effect upon her. A deep flush stole +into her face, and her eyes gleamed brilliantly. She drew a long +breath, and underneath her loose gown he could see her bosom rising +and falling quickly. Yet it all seemed so softened and womanly that +the thoughts which he had once had of her seemed like a distant +nightmare to him. The ethical and physical horror of her being--of her +ever becoming--what he feared, rose up strong within him, and deepened +at once his sense of responsibility towards her, and his new-born +tenderness. He took her hand gently, and was startled to find how cold +it was. + +"So you do feel lonely, Adrea, sometimes," he said softly, "although +you have so many acquaintances." + +The colour burned deeper for a moment in her cheeks. She looked at him +half reproachfully, half indignantly. + +"Acquaintances! You mean the people who come to see me! I hate them +all! Sometimes they amuse me a little, but that is all. They are +nothing!" + +"And you have no women friends?" + +"None! How should I! But I do not care. I do not like English-women!" + +"But, Adrea, it is not good for you,--this isolation from your sex." + +At the sound of her Christian name, coming from his lips so gently, +almost affectionately, she looked up quickly. It seemed to him +almost as though some softening change had crept over her. Was it the +firelight, he wondered, or was it fancy? + +"Good for me!" she said softly. "Have you just thought of that, +Monsieur Paul?" + +Again he felt that pang of conscience; and yet, was she not a little +unjust to him? + +"You took your life into your own hands," he reminded her. "You chose +for yourself." + +"Yes, yes!" she answered, drawing a little nearer to him, till her +head almost rested upon his knees. "I do not blame you." + +"It would have been so easy before to have found a home for you," he +went on, "and now you have made it so difficult." + +"There is no need," she interrupted proudly; "I could keep myself now. +I do not want anything from you, Monsieur Paul,--save one thing!" + +She raised her face to his, and it seemed to him to be all aglow with +a wonderful, new light. There was no mistaking the soft entreaty of +those strange, dark eyes so close to his, or the tremor in his tones. +And then, before he could answer her, before he could summon up +resolution enough to draw away, she had stolen softly into his arms, +and, with a little murmur of content, had rested her small, dusky +head, with its coronet of dark, braided hair, upon his shoulder, and +twined her hands around his neck. + +"Paul! Monsieur Paul! I am lonely and miserable. Love me just a +little, only a little!" she pleaded. + +It was the supreme moment for both of them. To her, coveting this +love with all the passionate force of her fiery oriental nature, time +seemed to stand still while she rested passively in his arms, neither +altogether accepted nor altogether repulsed. And to him, as he sat +there pale and shaken, fighting fiercely against this great temptation +which threatened his self-respect, his liberty of body and soul, life +seemed to have turned into a grim farce, full of grotesque lights and +shadows, mocking and gibing at all which had seemed to him sweet and +pure and strong. Her warm breath fell upon his cheek, and her eyes +maddened him. A curiously faint perfume from her clothes floated upon +the air, and oppressed him with its peculiar richness. He was a strong +man but at that moment he faltered. It seemed as though some unseen +hand were weaving a spell upon him, as though his whole environment +was being drawn in around him, and he himself were powerless. Yet, +even in that moment of intoxication, his reason did not altogether +desert him. He knew that if he opened his arms to receive that +clinging figure, and drew the delicate, tear-stained face, full +of mute invitation, down to his, to be covered with passionate +kisses,--he knew that at that moment he would sign the death-warrant +to all that had seemed fair and sweet and comely in his life. Forever +he must live without self-respect, a dishonoured man in his own eyes, +perhaps some day in hers,--for he had no more faith in her love than +in his. + +He held her hands tightly in his,--he had unwound them gently from his +neck,--and stood up face to face with her upon the hearthrug. The soft +fire-light threw up strange, ruddy gleams, which glowed around her and +shown in her dark eyes, fixed so earnestly and so passionately upon +his. + +"Adrea," he said, and his low, hoarse tone sounded harsh and +unfamiliar to his ears, "you do not know----" + +She interrupted him, she threw her arms again around his neck, and her +upturned face almost met his. + +"I do know! I do know! I understand--everything! Only I--cannot live +without you, Paul!" + +Her head sank upon his shoulder; he could not thrust her away. Very +gently he passed his arms around her, and drew her to him. He knew +that he could trust himself. For him the battle was over. Even as she +had crept into his arms, there had come to him a flash of memory--a +sudden, swift vision. The walls of the dimly lit, dainty little +chamber, with all its charm of faint perfume, soft lights, and +luxurious drapings, had opened before him, and he looked out upon +another world. A bare Northumbrian moor, with its tumbled masses of +grey rock, its low-hanging, misty clouds and silent tarns, stretched +away before his eyes. A strong, fresh breeze, salt-smelling and +bracing, cooled his hot face. The roar of a great ocean thundered in +his ears, and an angry sunset burned strange colours into the +western sky. And with these actual memories came a healthier tone of +feeling--something, indeed, of the old North-country puritanism which +was in his blood. The sea spoke to him of the vastness of life, and +dared him to cast his away, soiled and tarnished, for the sake of a +brief, passionate delight. The breeze, nature's very voice, whispered +to him to stand true to himself, and taste once more and for ever the +deep joy of pure and perfect communion with her. The voices of his +past life spoke to him in one long, sweet chorus, and held up to him +those ideals to which he had been ever true. And blended with all were +memories, faint but sweet, of a fair womanly face, into whose clear +grey eyes he could never dare to look again if he yielded now to this +fierce temptation. A new strength came upon him, and brought with it a +great tenderness. + +"Adrea, my child," he said softly, "you make me almost forget that I +am your guardian and you are my ward. Sit down here! I want to talk to +you." + +He led her, dumb and unresisting, to a chair, and stood by her side. + +"Adrea----" + +She interrupted him, throwing his arms roughly from her shoulder, and +springing to her feet. + +"How dare you touch me! How dare you stand there and mock me! Oh! how +I hate you! hate you! hate you!" + +Her voice and every limb trembled with passion, and her face was as +pale as death. Before her anger he bowed his head and was silent. +Against the sombre background of dark curtains, her slim form seemed +to gain an added strength and dignity. + +"You have insulted me, Paul de Vaux! Do I not owe you enough already, +without putting this to the score! Dare you think that it was indeed +my love I offered you--you who stood by and saw my father murdered +that you might be spared from shame and disgrace! Bah! Listen to me +and go! You have a brother? Good! I shall ruin him, shall break his +heart; and, when the task is over, I shall cast him away like an old +glove! Oh, it will be easy, never fear! I shall do it. Arthur is no +cold hypocrite, like you. He is my slave. And when I have ruined him, +have set my foot upon him, it will be your turn, Monsieur Paul de +Vaux. Listen! I will know my father's secret! I will know why he was +murdered! I will discover everything! Some day the whole world shall +know--from me. Now go! Out of my sight, I say! Go! go! go!" + +With bowed head and face as white as death Paul walked out of the +room, with her words ringing in his ears like the mocking echoes of +some hideous nightmare. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +"I AM BUT A SLAVE, AND YET I BID THEE COME" + + +"Were there any letters for me this morning, mother?" Paul asked. + +"Only one for you, I think," Mrs. de Vaux answered from across the +tea-tray. "I believe you will find it in the library. Shall I send for +it?" + +Paul shook his head. "It will keep," he answered lightly. "I can get +it on my way upstairs. Have we anything left to tell, Lady May?" + +"I think not," Lady May replied, from the depths of an easy chair +drawn up to the fire. "Altogether it has been a glorious day, and such +a scent! I don't know when I have enjoyed anything so much." + +"Nor I!" Paul answered heartily. "The going was superb, and that +second fox took us over a grand stretch of country. Really, if it +hadn't been for the walls here and there, we might have been in +Leicestershire! May I have some more tea, mother?" + +Mrs. de Vaux stretched out her hand for his cup, and smiled gently +at their enthusiasm. She had been a hunting woman all her life; and, +though she seldom even drove to a meet now, she liked to have her son +come in to afternoon tea with her, and talk over the run. Of late, +too, he had seemed so pale and listless that she had been getting a +little anxious. She had begun to fear that he must be out of health, +or that the monotony of Vaux Abbey was wearying him, and that he would +be leaving her again soon. But to-day she had watched him ride up the +avenue, with Lady May, and it seemed to her that there was a change in +his bearing--a change for the better; and, looking at him now, she +was sure of it. A faint glow was in his cheeks, and his eyes were +brighter. His manner, too, to Lady May pleased her more. He had ridden +home with her; from their conversation, they seemed to have been +together almost all day; and there seemed to be a spirit of _bon +comeradie_ between the two, as they talked over their doings, which +certainly pointed to a good understanding. Altogether Mrs. de Vaux was +pleased and hopeful. + +And, indeed, she had reason to be, for his long day in the open +country with Lady May had been like a strong, sweet tonic to Paul. For +the first time since his return to Vaux Abbey he had felt that a +time might come when he would be able to escape altogether from those +lingering, bitter-sweet memories which were all that remained to +him now of Adrea. On the bare, windy moor, with the glow of physical +exercise and excitement coursing through his veins, and Lady May's +pleasant voice in his ears, that little scene in the rose-lit chamber +seemed for a moment very far away. Adrea, with her soft, passion-lit +eyes, and dusky, oriental face, her lithe, voluptuous figure and the +faint perfumes of her rustling draperies, seemed less to him then than +a short while ago he could have believed possible. He could not think +of that scene without a shudder,--it had left its mark in a certain +way for ever,--but it was not so constantly present to him. He knew +that, for the first time, a woman had tempted him sorely. He knew, +too, and he alone, how nearly he had yielded. His sudden passion, her +strange Eastern beauty, and the fascination which it had exercised +over him, together with the soft sensuousness of her surroundings, +had formed a strong coalition, and to-day he recognised, for the first +time, how much he owed his victory to the girl who was riding by his +side. Even in those breathless moments of hesitation he had found time +to consider that if he yielded to Adrea's pleading, he could never +again take Lady May's hand, or meet her frank, open gaze. The pure +healthfulness of life which had been so dear to him would be tainted +for ever. The moorland breezes of his northern home would never strike +the same chords in his nature again. All these recollections had +flashed across his mind at that critical moment, lending strength to +resist and crush his passion. And to-day he had commenced to reap his +reward. To-day he had tasted once more the sweets of these things, and +found how dear they still were to him. He could still look into Lady +May's fair, pure face unshamed, and find all the old pleasure in +listening to her frank, girlish talk; and he could still bare his +head to the sweeping winds, and lift his face to the sun and gaze with +silent admiration at the faint, deepening colours in the western +sky, as Lady May and he rode homeward across the moor in the late +afternoon. All these joys would have been lost to him for ever,--these +and many others. Adrea could never have repaid him for their loss. + +So Paul, who had come home from London pale and silent, with the marks +of a great struggle upon him, lay back in an arm chair and watched +the firelight play upon Lady May's fair face with more than a passive +interest. Mrs. de Vaux's cherished scheme had never been so near its +accomplishment; for if she could have read Paul's thoughts she would +have known that he was thinking of Lady May more tenderly than he had +ever done before. Meeting his steadfast, almost wistful, gaze, she +became almost confused, and suddenly rising, she shook out the skirts +of her riding habit, and took up her hat and whip. + +"It has been such a delightful rest," she said, looking away from Paul +and speaking to his mother. "I shall never forget how good that tea +tasted! But I really must go, Mrs. de Vaux! My poor animal is quite +done up, and I shall have to walk all the way home." + +"I don't know whether I did right," Paul said, rising, "but I sent +your groom straight on home with the mare, and ordered a brougham +for you. She has had a long day, and I thought it would be more +comfortable for you." + +She flashed a grateful glance at him. "How thoughtful and how kind +you are! Of course it will be nicer! I was beginning to feel a little +selfish, too, for keeping Betty out of her stable so long." + +"As a reward we will keep you a little longer," he remarked. "It is +only six o'clock!" + +She shook her head. "No I won't stop, thanks! There are some tiresome +people coming to dine to-night, and I must go home. Good-bye, Lady de +Vaux!" + +Paul strolled down the hall with her and handed her into the carriage. +For the first time in his life he held her hand a little tighter and a +little longer than was necessary. + +"Shall you be at home to-morrow afternoon, Lady May?" he asked +quietly. + +She looked up at him for a moment, and then her eyes drooped, and her +heart beat a little faster. She understood him. + +"Yes!" she answered softly. + +"I shall ride over then! Good-bye!" + +"Good-bye!" + +He lingered on the doorstep for a minute, watching the carriage roll +down the avenue. When it had disappeared, he turned back into the +hall, and after a moment's hesitation, entered the library. + +It was a large, sombre-looking apartment, scarcely ever entered by +anyone save Paul. The bookcases reached only half-way up the walls, +the upper portion of which was hung with oil portraits, selected from +the picture gallery. At the lower end of the room the shelves had been +built out at right angles to the wall, lined with books, and in one +of the recesses so-formed--almost as large as an ordinary-sized +chamber--Paul had his writing-table surrounded by his favourite +volumes. It was a delightful little miniature library. Facing him, +six rows of black oak shelves held a fine collection of classical +literature; on his left, the lower shelves contained rare editions +of the early English dramatists, and the upper ones were given up to +poetry, from Chaucer to Swinburne. The right-hand shelves were wholly +French, from quaint volumes of troubadours' poetry to Alfred de Musset +and De Maupassant. It was here Paul spent most of his time when at the +Abbey. + +The meet had been rather a long way off that morning, and he had left +before the arrival of the post-bag from the neighbouring town. Mrs. de +Vaux had distributed the letters, and the one she had spoken of lay +at the edge of the table. He stretched out his hand to take it +up--without any presentiments, without any thought as to whom it might +be from. An invitation, doubtless, or a begging letter he imagined, as +he caught sight of the large square envelope. But suddenly, before his +fingers had closed upon it, he started and stood quite still, leaning +over the back of his chair. His heart was beating fast, and there was +a mist before his eyes--a mist through which he saw, as though in +a dream, the walls of his library melt away, to be replaced by the +dainty interior of that little room in Grey Street, with all the dim +luxury of its soft colouring and adornment. He saw her too, the +centre of the picture--saw her as she seemed to him before that final +scene--saw her half-kneeling, half-crouching, before him, with her +beautiful dark eyes, yearning and passionate, fixed upon his in mute, +but wonderfully eloquent, pleading. Oh! it was folly, but it was +sweet, marvellously sweet. Every nerve seemed thrilled with the +exquisite pleasure of the memory so suddenly called up to him, and his +lips quivered with the thought of what he might have said to her. +The strange, voluptuous perfume which crept upwards from that letter +seemed in a measure to have paralysed him. He stood there like a man +entranced, with the dim firelight on one side and the low horned moon +through the high window on his left, casting a strange, vivid light +on his pale face--paler even than usual against the scarlet of his +hunting-coat. That letter! What could it contain? Was it a recall, or +a fresh torrent of anger? He stood there quite still, leaning over the +back of the high-backed oak chair emblazoned with the De Vaux arms, +and making no motion towards taking it up. + +A sound from outside--the low rumbling of a gong--roused him at last, +and he pushed the chair hastily away from him. His first impulse +was one of anger, of shame, that he, a strong man, as he had deemed +himself, should have been so moved by a simple flood of memories. +It seemed ignoble to him and a frown gathered on his forehead as he +reached forward and picked up the letter. Yet his fingers trembled as +they tore it open, and his eyes ran over the contents rapidly. + + "18 GREY STREET, LONDON, W., _Thursday_. + + "Monsieur Paul, my hand trembles a little when I sit down to + write to you, and think of our last parting. But write to you + I must! I am very humble now, and very, very much ashamed! + Shall I go on and say that I am very sad and lonely,--for + it is so! I am miserable! I have been miserable every moment + since that day! Forgive me, Monsieur Paul, forgive me! my + guardian. I behaved quite dreadfully, and I deserved to be + punished. Believe me! I am punished. I have had scarcely any + sleep, and my eyes are swollen with weeping. I have cancelled + all my engagements this week, and I have closed my doors to + everybody. Oh! be generous, Monsieur Paul! be generous and + forgive me! I have suffered so much,--it is right that I + should, for I was much to blame. Will you not let fall some + kindly veil of memory over that afternoon. I was mad. Let + what I said be unsaid! Let me be again just what you called + me,--your ward. I ask for nothing more! Be cold, if you will, + and stern! Scold me! and I will but say that I have deserved + it! Only come to me! Come and let me hear your own lips tell + me that I am forgiven. I will do everything that you ask! I + will not see Arthur if he calls,--you shall tell me yourself + how to answer his letters,--I have a little pile of them here. + Monsieur Paul, you must come! You must come, or I shall be + driven to--but no! I will not threaten. You would not care + whatever happened to me, would you? I am very, very lonely. I + wish that I could have telegraphed all this, and had you here + to-night! But you would not have come! Yet, perhaps you would, + out of kindness to a solitary girl. I like to think that you + would have! + + "Monsieur Paul, you have been good to the 'little brown girl,' + as you used to call her, all your life! Do not forsake her + now. She has been very mad and wicked, but she is very, very + penitent. Celeste tells me that I am looking thin and ill, and + my looking-glass says the same. It is because I am unhappy; + it is because my guardian is angry with me, and he is so far + away. Oh! Monsieur Paul, come, come, come to me! It shall be + all as you wish! I will obey you in everything. Only forgive! + + "Yours, + + "ADREA." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +ADREA'S DIARY + + "A figure from the past I see once more as in a dream." + + +This evening I have had an adventure! I am thankful, for it has +occupied my thoughts for awhile; and for anything that does that I am +grateful. I had been in the house all day, restless and nervous, and +towards dusk I put on my cloak and a thick veil, and went out into the +street. I scarcely noticed which way I went. It was all the same to +me. A dull purple bank of clouds hung low down in the west, and the +air was close and still. By-and-by I heard thunder, and big raindrops +fell upon the pavement. A storm was threatening, and I longed for it +to come and clear the air. + +I must have been walking for nearly an hour, when it came at last, and +the rain fell in great sheets. I looked around for a cab, but there +was none in sight. I had no idea where I was,--London is so vast and +large,--and though, by the distant roar of wheels, I could tell that +I was not far from a great thoroughfare, the street in which I was +seemed to be deserted. Just by my side was a dark tunnel, gloomy and +vault-like in appearance; but in that downpour any refuge was welcome, +and I stepped back underneath it. It was like going into the bowels +of the earth; and, every now and then, there was a roar over my head +which made me almost dizzy. But, from round the corner, I could see +that it was only the sound of trains passing and repassing, so I +decided to stay until I could see a cab. + +Opposite to me was a man with a truck-load of oranges, and by his +side a boy seated before a red-hot swinging can, containing chestnuts. +There was no one else in the street, although at the bottom of it +crowds of people and a constant stream of vehicles were hurrying +along. On the other side of the way was a tall and grim-looking +building, discoloured with smoke and age. It was evidently a hospital +or institution of some sort. The windows were long and narrow, and one +or two of them, I could see, were of stained glass. There was no brass +plate by the front door, nor any sign. In the absence of anything else +to do, I began to frame surmises as to what the place might be. The +spotlessly white doorsteps and polished bell interested me; +they seemed out of tone with the character of the place and its +surroundings, so utterly bare and dreary. I began to wish that a +caller would come and ring the bell, so that I could get a peep at +the interior. But no one did, although I noticed that more than one +hurrying passer-by glanced up at it curiously. + +The thunder died away, but the rain still came down heavily. If it had +not been for my curious interest in that great ugly building opposite, +I should have risked a wetting, and made my way down to the busy +thoroughfare in the distance. But I was anxious to see some one enter +or leave the place, or for something to happen which would give me +an idea as to its character; so I waited. Half an hour passed, and my +curiosity remained unsatisfied. There was no sign of life about +the place; not even a tradesman had called, nor had that +forbidding-looking portal once been opened. It was still raining fast, +but there were signs of finer weather, and right overhead was a +break in the clouds. I should certainly be able to leave now in a few +minutes; but, strangely enough, all my impatience seemed gone. The +grim-looking building opposite had fascinated me. I had no desire to +leave the place until I had found out all about it. + +It was odd, that curiosity of mine; all my days I shall wonder at it. +On the face of it, it seemed so unreasonable, and yet it led to so +much. I have no creed, and I know nothing about philosophies, or +perhaps to-night's adventure might have meant even more to me. But, +indeed, it seems as though some unseen hand led me out and brought me +into that deserted street. From to-night there must be changes in my +life; I cannot escape from them. As yet I am too much in a whirl to +ask myself whether I wish to. + +To return to that house. When I saw that the storm was clearing, and +that I should be able to leave in a few minutes, I determined to make +an effort to satisfy my curiosity. I crossed the road, and addressed +the man who was sitting on the handles of his barrow of oranges. + +"Do you know what place that is opposite?" I asked, pointing across +the road. + +He took out a filthy pipe from his mouth, and spat upon the pavement. +I think that he must have noticed my look of disgust, for he answered +me surlily, "No, I don't!" + +I turned to the boy. "Do you?" I asked. + +He shook his head. "Not for certain, ma'am. I believe it's some sort +of a Roman Catholic place, though. Them gents in long clothes and +shovel hats is allus going in and hout. 'Ullo, Bill! Here she be +again! She's a-trying it on, ain't she?" + +The man looked up and grunted. I followed the boy's glance, and saw a +tall, dark woman walking swiftly along on the other side of the road. +From the very first her figure was somehow familiar to me, and + +She stopped outside the closed door, and hesitated for a moment, +as though doubtful whether to ring or not. During her moment of +hesitation she glanced round, and I recognised her. She could not see +me, for I was in the shadow of the underground tunnel. + +"Blarmed if she ain't come again," the man growled. "She's as regular +as clockwork! Wonder what she wants!" + +I felt my knees trembling; I could not have crossed the road at +that moment if it had been to save my life. The boy looked up at me +curiously. + +"Happen you know her, lady," he remarked. "She's been here at this +time, or thereabouts, pretty near every day for a fortnight." + +Happen I know her! Yes, that was the boy's odd phrase. It rang in my +ears, and I found myself gasping for breath. My eyes were fixed upon +that tall, slender figure, clothed in sober black, waiting upon the +doorstep with bowed head, and standing very still and motionless. It +was like an effigy of patience. There were not two women in the world +like that; it was impossible. She was in England, and alone--free! +What did it mean? Should I run to her, or hide away? I glanced over my +shoulder where the black shadows of the tunnel were only dimly lit by +the feeble gaslight. I could steal away, and she would never see +me. Yet as I thought of it, the grimy, barren street and the +solemn-looking building faded away before my eyes. The sun and wind +burned my face; the wind, salt with ocean spray, and echoing with the +hoarse screaming of the sea-birds that rode upon it. I was at Cruta +again, panting to be free, stealing away in the twilight down the +narrow path amongst the rocks to where that tiny boat lay waiting, +like a speck upon the waters. And it was she who had helped me--the +sad-faced woman who had braved the terrible anger of the man whom we +had both dreaded. Again I heard her gentle words of counsel, and the +answering lies which should have blistered my lips. For I lied to her, +not hastily or on impulse, but deliberately in cold blood. Anything, +I cried to myself, to escape from this rock, this living death! So I +lied to her, and she helped me. No wonder that I trembled. No wonder +that I half made up my mind to flee away into the sheltering darkness +of that noisome-looking tunnel. + +It takes long to set down in writing the thoughts which flashed +through me at that moment. Yet when I had made up my mind the woman +was still there, waiting meekly before the closed door. + +"You were speaking of her," I said to the boy, who was half-sitting, +half-crouching against the side of the tunnel. "What was it you said? +I did not hear." + +Man and boy commenced to tell me together. Their strange London talk +puzzled me, and I could only extract a confused sense of what they +said. The woman, to whom they rudely pointed, had called at the +building opposite every day for a fortnight at about this hour to make +some inquiry. Day by day she had turned away, after one brief question +asked and answered, with bowed head and dejected manner. Yet, day by +day, she returned and repeated it. Ever the same disappointment, the +same despair! + +They knew nothing more. Her regular visits had awakened a certain +curiosity in them, and they had commenced to look for them, and +indulge in a little mild speculation as to her one day meeting with +a different reception. Nothing more! There was a shade of pity in the +boy's tone, and I gave him a shilling; then I crossed the road. + +As I left the kerbstone, the door opened and I heard her question:-- + +"Has Father Adrian called or written, or sent any address yet, +please?" + +The man, who had opened the door only a few inches, kept in the +background, and I could see nothing of him, but I heard his grim, +monosyllable reply: + +"No! Father Adrian has not visited or communicated with us." + +She turned away with a meek "Thank you," and found herself face to +face with me. My heart smote me when I saw how poor were her clothes, +and how thin her features. + +At first she did not know me; but I raised my veil, and whispered her +name softly in her ear. + +She threw up her hands, and swayed backwards and forwards upon the +pavement. + +"Adrea! Adrea!" she cried wildly. "My God!" + +A cab drove up, and I called it. She had just strength enough to enter +it, leaning heavily upon my arm; then she fainted. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +"WE ARE LIKE SHOOTING STARS, WHOSE MEETING IS THEIR RUIN" + + +To-night I have had another shock! I was sitting alone in my room +down-stairs, dreaming over the fire, when a footstep sounded upon the +stairs. At first I thought that it might be Paul, and I sprang up, and +stood listening intently. What a little fool I was! I felt the colour +burning in my cheeks, and my heart was beating. I listened to the +tread, and the madness passed away. It was a man's footsteps, but not +Paul's. + +They halted at my door, and there was a firm, deliberate knock. Before +I could reply, the handle was turned, and a figure stood upon the +threshold. + +My little chamber was in darkness, but the clear, cold voice struck a +vague note of familiarity. + +"I seek Adrea Kiros! Are these her rooms? Are you she?" + +I struck a match with trembling fingers, and looked eagerly towards +the doorway. A man stood there, dark, stern, and forbidding, looking +steadfastly towards me. My memory had not deceived me! It was Father +Adrian! + +"You have found me out," I said slowly. "Come inside and close the +door." + +He moved slowly forward, and stood in the middle of the room. His +face was as white as marble and as steadfast; but his dark eyes, which +seemed to be challenging mine to meet them, were full of smouldering +fire. I summoned up all my courage, and threw myself into a low chair, +with a little laugh. + +"You are not exactly cordial," I said. "If you have anything to say to +me, won't you sit down?" + +"If I have anything to say to you!" he repeated, and his whole tone +seemed vibrating with hardly subdued passion. "If I have anything to +say to you! Is this your greeting?" + +"Why, no, not if you come as a friend! But when you stand and glare at +me _comme cela_, what do you expect? Nothing very cordial, surely!" + +He advanced a step further towards me. I watched him steadfastly, +and I knew that the old madness was not dead. I was glad. It made the +struggle between us more even. + +"Have I no cause to look at you sternly, Adrea?" he demanded,--"you +who deceived us! you who lied to us, to win our aid! Where would you +have been now had it not been for me? At Cruta! Would to God my hand +had withered before it had set you free!" + +"You are very kind!" + +"Girl, are you mad? At Cruta you were thoughtless and gay, but God +knows your heart was pure. Now you are a paid dancing girl!" + +I turned upon him suddenly, rising to my full height, and looking him +straight in the face. He did not flinch, but a faint colour rose to +his forehead as he continued. + +"Stop!" I said. "You are talking of those things which you do +not understand. You could not possibly understand. You and I are +different; we belong to different worlds. The things of your world are +not the things of mine. Leave me now, and for ever, and let us go our +own ways. We measure things by different quantities. You are a priest, +and very much a priest, and I am a woman, and very much a woman! +For the past I am grateful; for its sake I forget the insults of the +present. Now go!" + +I knew quite well that he would not take me at my word, nor did he. + +"Adrea, I cannot go and lose all knowledge of you for ever," he said +sadly. "For my own sake I would say, Would to God that I could! but it +is impossible. Within me there is a voice which whispers 'Fly,' but +I cannot; your future is still as dear to me as in the old days. Oh! +Adrea! I have sorrowed and mourned lest our last parting had been for +ever, and now, alas! I would that it had been; I would to God that I +had never found you out!" + +"You can forget it," I said coldly. + +"I can never forget it," he answered fiercely. "Girl! you seem to me +sometimes like a scourge! Your memory is a very nightmare of sin! You +have brought me nothing but pain and remorse and anguish of heart. For +all my suffering there is no brighter side; yet I cannot forget it!" + +Despite his fierce words, which for a moment had burned in my ears, +I pitied him. In the old days he had been my champion, and it was his +hand, together with hers, which had aided my escape from Cruta. So I +spoke to him softly. + +"I am sorry! As I said, we are of different moulds, and we belong to a +different branch of humanity. We are neither of us inclined to change! +Let us go our own ways, and apart!" + +He was close by my side now, and his hand was resting on the back of +my chair. I laid mine upon it for a moment; it was cold as ice, and +shaking. The old madness was upon him indeed. + +"You were kind to me at Cruta," I continued. "I do not forget it, and +I thank you for it! But we are as far apart as the poles, and we must +continue so." + +The position between us seemed reversed. He stood by my side, pale and +passionate, with his clear eyes full of a strange wistfulness. + +"All that you say is, in a measure, true," he said in a low tone; "yet +do not send me away from you! Some day you may see things differently; +some day trouble may come to you, and I may be your helper! There +is only one thing: I would have you look upon me as a brother, and I +would have you give me a brother's confidence." + +"I would gladly be friends with you," I answered, "only do not seek +more than I choose to tell you. As for the things you charge me with, +there is truth and falsehood in them. It is true that I have earned +my living by dancing, but it has been in private only. Of course, you +know nothing about it; how should you? But I am not a ballet dancer, +as I believe you think." + +"You are not upon the stage, then?" + +"No! nor do I dance in short skirts! Some day I will give you an +exhibition in this room! Now don't look like that," I added quickly; +"I was only joking. I would not defile the air around your saintliness +for the world! But I want to tell you this: my dancing is recognised +as an art. I rank everywhere with the men and women who are called +artists, the men and women who are ever striving to realize in some +manner a particular ideal of beauty through different channels. The +highest development of physical beauty in the human form is in grace +of motion. I aim at the beautiful in illustrating this. I didn't know +it myself until a great painter told me so, but I am beginning to +understand. I don't expect you to; you must take it on trust." + +"It sounds strange to me, but I do not doubt that there is truth, some +truth in it," he admitted gravely. + +"You and I look upon life, and all its connections, with different +eyes," I continued. "What may seem sin to you, may be justified to me. +Yet I will stoop to answer your unspoken question. As I was at Cruta, +so I am now! It may be that I am better, for I have done a good +action!" + +He held up his hand, but I took no notice. + +"I will tell it you. A few days ago, chance brought in my way a most +unhappy woman. She had escaped from an odious captivity, only to find +herself alone, friendless and penniless in a strange city. The man on +whom she had counted for help she could not find. He had given her an +address where she might always hear of him. Day by day she inquired +there in vain. It may have been through no fault of his, but she was +in sore straits." + +"Her name?" + +"I found her, and brought her home. She lives with me; she is here!" + +The door was opening as I spoke, and she entered. They stood face to +face, silent with the shock of so sudden a meeting. Then he stepped +quickly forward, and, taking her hands, drew her to him. I slipped +away, and left them alone together. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +"THE PATH THAT LEADS TO MADMEN'S KINGDOMS" + + +A north-country storm of rain and wind had suddenly blown up from +the sea, and the few remaining followers of the De Vaux hounds were +dispersed right and left, making for home with all possible speed. The +sky had looked dull and threatening all day long, and with the first +shades of twilight the rain had commenced to fall in a sudden torrent. +There had been some little hesitation on the part of the master about +drawing this last cover, for the hounds had had a rough day, and the +field was small; and directly the storm broke, the horn was blown +without hesitation, the pack was re-called, and the huntsman, cracking +his whip, started for home at a long, swinging trot. The day's sport +was over. + +There were only a handful of horsemen waiting outside when the signal +was given, and with collars turned up to their ears, and cigars +alight, they were very soon riding down the hill to the village whose +lights were beginning to twinkle out from the darkness in the valley +below. At the cross-roads, Paul, who had been riding in the midst of +them, wheeled his horse round and took the road to Vaux Abbey amidst a +chorus of farewells. + +"Are you going for the Abbey, De Vaux?" Captain Westover asked, +reining in his horse. "Better come home with me, and dine! I'll send +you back to-night, and they'll look after your mare all right in the +stables. Come along!" + +Paul shook his head. "I'll get home, thanks!" he answered. "A wetting +won't hurt me, and there's only a mile or two of it." + +Captain Westover shrugged his shoulders. "Just as you like. My people +would be very glad to see you! By the bye, you were to have called +last week, weren't you? Lady May was asking where you were this +morning! Come and dine to-morrow night!" + +"Thanks! Unless I send word over to the contrary, I will, then! +Good-night!" + +"Good-night!" + +Captain Westover cantered on after the others, and Paul turned off +in the opposite direction, riding slowly, with bent head and loose +bridle. In his pocket was Adrea's letter, scarcely a week old; and +now that the physical excitement of the day was over, his thoughts, +as usual, were full of it again. It was an uphill battle that he +was fighting! All day long he had been striving to forget it! He had +spared neither himself nor his horses in the desperate attempt to +reach such a stage of physical exhaustion as should make his mind a +blank--as should free it, at any rate, from those torturing memories, +and the fierce restlessness which they begat. He had tried his utmost, +and he had failed. His pink hunting-coat and tops, immaculate at the +start, were covered with thick mud, and his horse (his second mount) +was scarcely able to put one foot before the other. Yet he had failed +utterly. Hunger and fatigue seemed things far away to him. Wherever he +looked--out into the grey mists, which came rolling across the moor, +soaking him with moisture, or down into the road, fast becoming a bog, +or up into the dim sky--he seemed to see the pages of Adrea's letter +standing out before him, word for word, phrase for phrase. Every +sentence of it seemed to him as vivid and real as though it had been +spoken in his ears; nay, he could almost fancy that he saw the great +tears welling slowly out of those soft, dark eyes, and could hear the +passionate quiver in her faltering tones. Day by day it had been a +desperate struggle with him to resist the mad desire which prompted +him to order a dogcart, drive to the nearest town, and catch the mail +train to London. Beyond that--how she would receive him, what he would +say to her--everything was chaos; he dared not trust himself to think +about it. + +Yet, whenever he suffered his thoughts to dwell upon this matter at +all, the reverse side of it all sooner or later presented itself. +Clear and insistent above the emotion which swayed him came ever that +uncompromising question--where lay his duty in this matter? It was +the true and manly side of his nature, developed by instinct and long +training, and refusing now to be overborne and swept away by this +surging tide of passion. It rang in his ears, and it demanded an +answer. Away in the distance, on the opposite side of the valley, +his vacant eyes rested idly upon the many lights and dim outline of +Westover Castle. What place had Lady May in his heart? Was there room +for her--and Adrea? Could he see Adrea day by day, and never pass the +barrier which he himself had set up between them? What did he wish? +What was right? Just then everything was to him so vague and chaotic. + +He had been riding for nearly an hour, with his reins quite loose upon +his horse's neck, and trusting entirely to her to take the homeward +route. Suddenly his mare came to an abrupt halt, and Paul looked +around him in surprise. At first he had not the faintest idea as to +his whereabouts; then a dull roar, coming from across a narrow +strip of moorland on his left, gave him a clue, and he saw what had +happened. Instead of turning inland to Vaux Abbey, his horse had kept +straight on, and had brought him almost to the sea--a good five miles +out of his way. + +The situation was not a cheerful one. They were ten miles from home, +and Ironsides, completely done up, was trembling ominously at the +knees, and looking around at him pitifully. Paul himself was wet to +the skin; and as he dismounted for a moment to ease his stiff limbs, +he was conscious of a distinct inclination to shiver. The grey mists +were rolling up all round them; and directly Paul's feet touched the +ground, he felt himself sink ankle-deep in the wet, soft sand. It was +all horribly uncomfortable, and more than that, it was serious; for +immediately he had passed his hand over his horse's flanks and felt +her knees, Paul knew that she was not in a condition for him to mount +her again. There was no hope of reaching Vaux Abbey without rest and +refreshments, for Ironsides at any rate. + +He looked steadily around him, and began to get some faint idea as +to his whereabouts. His mare must have been deceived by following +a private road which led to a cottage belonging to an old half-pay +officer, Major Harcourt. They had evidently passed the cottage, and +pursued the road almost to its termination, for where they now were it +was little better than a sheep-track, leading through a closed gate a +few yards in front of them into a scattered pine plantation and down +to the sea. The only thing to do was to retrace their steps until they +came to the cottage, and there beg shelter for a while. + +"We've made a mess of it, old girl!" Paul said soothingly, patting his +mare's neck, and passing his arm through the bridle. "Come on, then! +We'll see whether we can't find an empty stall for you at Major +Harcourt's." + +They retraced their steps, the mare limping wearily along by Paul's +side, and every now and then stopping to look at him in despair. Paul +found a grim humour in the situation. It was the quagmire into which +thoughts of Adrea had led him; a parable sent to show him the folly of +such thoughts, and whither they tended. He laughed a little bitterly +at the thought. Once, when a very young man, he had thought himself a +fatalist. After all, perhaps it was the best thing to be! Conscience +and duty were wearisome guides; a course of voluntary drifting would +be rather a relief. + +Suddenly the mare pricked up her ears, and neighed. Paul looked +steadily through the mist, and quickened his pace. Scarcely a hundred +yards ahead was the dim outline of the cottage, nestled up against a +pine grove and facing the sea. + +Paul was fairly well acquainted with Major Harcourt; and although +he had seen nothing of him for some time, he had not the slightest +compunction in claiming shelter for himself and his horse. He led her +up the trim, winding drive to the front door, and rang the bell. + +"Is Major Har----" Paul began, as the door was opened; then he broke +off abruptly. + +The man-servant who had opened the door, and was standing on the step, +peering out into the darkness, was a familiar figure to him. It was +Gomez! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"THE POISON OF HONEY FLOWERS" + + +The recognition was not immediately simultaneous. Gomez, standing on +the step, was in the full light of the hall lamp, but Paul was still +amongst the shadows. + +"Don't you know me, Gomez?" Paul asked, stepping forward. "I am Paul +de Vaux." + +A shade passed across the man's face, and he laid his hand quickly +upon his heart, as though to cease some sudden pain. Then he stood on +one side, holding the door open. + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Paul; I could not see your face out there. +Won't you walk in, sir?" + +Paul dropped his mare's bridle and stepped inside. The polished +white stone hall, with its huge fire in the centre, looked warm and +comfortable, and away in the distance there was a cheerful rattle of +teacups. + +"What are you doing here, Gomez?" Paul asked, shaking the wet from +his hat. "I understood that you were going to take the under-bailiff's +place." + +"Higgs has not left yet, sir," Gomez answered. "I have been living +here as caretaker for Major Harcourt." + +"Caretaker! Isn't he at home then?" + +Gomez shook his head, looking keenly at Paul all the time. "Major +Harcourt does not winter here now, sir. He has let the place, +furnished." + +"What a confounded nuisance! To whom has he let it?" Paul asked +quickly. "You see my plight, and my horse is worse off still. We lost +our way going home from Dunston Spinnies." + +"Major Harcourt's tenant is a lady," Gomez answered, after a moment's +hesitation. "She only arrived yesterday." + +Paul shrugged his shoulders. He was annoyed, but there was no help for +it. + +"Well, will you see her at once and represent matters? I want a loose +box for the night for my horse, and a rest for myself, and afterwards +a conveyance for the Abbey, if possible. Tell her my name. I daresay +she won't mind. Who is she?" + +Gomez said nothing for a moment. Then he drew Paul back to the door, +and pointed out into the darkness. + +"Mr. Paul," he said, in a quick, hoarse whisper, "at the back of that +hedge there is a road which leads straight up to the Abbey. It is +a matter of six miles or so, I know, and you are tired; but that is +nothing. Take my advice, sir, and believe me it is for your good. Get +out of this house as soon as you can, and go home, though you have to +walk every step. I'll look after your horse, and you can send for it +in the morning." + +Paul looked into the man's face astonished. "What nonsense, Gomez!" +he exclaimed. "Do you know what you are talking about! Why, I'm tired +out, and almost starved. Here I am and here I shall stop, unless your +mistress is as inhospitable as you are." + +Gomez bowed, and closed the door. "Very good, sir; you will have your +own way, of course. But remember in the future that I was faithful, +I warned you. Come this way, sir. I will send your horse round to the +stables. The name of the lady of the house is Madame de Merteuill." + +A little uneasy and very much mystified, Paul followed him across the +hall, and was silently ushered into a long, low drawing-room, a room +of nooks and corners, furnished in old-fashioned style, but with +perfect taste, and dimly lit with soft, shaded lamps. There was a +bright fire blazing on the hearth, and a pleasant sense of warmth in +the air. + +At first it seemed as though the room was empty, but in a moment a +tall, pale-faced lady, with wonderfully dark eyes and grey hair, +rose from an easy chair behind the piano, and looked at him, at first +questioningly. + +"I am afraid that you will consider this an unwarrantable intrusion," +Paul said, bowing; "but the fact is, I lost my way riding home from +the hunt, and my horse cannot go a yard further. As for myself, +you can see what state I am in. I saw your lights, and have some +acquaintance with Major Harcourt, and not knowing that he had left, +I ventured here to throw myself upon his hospitality. My name is De +Vaux--Paul de Vaux; and although it is some distance to the Abbey, I +believe that we are next-door neighbours." + +It was beginning to dawn upon Paul that he had somehow stumbled upon a +very strange household. During the whole of his speech, the lady whom +he was addressing had stood silent and transfixed, with wide-open eyes +and a terrible shrinking look of fear upon her face. She must be mad, +Paul concluded swiftly. What an ass Gomez was not to have told him! +While he was wondering how to get away, she spoke. + +"Your name de Vaux, Paul de Vaux, near Vaux Abbey?" + +He bowed, looking at her with fresh interest. His name seemed familiar +to her. In a moment or two the unnatural lethargy left her, and she +spoke to him, though still in a curiously suppressed tone. + +"I beg your pardon. You are welcome. I was a little startled at +first." + +She rang the bell. Gomez answered it. + +"Bring some fresh tea, and some sandwiches and wine," she ordered. +"Tell them in the stables to see that this gentleman's horse has every +attention." + +Gomez received his orders in silence, and withdrew with darkening +face. Paul looked after him with surprise. + +"Gomez does not seem particularly pleased to see me again," he +remarked. "What is the matter with the man, I wonder?" + +"It is only his manner, I think," she said softly. "He was your +father's servant, was he not?" + +"Yes. How did you know that?" he asked quickly. "Ah, I beg your +pardon; he told you, of course. You will find him a faithful servant." + +She bowed her head, but made no reply. Indeed, Paul found it very +difficult to start a conversation of any sort with his new neighbour. +To all his remarks she returned only monosyllabic answers, looking at +him steadily all the while out of her full, dark eyes in a far-away, +wistful manner, as though she saw in his face something which carried +her thoughts into another world. It was a little uncomfortable for +Paul, and he was not sorry when Gomez reappeared, bearing a tray with +refreshments. + +She handed him his tea in silence; and Paul, who would have been +ashamed to have called himself curious, but who was by this time not a +little puzzled at her manner, made one more effort at conversation. + +"I think you said that you were quite strange to this part of the +country," he remarked. "We, who have lived here all our lives, are +fond of it; but I'm afraid you'll find it rather dull at first. There +is very little society." + +"We do not desire any," she said hastily. "We came here--at least I +came here--for the sake of indulging in absolute seclusion. It is the +same with my step-daughter. In London she had been forced to keep late +hours, and her health has suffered. The doctor prescribed complete +rest; I, too, desired rest, so we came here. A London house agent +arranged it for us." + +So there was a step-daughter who lived in London, and who went out a +great deal. The mention of her gave Paul an opportunity. + +"I wonder if I have ever met your daughter in town," he said +pleasantly. "I am there a good deal, and I have rather a large circle +of acquaintances." + +The implied question seemed to disconcert her. She coloured, and then +grew suddenly pale. Her eyes no longer looked into his; they were +fixed steadfastly upon the fire. + +"It is not at all probable," she said, nervously lacing and +interlacing her slim white fingers. "No, it is scarcely possible. +You would not be likely to meet her. Your friends would not be her +friends. She knows so few people. Ah!" + +She started quickly. The door had opened, but it was only Gomez, who +had come in with a tray for the empty tea-things. There was a dead +silence whilst he removed them. Paul scarcely knew what to say. His +hostess puzzled him completely. Perhaps this step-daughter, whose +name, together with her own, she seemed so anxious to conceal, was +mad, and she had brought her down here instead of sending her to an +asylum; or perhaps she herself was mad. He glanced at her furtively, +and at once dismissed the latter idea. Her face, careworn and +curiously pallid though it was, was the face of no madwoman. It was +the face of a woman who had passed through a fiery sea of this world's +trouble and suffering--suffering which had left its marks stamped upon +her features; but, of his own accord, he would never have put it down +as the face of a weak or erring woman. + +There was a mystery--of that he felt sure; but it was no part of his +business to seek to unravel it. The best thing he could do, he felt, +was to get up and go. He could scarcely maintain a conversation +without asking or implying questions which seemed to painfully +embarrass his hostess. + +"I'm very much obliged to you," he said, rising and holding out his +hand. "I feel quite a new man! If you don't mind I'd like to leave +my mare here until to-morrow. She really isn't fit to travel. My man +shall come for her early." + +"Pray do!" she answered quickly. "Ah!" + +She had started, and clutched at the back of her chair with trembling +fingers. Her eyes, wide open and startled, were fixed upon the door. + +Paul, too, turned round, and uttered a little cry. His heart beat +fast, and the room swam before him. He stood for a moment perfectly +still, with his eyes fastened upon the figure in the doorway. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +"AND MOST OF ALL WOULD I FLY FROM THE CRUEL MADNESS OF LOVE" + + +It was Adrea--Adrea herself! She stood there in the shadow of the +doorway, with her lips slightly parted, and her great eyes, soft and +brilliant, flashing in the ruddy firelight. It was no vision; it was +she beyond a doubt! + +Even when the first shock had passed away, he found himself without +words; the wonder of it had dazed him. He had thought of her so often +in that quaint, dainty little chamber in Grey Street that to see her +here so unexpectedly, without the least warning or anticipation, was +like being suddenly confronted with a picture which had stepped out +of its frame. And that she should be here, too, of all places, here +in this bleak corner of the kingdom, where blustering winds swept +bare the sullen moorland, and the sea was always grey and stormy. What +strange fate could have brought her here, away from all the warmth and +luxury of London, to this half-deserted old manor house on the verge +of the heath? His mind was too confused in those first few moments to +follow out any definite train of thought. The most natural conclusion, +that she had come to him, did not enter his imagination. + +His first impulse, as his senses became clearer, was to glance around +for the woman who had called Adrea her step-daughter. She was gone. +She must have stepped out of the room by the opposite doorway; and +with the knowledge that they were alone, he breathed freer. + +"Adrea!" he said, "it is really you, then!" + +His words, necessarily commonplace, dissolved the situation. She +laughed softly, and came further into the room. + +"It is I," she said. "Did you think that I was an elf from +spirit-land?" + +He had never shaken hands with her,--it was a thing which had never +occurred to either of them; but a sudden impulse came to him then. He +took a hasty step forward, and clasped both her little white hands in +his. So they stood for another minute in silence, and a strange, soft +light flashed in her upturned eyes. She was very near to him, and +there was an indefinable sense of yielding in her manner, amounting +almost to a mute invitation. He felt that he had only to open his +arms, and that strange, beautiful face, with its mocking, quivering +mouth, would be very close to his. The old battle was forced upon him +to fight all over again; and, alas! he was no stronger. + +It was almost as though she had seen the hesitation--the conflict in +him--for with a sudden, imperious gesture she withdrew her hands and +turned away from him. There was a scarlet flush creeping through the +deep olive of her cheeks, and her eyes were dry and brilliant. Paul, +who had never studied women or their ways, looked at her, surprised +and a little hurt. + +"You are surprised to see me here, of course?" she said, sinking into +a low easy-chair, and taking up a fire-screen of peacocks' feathers, +as though to shield her face from the fire. "Well, it is quite an +accident. I wrote you rather a silly letter the other day; but you +must not think that I have followed you down here!" + +"I did not think so," he answered hastily. "The idea never occurred, +never could have occurred to me!" + +She continued, without heeding his interruption: "I will explain how +we came to take this cottage. A relative of mine came to me suddenly +from abroad. She was in great trouble, and was in search of a very +secluded dwelling-place, where she might live for a time unknown. I +also was in bad health, and the doctor had ordered me complete rest +and quiet. We went to a house agent, and told him what we wanted--to +get as far away from every one as possible. We did not care how lonely +the place was, or how far from London; the further the better. This +house was to let, furnished, and at a low figure. I did not know that +Vaux Abbey was in the same county even. It suited us, and we took it." + +"I understand," Paul answered. "And now that you are here, are you not +afraid of finding it dull?" + +She turned away from him, biting her lip. "You do not understand me! +You never will. No! I shall not be dull." + +"I beg your pardon, Adrea. I----" + +"Be quiet!" she interrupted impetuously. "You think that I am too +frivolous to live away from the glare and excitement of the city. +Of course! To you I am just the dancing girl, nothing more. Do not +contradict me. I hate your serious manner. I hate your patronage. +Don't contradict me, I say. Tell me this. How did you find me out? Why +are you here?" + +"I have been out hunting, and I lost my way," Paul answered quietly. +"I know Major Harcourt, and, thinking he was still living here, I +called for a rest, and to put my horse up. Your step-mother has been +very kind and hospitable." + +Adrea looked at him curiously. "Indeed! She has been kind to you, has +she? Who told you that she was my step-mother?" + +"I thought I understood you to say so." + +"Did I? Perhaps so; I don't remember. So she was kind to you, was she? +She has no cause to be." + +"No cause to be! Why not?" + +She shrugged her shoulders, "Oh, I don't know. I'm talking a little at +random, I think. You angered me, Monsieur Paul. I am a silly girl, am +I not? Do you know that I have thrown up all my engagements until next +season? I do not think that I shall dance again at all." + +"I am glad to hear it." + +"But I shall go on the stage." + +"There is no necessity for that, is there?" + +"Necessity! You mean that I have not to earn my bread. That may be +true, but what would you have me to do? I am not content to be one of +your English young ladies--to sit down, and learn to cook and darn, +and read silly books, until fate is kind enough to send me a husband. +Not so. I have ambition; I have an artist's instincts, although I may +not yet be an artist. I must live; I must have light and colour in my +life." + +Paul was very grave. He did not understand this new phase in +Adrea's development. There was a curious hardness in her tone and a +recklessness in her speech which were strange to him. And with it +all he felt very helpless. He could not play the part of guardian and +reprove her; he scarcely knew how to argue with her. Women and their +ways were strange to him; and, besides, Adrea was so different. + +He stood up on the hearthrug, toying with his long riding-whip, +puzzled and unhappy. Adrea was angry with him, he knew; and though he +was very anxious to set himself right with her, he felt that he was +treading on dangerous ground. He was neither sure of himself nor of +her. + +"I am afraid I am a very poor counsellor, Adrea," he said slowly; "but +it seems to me that you want women friends. Your life has been too +lonely, too devoid of feminine interests." + +She laughed--a mirthless, unpleasant little laugh. "Women friends! +Good! You say that I have none. It is true. There have been no +women who have offered me their friendship in this country. You call +yourself my guardian. Why do you not find me some?" + +"You have made it very difficult," he reminded her. + +She threw a scornful glance at him. "Good! That is generous. You mean +to say that I have made myself unfit for the friendship of the +women of your family. I thank you, Monsieur Paul. I think that our +conversation has lasted long enough. Let me pass; I am going to leave +you." + +He moved quickly towards the door, and barred her passage. There was +a dark flush in his cheeks and a gleam in his eyes. Up till then his +manner had been a little deprecating, but at her last words it had +suddenly changed. He felt that she was unjust, and he was indignant. + +"Adrea, you talk like a child," he said sternly. "I made no such +insinuation as you suggest! You know that I did not! Sit down!" + +She obeyed him; the quick change in his manner had startled her, and +taken her at a disadvantage. She felt the force of his superior will, +and she yielded to it. + +He leaned over her chair, and his voice grew softer. "Adrea, you are +very, very unjust to me," he said. "Do you wish to make me so unhappy, +I wonder? For a week I have been thinking of scarcely anything else +save our last parting, and now if I had not stopped you, almost by +force, you would have left me again in anger." + +His tone had grown almost tender, and, as though unconsciously, his +hand had rested upon her gleaming coils of dark, braided hair. She +looked up at him, and in the firelight he could see that her eyes were +soft and dim. + +"You have really thought of me?" she said in a low tone. "You have +really been unhappy on my account?" + +"I have!" he admitted. "Very unhappy!" + +Something in his tone--in the reluctance with which he made the +admission, angered her. She moved a little further away, and her voice +grew harder. + +"Yes; you have been unhappy!" she said. "And why? It was because you +were ashamed to find yourself thinking of me; you, Paul de Vaux, a +citizen of the world and a man of culture, thinking of a poor dancing +girl with only her looks to recommend her! That was where the sting +lay! That was what reddened your cheek! You men! You are as selfish as +devils!" + +She stamped her foot; her voice was shaking with passion. Paul stood +before her with a deep flush on his pale cheeks, silent, like a man +suddenly accused. Her words were not altogether true, but they were +winged with, at any rate, the semblance of truth. + +She continued--a little more quietly, but with her tone and form still +vibrating. + +"What do you fear? What is that you struggle against? I have seen +you when it has been your will to take me--into your arms, to hold my +hands. Then I have seen you conquer the desire, and you run away, as +though afraid of it. Why? Do you fear that I shall seek to compromise +you?--is not that the English word? Do you think that I want you to +marry me? Is it because you dare not, that you--you do not offer to +take my hand, even? Tell me now! Why is it?" + +"For your own sake, Adrea!" + +"For my own sake!" she repeated scornfully. "Do you believe it +yourself? Do you really think that it is true? I will tell you why +it is! It is because you have no thought, no imagination. You say to +yourself, she is not of my world. I cannot marry her." + +There was a silence. A burning coal fell upon the hearth, and flamed +up; the glow reached Paul's face. He was very pale, and his eyes were +dry and brilliant. Suddenly he moved forward, and clasped Adrea's +hands tightly in his. + +"But, Adrea! are you sure that you love me?" + +A sudden change swept into her face. Her dark eyes grew wonderfully +soft. + +"Yes!" she answered, looking up to him with a swift, brilliant smile. +"I am sure!" + +He held out his arms; his resistance was at an end. It had grown +weaker and weaker during those last few moments; now it was all over, +swept away by a sudden, tumultuous passion, so strange and little akin +to the man that it startled even himself. Afar off in his mind he was +conscious of a dim sense of shame as he held her close in his arms and +felt her warm, trembling lips pressed against his. But it was like an +echo from a distant land. It seemed to him that a deep, widening gulf +lay now between him and all that had gone before. His old self was +dead! A new man had sprung up, with a new personality, and the time +had not yet come for regrets. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +"'TWIXT YOU AND ME A NOISOME SHADOW CAST" + + +"Adrea!" + +It was a cry which seemed to ring through the room, an interruption +so sudden and strange that they started apart like guilty children, +gazing towards the lifted curtain which divided the apartment with +wondering, half-fearful faces. The woman whom Adrea had called her +step-mother stood there, pale and bloodless, with her great black eyes +flashing, and behind her a tall, dark figure was gazing sternly at +them. + +Adrea was the first to recover her composure. She was a little further +away, and she could see only her step-mother. + +"What do you want?" she exclaimed quickly. "I desire to be alone! Why +do you stand there?" + +There was no answer. Then the momentary silence was broken by a quick, +startled cry from Paul, which seemed to cleave the semi-darkness of +the room. + +"My God!" + +The dark figure had moved forward, and was standing, pale and austere, +before them. It was Father Adrian. + +There was a moment's intense silence. Then Paul turned swiftly round +to where Adrea stood, a little behind him. But the suspicions which +had commenced to crowd in upon him vanished before even they had taken +to themselves definite shape. Her surprise was as great as his; and, +as their eyes met, she shuddered with the memory which his presence +had recalled. + +"Paul de Vaux, I had no thought of meeting you here," Father Adrian +said sternly. + +Paul met his gaze haughtily. There was a rebuke, almost a threat, in +the priest's tone which angered him. Whatever his presence here might +betide, he was in no way responsible for it to Father Adrian. + +"Nor I you," he answered. "I imagined that you were staying at the +monastery." + +"I am staying there." + +Madame de Merteuill stepped slowly into the room. She was still +trembling, and had all the appearance of a woman sore stricken by some +unexpected calamity. Even her voice was faint and broken. + +"Father Adrian is a visitor here only--an unexpected one--like +yourself." + +"Why is he here?" Adrea asked slowly. "Has he come to see us again? +What does he want?" + +Father Adrian turned towards her, grave and severe. "I have come to +see Madame de Merteuill. I bring her a message from an old man +whom, by her absence, she is wronging. You I did not expect to find +here,--and thus." + +She made no answer. The priest drew a little nearer to her, and his +thin, ascetic face seemed suddenly ablaze with scorn and anger. + +"Child! your destiny is surely to bring sorrow upon all those who +would watch over you, and shape your life aright. Where you have been +living, and how, since your flight, I do not know. You have hidden +yourself well! You have shown more than the ordinary selfishness of +childhood! You have thought nothing of those who may have troubled for +you! I do not ask for your confidence. This is enough for me: I find +you here in his arms--his of all men in the world! False to your +Church; false to your sex; false to your father's memory! Shameless!" + +She did not flinch from before him. She looked him in the face, coldly +and without fear. + +"You are a priest, and you do not understand. Be so good as to +remember that I am no longer now in your power or under your +authority. You cannot threaten to make me a nun any longer. Remember +that I am outside your life now, and outside your religion." + +"You can be brought back," he said calmly. "I have powers." + +"Powers which I defy. Your religion is a cold, dry farce, and I hate +it. You cannot frighten me; you cannot alarm me in the least. You can +do ugly things, I know, in the name of your Church; and if you had me +back at the convent, or on that awful island, I should be frightened +at you. Here, I am not." + +Instinctively she glanced toward Paul. Already in her thoughts, he was +assuming the protector. He would not suffer harm to come to her. +He was strong and rich and powerful. The horror of days gone by had +already grown faint with her; it was little more than memory. It was +gone, and could not come again. + +"I have not come here to talk with you, child," he answered quietly. +"My errand has been with Madame de Merteuill, and it is accomplished, +I go now. Paul de Vaux, our ways lie together for a mile or more, and +I have a word to say to you. Let us go." + +Paul was slowly recovering from a state of mental stupor, and, with +his discovery, something of the glamour of his late intoxication was +passing away. He had no regret, there was nothing which he would have +recalled; but his eyes were stronger to pierce the mists, and he was +able to bring the weight of impersonal thought to bear upon all that +had passed between Adrea and himself. Wheresoever it might lead, there +was a tie between them now which could not be lightly severed. + +"It is time I went," Paul answered. "Adrea, I will come and see you +to-morrow." + +She looked at the priest, suspicious and troubled. "What does he want +with you, Paul?" she whispered. "Don't go with him!" + +"I must!" he answered sadly. "He has something to say to me which I +wish to hear. I will come and see you to-morrow." + +"If you must, then, until to-morrow. But, Paul!" + +She drew him on one side. "Beware of him! Oh! beware of him!" she +said quickly, her eyes full of fear. "He is a fanatic, a Jesuit. Don't +trust him! Have little to say to him. Hush! don't answer me! He is +watching. Good-night, beloved! my beloved!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"IF LOVE YOU CHOOSE, THEN LOVE SHALL BE YOUR RUIN" + + +Paul and his companion walked down the avenue in silence, and turned +into the narrow, stony road which wound across the moor. The storm was +over, and the rain had ceased. Above them, only faintly visible, as +though seen through a canopy of delicate lace, the stars were shining +in a cloudless sky through the wreaths of faint grey mist. Far off, +the sound of the sea came rolling across the moor to their ears, now +loud and threatening as it beat against the iron cliffs and thundered +up the coombs, now striking a shriller note as the huge waves, ever +beaten off, retreated, dragging beach and shingle with them. It +had been an ocean gale, and the very air was salt and brackish with +flavours of the sea. Here and there great piles of seaweed had been +carried in a heterogeneous mass to their feet, and the ground beneath +them was soft and sandy. But the storm had died away as suddenly as it +had come. The tall, stark pine trees, which a few hours ago had been +bending like whips before the rushing wind, stood now stiff and stark +against the wan sky. There was not even motion enough in the air to +clear away the white mists which hung around. Only the troubled sea +remained to mark the passage of the storm. + +Paul was in no mood for talking. He recognised the fact that what had +happened to him that evening must, to a certain extent, colour his +whole life. He wanted to think it over quietly, now that he was away +from the influence of Adrea's passionately beautiful face and pleading +eyes. He had an inward sense of great disappointment in himself, and +he was anxious to see how far this was justified. He was prepared for +a rigid self-examination, and he was impatient to begin upon it. +But, while he was still upon the threshold of his meditations, his +companion's voice sounded in his ear. + +"Paul de Vaux, I have a word or two to say to you." + +Paul awoke with a start. "Certainly!" he said gravely. "I am ready." + +Father Adrian continued, speaking slowly and keeping his eyes fixed +steadily upon Paul; "Only a few nights ago we met amongst the ruins of +your old Abbey. You will remember that I spoke to you of your father's +last hours, of a strange story confided to my keeping--a story of sin +and of sorrow--a story casting its shadow far into the future. You +remember this?" + +"Perfectly!" + +"At first you seemed to consider that this story, told to me on +his deathbed by a man who was at least repentant, should be held +sacred--sacred to me as a priest of the Holy Church, and sacred to you +as his son. Yet, as you saw afterwards, it was not so. The confession +was made to me as a man; and withal it was made by one outside the +pale of any religion whatever. It was mine to do as I chose with! It +is mine now!" + +"If it is anything which concerns me, or the honour of my family, you +should tell me. If it involves wrongs which should be righted, or in +any way concerns the future, you should tell me. You must have come +for that purpose! You must mean to eventually, or why should you have +found your way to this out-of-the-way corner of the world. Let me hear +it now, Father Adrian!" + +"It will darken your life!" + +"I do not believe it! At any rate I will judge for myself. Let me hear +it!" + +The priest looked away into the darkness, and his voice was low and +hoarse. "You do not know what you ask!" he said. "No, I shall not tell +you yet. It is for your own sake! Sometimes I think that I will go +away and never tell you." + +"Why not? You came here for no other reason." + +Father Adrian shook his head. "I did not come to tell you. It was +your home I came to see. Many hundreds of years ago Vaux Abbey was a +monastery, sacred to the saint whose name I unworthily bear. My visit +here was half a pilgrimage! But," he went on, his brows contracting, +and his eyes gleaming fire, "since I came, I have been perilously near +striking the blow which I have power to strike. You bear a name which +for centuries was foremost in the history of our sacred Church. For +generation after generation the De Vauxs were good Catholics and the +benefactors of their Church. Your chapel was richly adorned, and five +priests dwelt here always with old Sir Roland de Vaux. And now, where +is your chapel, once the most beautiful in England; it is a pile of +ruins, like your faith! I wander round in your villages. Your tenants +have gone the way of their lord. Roman Catholicism is a dying power. +Hideous chapels have sprung up in all your districts! The true faith +is neglected! And who is to blame for it all? Your recreant family. +You, who should have been the most zealous upholders of religion, have +drifted down the stream of fashion, nerveless and indifferent. Oh! it +is heresy, rank heresy, to think of a De Vaux, such as you, dwelling +indifferent amongst the mighty associations of your name and home! I +wander about amongst those magnificent ruins of yours, æsthetically +beautiful, but nevertheless a living, burning reproach, and I ask +myself whether I do well in holding my peace. I cannot tell! I cannot +tell!" + +Paul was moved in spite of himself by the vehemence of his companion's +words. The horrors of that deathbed scene at Cruta had never grown dim +to him. He had always felt that his father had only decided to +keep something back from him in those last moments, after a bitter +struggle; and he was now quite sure that whatever it might have been, +the secret had been confided to this priest. + +"I want to ask you a question," he said. "Whatever this mystery may be +to which you are constantly alluding, I am of course ignorant. But you +seem to have some understanding with the two women whom we have left +this evening. I want to know whether Adrea is concerned in it." + +"She is not!" + +"Nor Madame de Merteuill?" + +"I cannot tell you!" + +They were in the Abbey grounds, close to the ruins, and the moorland +lay behind them, with its floating mists and vague obscurity. Here the +sky was soft and clear, and every pillar amongst the ruins stood out +against the empty background of sea and sky. Father Adrian paused. + +"I will come no further," he said. "I am a saner man away from your +despoiled home. There is just a last word which I have to say to you." + +Paul stood still, and listened. + +"I have borne much," Father Adrian said, "much tempting and many +impulses; but I have zealously put a watch upon my tongue, and I +have spared you. For the future, your happiness--nay, your future +itself--is in your own hands. I saw your father kill the only relative +Adrea had in this world. We saw the deed done, though we have both +held our peace concerning it. Paul de Vaux, I am inclined to spare you +a great blow which it is in my power to strike. I am inclined to spare +you, but I make one hard and fast condition. Adrea is not for you! She +must be neither your wife, nor your friend, nor your ward! There must +be no dealings, no knowledge between you the one of the other! There +is blood between you; it can never be wiped out! The stain is forever. +Lift up your hand to heaven, and swear that you will never willingly +look upon her face again, or, as God is my master, I will bring upon +your name, and your family, and you, swift and everlasting shame!" + +His hand fell to his side, and his voice, which had been vibrating +with passion, died away in a little, suppressed sob. Paul looked at +him steadily. The perspiration was standing out upon his forehead in +great beads, and his eyes were dry and brilliant. The man was shaken +to the very core, and in the strange upheaval of passion he had +altogether lost his sacerdotality. It was the man who had spoken, the +man, passionate and sensuous, deeply moved through every chord of his +being. The "priest" had fallen away from him, the remembrance of it +seemed almost grotesque. Paul, too, had caught much of the passionate +excitement of the moment. + +"Time!" he said hoarsely. "I must have time. A few days only. I ask no +questions! Only how long?" + +"A week!" the priest answered. "A week to-night we meet here!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +"SOFTLY GLIMMERING THROUGH THE LAURELS AT THE QUIET EVENFALL" + + +"Do you know who has taken Major Harcourt's cottage, Mr. de Vaux?" +Lady May asked. + +Paul was silent for a moment. He sat quite still in his saddle, and +gazed across the moor, with his hand shading his eyes. + +"I beg your pardon, Lady May," he said. "I thought that I heard the +dogs. You asked me----" + +"About Major Harcourt's cottage. Do you know who has taken it?" + +"I am not sure about the name. It is a foreign lady, and her +step-daughter, I believe. There is a clergy-man--or a Roman Catholic +priest, rather--too; but he may be only a visitor." + +"Indeed!" + +The monosyllable was expressive. Paul glanced at his companion with +slightly arched eyebrows. What had she heard? Something, evidently, +for there had been a coolness in her manner all the morning, and her +clear grey eyes were resting now upon the many gables of the cottage +just below them, with distinct disapproval. Now that he thought of it, +Paul remembered that a dogcart from the Castle had whirled past him as +he had turned out of the drive last night. Doubtless he had been seen +and recognised. Well! after all, what did it matter? The time when he +had meant to ask Lady May to be his wife seemed very far back in the +past now. Between that part of his life and now, there was a great +gulf fixed. Last night had altered everything! + +He had certainly not meant to hunt that morning, but it had been +forced upon him. Quite early, Reynolds had come to his room to inquire +whether he should provide breakfast for thirty or fifty, and had +reminded him that the meet was in front of the Abbey. So, against his +will, Paul had been compelled to entertain the hunt and join in it +himself. Lady May had been specially invited to breakfast, but she had +not come, and Paul had only just seen her for the first time at the +cover side. She had greeted him coldly; and though they had somehow +taken up a position a little apart from the others, very few words +had passed between them. Her frank, delicate face was clouded, and her +manner was reserved. + +"I believe my brother knows who they are," she continued, after a +short silence. "He saw them at the station." + +Paul bit his lip, and turned away. The mystery of Lady May's manner +was explained now. + +"Did he tell you, then?" + +Lady May toyed with her whip, and then looked Paul straight in the +face. "Yes! he told me the name of the younger one. It is Adrea Kiros, +the dancing girl. Mr. de Vaux, may I ask you a question?" + +"Certainly!" + +Lady May looked straight between her horse's ears, and a slight flush +stole into her cheeks. "You must not think that I was listening; it +was not so at all. But last night, as I was passing the billiard-room, +I heard my brother and Captain Mortimer talking. They were coupling +your name with this--Miss Adrea Kiros. They spoke of her coming down +here as though you must have known something of it. They were blaming +you, as though you were responsible for her coming. We have been +friends, Mr. de Vaux; and so far as I am concerned, our friendship has +been very pleasant. But if there is any truth in what they said--well, +you can guess the rest. I want you to tell me yourself; I am never +content to accept hearsay evidence against my friends. I prefer to be +unconventional, as you see. Please tell me!" + +"Will you put your question a little more definitely, Lady May?" Paul +asked slowly. + +"Certainly! Has that young person come here at your instigation? Did +you arrange for her to come here?" + +"I did not! No one could have been more surprised to see her than I +was." + +Lady May was growing very stiff. She sat up in her saddle, and drew +the reins through her fingers. "You know her?" + +"I do!" + +"You visited her in London?" + +"I did!" + +"You were at the cottage last evening?" + +"I was! I lost my way, and----" + +Lady May touched her horse with her spur. "Thank you, Mr. de Vaux!" +she said haughtily. "I will not trouble you any more. Please don't +follow me!" + +Paul watched her ride down the hillside and join one of the little +groups dotted about outside the cover-side, with a curious sense of +unreality. After a while he broke into a little laugh, and, shaking +his reins, lit a cigar. This was a new character for him altogether. +He knew himself that no man had kept his life more blameless than he! +If anything, he felt sometimes that he had erred upon the other +side in thinking and speaking too hastily of those who had been +less circumspect. And now, it had come to this. The woman whose good +opinion he had always valued next to his mother's had deliberately +accused him of what must have seemed to her a flagrant outrage on +decency. Her words were still ringing in his ears: "Please don't +follow me." Lady May had said that to him; it was a little hard to +realize. + +A commotion around the cover below was a welcome diversion to him +just then. A fox had got clear away, and hounds were in full cry. Paul +pressed his hat down, and settled into his saddle with a grim smile. +The physical excitement was just what he wanted, and in a few minutes +he was leading the field, with only the master by his side, and +Captain Westover a few yards behind. + +At the first check, Captain Westover rode up to him. "I want just a +word or two with you, De Vaux!" he said, drawing him on one side. + +Paul drew himself up in his saddle, and sat there glum and unbending. +"I am at your service," he answered. "I have had the pleasure already +of a short conversation with your sister this morning." + +Captain Westover nodded. "I suppose so. I want to beg your pardon +first for what I am going to say, De Vaux. If I make an ass of myself, +don't scruple to say so! But I want to ask you this! Why, in thunder, +did you let Adrea what's-her-name, the dancing girl, come down here?" + +"It was no business of mine! I did not know that she was coming!" + +Captain Westover stroked his moustache and looked puzzled. "Look here, +old man," he said slowly, "you go to see her in London, don't you?" + +"I have been!" + +"Just so! And you were down at the cottage last night, weren't you?" + +"I was!" + +"Well! hang it all, then you must have known something about her +coming, you know! It can't be just a coincidence. Bevan & Bevan are +my solicitors, and by the purest accident, one day I learned that Miss +Adrea enjoys a settlement of a thousand a year from you. They didn't +tell me, of course. I happened to catch sight of your check on the +table one day, and overheard old Sam Bevan give some instructions to +a clerk. Sorry, but I couldn't help it! You're the first person I've +breathed it to." + +"I am her guardian!" Paul exclaimed angrily. + +Captain Westover whistled. "You may call it what you like, old fellow! +I don't mind, I can assure you! You don't seem inclined to listen to +any advice, so I won't offer any more. But if you'll forgive my saying +so, you're doing a d----d silly thing. Good-morning." + +On the whole, Paul did not enjoy his day's hunting; and before it was +all over, he found himself once more in an embarrassing situation. For +as he rode past the gates of the cottage, on his way home, Adrea was +there, breathless and laughing, with her dusky hair waving loosely +around her shapely head. + +"I saw you coming," she said, a little shyly, "and I was afraid that +you would not stop, so I ran out as fast as I could. It was silly of +me! You were coming in, weren't you?" + +"I think not!" Paul answered gravely. "Look how thick in mud I am, and +how tired my horse looks!" + +She looked up at him with pleading eyes and parted lips. "Do come!" +she said. "I have been expecting you all day!" + +She held the gate open, and stood looking up at him, a curiously +picturesque-looking figure in the grey twilight. Her gown was like no +other woman's; it was something between a Greek robe and a tea-gown, +of a dull orange hue, and her dusky hair was tied up with a bow of +ribbon of the same colour. Everything about her was strange; even +the faint perfume which hung about her clothes, and which brought him +sudden, swift memories of that moment when she had lain in his arms, +and his lips had met hers. Paul felt the colour steal into his pale +cheeks as he leaped to the ground, and passed his arm through his +horse's bridle. + +"I will come, _cara mia_!" he said softly. + +She clasped her hands through his other arm, and whispered something +in his ear, as they turned up the avenue together. Just then the +sound of horses' hoofs in the road made them both turn round. Captain +Westover and Lady May were riding by together, with their eyes fixed +upon Paul and his companion. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +"BLOOD CALLS ALOUD FOR BLOOD AND NOT FOR HANDS ENTWINED" + + +It was with a strange conflict of feelings that Paul, with Adrea +by his side, passed across the square, low hall of the cottage, +plentifully decorated with stags' heads and other sporting trophies, +and into the drawing-room. It was a room which had been built, too, of +quaint shape, made up of nooks and corners and recesses, and with dark +oak beams stretching right across the ceiling. The furniture was all +old-fashioned, and of different periods; but the general effect was +harmonious, though a trifle shabby. Paul knew it well! Many an evening +he had come in to tea there, after a cigar and a chat with the old +Major, and lounged in that low chair by Mrs. Harcourt's side. But it +scarcely seemed like the same room to him now. The Major and his wife +had been old-fashioned people, and their personality, and talk, and +surroundings, had created a sort of atmosphere which Paul had grown +almost to associate with the place. He missed it directly he entered +the room. What it was that had worked the change it was hard to tell. +Adrea had been far too charmed with its quaintness to seriously alter +anything. A little stiffness in the arrangement of the furniture had +been corrected, and the few antimacassars carefully removed; otherwise +nothing had been changed. The great bowls of yellow roses and +chrysanthemums, and the piles of modern books and music lying about, +might have been partly responsible for it; and the faint perfume which +he had grown to associate altogether with Adrea, and which seemed +wafted into the air as she gathered up her skirts on her way into +the room, had a foreign flavour in it. But, after all, it was Adrea +herself who changed the atmosphere so completely. She was so different +from other women in her strange Eastern beauty and the leopard-like +grace of her movements that she could not fail to create an atmosphere +around her. Yes! it was she herself who had worked the change; just as +she had worked so wonderful a change in him, Paul told himself. + +At first they had thought that the room was empty; and Adrea, who had +entered a little in advance, turned round to Paul and held out her +hands with a sudden sweeping gesture of invitation. Even in that +moment, as he moved towards her, Paul had time to feel a quick glow +of admiration at the artistic elegance of her pose and colouring. Her +proud, dusky face and brilliant eyes found a perfect background in the +deep orange of her loose gown, and the velvet twined amongst her dark +hair. Her arms, stretched out towards him, were half bare, where the +lace had fallen back, and a world of passionate love and invitation +was glowing in her face as she leaned slightly towards him, as if +impatient of his slow advance. But before his hands had touched hers, +a voice from the further end of the room had broken in upon that +eloquent silence. + +"Adrea! you did not see me!" + +They stood for a moment as though paralysed; then Adrea turned +slowly round with darkening face. "I did not! I thought that you were +upstairs!" + +She glided out of the shadows, a slim, tall figure dressed with +curious simplicity, and with white, bloodless face. "I am going away," +she said, coming quite close to them, and fixing her full, deep +eyes upon Adrea; "I am going away at once. But, Adrea, there is one +word--just one word--" + +"Say it!" Adrea interrupted impatiently. + +She glanced at Paul. He made a movement as though to quit the room, +but Adrea prevented him. "You need not go!" she said. "Anything that +is to be said can be said to you as well as to me. I prefer to have no +secrets! You were going to say something to me," she added, turning to +her companion. + +"Yes! I have no objection to say it before Mr. de Vaux. I simply want +to ask you whether you consider him a proper visitor in this house?" + +"I choose it! I am mistress here!" + +For a moment an angry reply seemed to quiver upon the woman's lips, +but it died away. + +"You are right! I thank you for reminding me of it," she said quietly. +"And yet, Adrea, hear me! You are doing an evil thing! Was your +father's murder so light a thing to you that you can join hands with +his murderer's son? Remember that day! Think of your father lying +across that chamber floor, stricken dead in a single moment by Martin +de Vaux--by his father! It is not seemly that you two should stand +there, hand in hand! It is not seemly for you to be under the same +roof! It is horrible!" + +There was a moment's silence. Then Adrea threw open the door, and +pointed to it. + +"Go!" she ordered coldly. "You have had your say, and that is my +answer! You were my father's friend; I believe that he loved you! It +was for his sake that I offered you shelter! It was for his sake that +I brought you here! But, remember this: if you wish to stay with me, +let me never hear another word from you on this subject!" + +She went out silently. Adrea closed the door, and turned round with +all the hardness fading swiftly out of her features. A moment before +there had been a look of the tigress in her eyes; and Paul, watching +her, had shuddered. It was gone now. She came close up to Paul, and +led him to a chair. + +"Was I very undignified?" she said, laughing. "I am afraid I was. I +was very angry!" + +He shook his head. "You were not undignified," he said, "but you were +very severe. I think that she will go away." + +Adrea's face hardened again. "I do not care! I would hate the dearest +friend I had on earth who tried to come between us. Oh! Paul, Paul! +don't you feel as I do; as though the world were empty, and my mind +swept bare of memories,--as though there were no background to it all, +nothing save you and I, and our love?" + +Paul drew her to him. For him, at that moment, there was no past nor +any future. The dreamy _abandon_ of her manner seemed to have raised +an echo within him. + +"Listen! What is that?" Adrea exclaimed suddenly. + +There was the ring of a horse's hoofs in the avenue, and immediately +afterwards a loud peal at the bell. Paul and Adrea looked at one +another breathlessly. Who could it be? + +The outer door was opened and closed, and then quick steps passed +across the hall. The drawing-room door was thrown open, and Arthur +de Vaux, pale and splashed with mud from head to foot, stood upon the +threshold. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +"THE NEW, STRONG WINE OF LOVE" + + +The situation, although it was only a brief one, was for a moment +possessed of a singularly dramatic force. The grouping and the +colouring in that dimly lit drawing-room were all that an artist could +desire, and the facial expressions bordered upon the tragic. Of all +men in the world, his brother was the last whom of his own choosing +Paul would have wished to see. + +There was a brief silence. Arthur, breathless through his hasty +entrance, could only stand there upon the threshold, his face white to +the lips, and his eyes flashing with passionate anger and dismay. +To him the situation was more than painful; it was horrible. To have +believed ill of Paul from hearsay would have been impossible; his +confidence in his elder brother had been unbounded. He had always +looked up to him as the mirror of everything that was honorable and +chivalrous. Even now, perhaps there might be some explanation--some +partial explanation, at any rate. Paul was standing back amongst the +shadows, and his face was only barely visible. Doubtless it was +only surprise which held him silent. In a moment he would speak, +and explain everything. It was this thought which loosened Arthur's +tongue. + +"Paul," he cried, and stepping forward into the room, "and Adrea! You +here, and together! Tell me what it means! I have a right to know. I +will know." + +He had determined to be cool, to bear himself like a man, but their +silence maddened him. Adrea, it is true, showed no signs of guilt or +confusion in her cold, questioning face. But the deceit, if deceit +there had been, was not hers. It was Paul who was responsible to him, +and it was Paul who should have spoken--Paul, who stood there with a +hidden face, a silent, immovable figure. + +"Are you stricken dumb?" he cried angrily. "You can see who I am, +can't you, Paul? Speak to me! Tell me whether there is any truth +in these stories which are flying about the county, with no one to +contradict them." + +What might have been the tragedy of the situation vanished for Paul at +the sound of his brother's words. After all, it was not the just anger +of a deceived man with which he was confronted, but the empty scream +of a boy's passion. Arthur's infatuation had but skimmed the surface +of his light nature. He was pricked, not wounded. Yet, though in a +sense this realization brought its relief, Paul felt humbled into the +dust. He was actually conscious of his own humiliation. So far as +a nature such as his could be conventional, he had become so in +deference to the opinion of those who looked up to him as the head of +a great house, and of whom much was to be expected, both socially and +politically. What must become of that opinion now, Arthur's words too +plainly foreshadowed. + +He moved forward into the centre of the room, and faced his brother. +There was only a small table between them. + +"I do not know who sent you here, Arthur," he said, "or what reports +you have heard, but it seems to me, that any explanation you may wish +had better be deferred until our return home." + +Arthur struck the table violently with his riding-whip, "I will not +wait!" he cried. "Here is the proper place! I have been deceived and +cajoled by--by--you, Adrea, and by my own brother! It is shameful! You +hypocrite, Paul! You, to come up to London, and solemnly lecture me +about a dancing girl. You d----d hypocrite!" + +Before his passion, Paul's grave and steadfast silence gained an added +dignity. Adrea, with a red spot burning on her cheeks, sailed between +the two. + +"Arthur, you are mad," she said, turning suddenly upon him, with her +eyes afire. "Have I ever deceived you? Have I ever pretended to care +for you? Bah, no! You are only an unformed, hysterical boy. Before, +you were indifferent to me. Now, I am very quickly growing to hate +you! Begone! Leave this house!" + +He stood quite still, white and trembling. The scorn of her words had +fallen like ice upon his heart. Then he turned, and groped for the +door, as though there were a mist before his eyes. + +"I suppose you are quite right," he faltered out. "I didn't see it +quite the same way, that's all. I understand now." + +The door opened and shut. In a moment or two the sound of his horse's +hoofs were heard in the avenue, growing rapidly less distinct as he +galloped away into the darkness. To Paul it sounded like the knell of +his self-respect, but Adrea felt only the relief. Her eyes, full of +soft invitation, sought his; but he did not move. He stood there, +silent and motionless, with his face turned towards the window. Those +dying sounds meant so much to him,--so much that she could never +understand. + +The consciousness of her near presence suddenly disturbed him. He +turned round. Her warm breath was upon his cheek, and her white arms +were twined about his neck. + +"Paul," she whispered, "do not look so miserable, please! Come and +talk to me." + +Her arms tightened around him. He looked down at her with a peculiar +helplessness. Their light weight seemed to him like a chain of iron +weighing him down! down! down! + +He had told himself that he had come to bid her farewell; that Father +Adrian's words, vague though they were, yet had a definite meaning, +and were worthy of his regard. But at that moment their memory was +like a dying echo in his ears. This first passion of his life was +strong upon him, and everything else was weak. The future was suddenly +bounded for him by a pair of white, clinging arms, and a dark, +beautiful face pressed close to his. He saw no more; he could see no +further. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +"ADREA'S DIARY" + + "By love stalks hate, his brother and his mate." + + +I am scarcely calm enough to write! Yet I must write! My heart is +full; my very pulses are throbbing with excitement! What is it that +has happened? It is all confused in my mind. Let me try and set it +down clearly; then perhaps I shall be able to see my way. + +Yesterday it seemed to me that my being was all too small for one +passion. Now it holds two! The one, perhaps, intensifies the other. +That is possible, for they are opposites, and one has grown out of the +other. Now I cannot tell which is the stronger, the love or the hate. + +I love one man, and I hate another. Perhaps I should say I love one +man because I hate another. You, my dumb confidant, may be trusted +with names, so I will be clearer still. I love Paul de Vaux, and I +hate Father Adrian! + +Oh! that he should have dared! that he should have dared to speak so +to me! If only Paul had been there, he should have beaten him. If I +had had the strength and the means, I would have killed him where +he stood, and silenced those thin, cruel lips for ever. I could have +stabbed him to the heart, and my hand would never have faltered. + +Let me try to recall that scene. It is not difficult. His words are +ringing still in my ears, and his white, passionate face seems to +follow and mock me wherever I look. I see it out there in the white +moonlight, and it rises up from the dark corners of the room. It +haunts me, and I hate it! I hate him as a woman hates any one who +comes between her and the man she loves! + +We were alone, Paul and I; at least, we thought so. I had heard no one +enter, nor had he. But suddenly a voice rang out and filled the room; +a fierce, cruel voice, so changed and hardened with passion that I +scarcely recognised it. But when we sprang up, and peered through the +twilight of the chamber we saw him standing close to us,--so close +that he might even have heard our whispered words to one another. + +There had been some ceremony at the monastery amongst the hills where +most of his time here is spent, and he had evidently come straight +from there. His flowing black robes were splashed with mud and torn by +brambles, and his white face was livid with exhaustion and anger. His +dark eyes burned like fire in their hollow depths, and his right +hand was raised above his head, as though he had been on the point of +striking or denouncing us. I shall not forget his appearance while I +live. It will haunt me to my dying day. + +I think that it is the mystery of it all which tortures me so. What +has Paul to fear from him? Whence comes his power? What evil is it +which he holds suspended over his head? There is only one that I can +imagine. Father Adrian must hold the key to that awful deathbed scene +at the monastery of Cruta. As I write the words, my hand shakes, my +heart sickens with the horror of that memory. Well have I cause to +shrink from all thought of that hideous night;--I, to whom the son of +Martin de Vaux has become the dearest amongst men! What was it Paul +said to me? "He knows something which my father told him whilst he lay +dying." Is it that knowledge which gives him this strange power? I +did not believe in it! I would not have believed in it! But, in that +dreadful moment, I turned to Paul, and I saw his face! + +A volley of words seemed trembling on Father Adrian's lips; yet he did +not speak. We waited for the storm to burst; we waited till I could +bear the silence no longer, and I felt that if it was not broken I +should go mad. So I drew near to him, and spoke a single word in his +ear. Then I glided back to Paul's side. + +"Spy!" + +He treated the insult as one might treat the bite of an insect in +the face of some imminent danger. He did not reply to it; he did not +appear to have heard it. His eyes traveled over me, as though they +had been sightless, and challenged Paul's. In the excitement of the +moment, his words sounded tame, and almost meaningless. + +"This is your answer, then, Paul de Vaux! Let it be so! I accept your +decision!" + +There was no defiance in Paul's answer. His manner was quite subdued. +I think that both his words and his tone surprised me. + +"You have seen! I am in your hands!" + +I looked from one to the other, troubled. I felt that there was a +hidden meaning in their words which I could not understand. There +was something between them from which I was excluded. But this much +I knew. There was a threat in Father Adrian's words, and it was I who +was the cause of it. Oh! if this man should bring evil upon Paul! The +thought of it is like madness to me! See, there goes my pen! I cannot +write when I think of it! + +I have opened my window. The very air is sad with the moaning of +the sea, and the rustling of the night breeze in the thick, tangled +shrubbery below. But to me it is sweet and grateful! I am in no mood +for pleasant sounds or sights. The dreariness of the night finds its +echo in my heart. The damp breeze cools my forehead! To-night I feel +conscious of a new strength. It is the strength of hate! My mind is +full of dim purposes; time will aid them to gather strength! As they +group themselves together, action will suggest itself. To time I leave +them! + +Let me go back to my recital of what passed between us three. A +strange lethargic calm seemed to have fallen upon Paul. He turned to +me without even a single trace of the passion which had lit up his +face a few moments before. + +"I must go!" he said quietly. "Farewell!" + +I could scarcely believe that he meant it; that he was going away +without another word, at what was really this priest's unspoken +bidding. But it was so. From that moment, the fear of Father Adrian +which had grown up in my heart leaped into a new strength. I was +angry, and full of resistance. + +"Why should you go?" I cried. "I have much to say to you!" + +"I must go now, Adrea," he answered simply. "When I came I had no +thought of staying. It is late!" + +I felt my face grow hot with passion as I turned swiftly round towards +Father Adrian. "It is you who should go," I cried. "Why have you come +here? Why are you always creeping across my life like a dark, noisome +shadow? Go away! Begone! I will not be left with you!" + +He turned a shade paler, but he did not sacrifice his dignity, as +I hoped that he would, by answering me with anger. He did not even +answer me at all. He looked over my head at my lover. + +"To-morrow night!" he said calmly. + +"To-morrow night!" Paul answered. + +I stood between them, angry but helpless. A log of wood had just +fallen from the fire on to the hearth, and in its sudden blaze I could +see their faces distinctly. The utter contrast between the two men +threw each into strong relief. Paul, in his scarlet coat and riding +clothes, pale and impassive, but _débonnaire_; and Father Adrian, his +strange black garb mud-bespattered and disordered, and his dark, angry +face livid with the passion so hardly suppressed. It was odd to think +of them as creatures of the same species. Odder still to think that +there should be this link between them. + +I walked with Paul to the door, holding to his arm, and talking, +half-gaily, half-reproachfully, all the way. We stood on the +step together while his horse was being brought round, and in the +half-lights he stooped down and kissed me. But his manner had changed. +Even his lips were cold, and his eyes were no longer bright. There was +a far-away look in them, and his face was white and set. There were +tears in my eyes as I watched him ride away on his great brown horse, +and listened to the distant thunder of hoofs across the moor. His face +had told its own story. He was nerving himself to face some expected +danger. From whose hands? Surely from Father Adrian's. + +The thought worked within me. I stood for a moment, trying to quiet +my passion. As I turned away I heard the stable-yard doors open, and a +carriage, laden with luggage, drove slowly out, and, without coming +to the front at all, turned down the avenue. I ran out, heedless of my +slippers, and called to it to stop. The man obeyed me, and I caught it +up, breathless. The blinds were closely drawn, but I opened the door. +As I expected, it was she who sat inside, closely veiled and weeping. + +"You were going, then, without a single word of farewell!" I cried +reproachfully. "Is that kind? Have I deserved it from you?" + +She threw up her veil. Her eyes were red and swollen with weeping. She +looked at me pleadingly. + +"Do not blame me more than you can help!" she said. "It was a great +shock to me to see you--with the son of Martin de Vaux. It was more +than a shock; it was a horror to me! He is like his father! He is very +like his father!" + +I knew that she had passed through a fiery sea of suffering, and I +kept back the anger which threatened me. I pointed upwards. + +"We cannot keep the dark clouds from gathering in the sky, nor can we +make love come and go at our bidding. We are but creatures; it is fate +which ordains!" + +She bowed her head. "Fate, or the unknown God! I am not your judge, +child! I do not leave you in anger!" + +"Why do you go, then, and leave me here alone? It is not kind! It is +not what I should expect from you!" + +The tears started again into her eyes, but she shook them away. "I +cannot explain as yet," she said. "You will think me ungrateful, I +fear! I cannot help it! I must go. Farewell, Adrea!" + +A sudden thought came to me. It was an inspiration. "You are not going +of your own free will," I cried. "Some one has been influencing you!" + +Her face was suddenly full of nervous terror. "Hush! hush!" she cried. +"He will hear you! Let me go now! Let me go, I beseech you!" + +I held her hands. "It is Father Adrian who is sending you away," I +cried passionately. "He is my enemy. I hate him! Why should you obey +him? Stay with me! Do, do stay!" + +She looked at me as one would look at an ignorant child who +blasphemes. "You are talking wildly! Father Adrian is far from being +your enemy. You do not understand!" + +Her voice had changed; the note of sympathy had died away. I turned +away from the carriage door in despair. Father Adrian's power was +greater than mine. + +"You can go!" I said bitterly. "You would have left me here without +one word, at his bidding. As you say, I do not understand." + +She leaned forward, with a strange light in her eyes. "Child," she +whispered, "I am going to Cruta." + +The carriage drove away and I walked back to the house. The air seemed +full of voices, and the grey rising mists loomed into strange shapes. +Cruta! She was going to Cruta! What power had this man in his hands to +send my lover from me with a heart like a stone, and this woman back +into the living hell from which she had just freed herself. It was my +turn now! Would he be able to subdue me to his bidding? The thought +made me shudder. + +I ran upstairs into my room, and bathed my forehead, and re-arranged +my gown. Then I set my teeth together, and went down to him. It was to +be a battle! Well! I was prepared! + + * * * * * + +It is over now. I know his strength, and I know his weakness. What +passed between us I shall put down to-morrow. To-night I am weary. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +"OH! HEART OF STONE, YET FLESH TO ALL SAVE ME" + + +This is exactly what happened after I regained the house. I went +upstairs for a few minutes to arrange my hair and bathe my eyes. Then +I walked straight down to the drawing-room, and I told myself that I +was prepared for anything that might take place. + +Father Adrian did not hear me enter, so I had the advantage at the +onset of taking him by surprise. He was standing in the centre of +the hearthrug, with his arms folded and his eyes cast down upon the +ground. His eyebrows almost met in a black frown, and a curious grey +pallor had spread itself over his face. When I entered, noiselessly +moving the curtains, from the outer chamber, he was muttering to +himself, and I strained my hearing to catch the meaning of his words. + +"To-night must end it!" I heard him say. "She herself shall decide. +Greater men have travelled the path before me! As for him, my pity +has grown faint! It is the will of the Church! I myself am but the +instrument. He stands between the Church and her rights! Between me +and--her!" + +His cheeks flushed, and his expression suddenly changed. He whispered +a name! It was mine! His eyes were soft, and his lips were parted. The +priest had vanished. His face was human and manly. I saw it, but my +heart was as cold as steel. + +"Father Adrian," I said quietly, "I am here." + +He started, and looked towards me. If my heart could have been +softened even to pity, it would have been softened by that look. But +a woman's great selfishness was upon me! The man I loved was in some +sort of danger at his hands. There was no room in my heart for any +other thought. I was adamant. + +He was silent for a moment, then he faced me steadily, and spoke. "So +you have learned to love this Englishman, this De Vaux, the son of old +Martin de Vaux! Answer me simply, Yes or No!" + +"I have!" + +I did not hesitate. What need was there for hesitation? I answered him +defiantly, and without faltering. + +"You will never marry him! You will not even become his mistress!" + +I made no answer at first; I laughed! that was all. + +"Who will prevent me?" + +"I shall!" + +"How?" + +"The means are ready to my hand!" + +My heart sank, but I forced a smile. "What are they?" + +He considered a moment. "I can strip Paul de Vaux of every acre +and every penny he possesses! I can break his mother's heart! I can +proclaim his father a murderer!" + +"I do not understand! I do not believe!" + +The words left me boldly enough, but there was a lump in my throat, +and my heart was sick. + +"Listen!" He drew a small gold crucifix from his breast, and solemnly +kissed it. Then, holding it in his hand, he repeated,-- + +"I can beggar Paul de Vaux by my proven word. I can take from him +everything precious in life! I can take from him his name and his +honours! I can break his mother's heart! I can proclaim his father a +murderer! All this I can and will do, save you listen to me!" + +He kissed the crucifix, and replaced it in his inner pocket. I had +begun to tremble. The stamp of truth was upon his words. Still I tried +to face him boldly. + +"Even if this is so, what has it to do with me?" I cried. + +"You know!" he answered. "In your heart you know! Yet, if you +will--listen!" he continued, in a low tone. "You love Paul de Vaux!" + +"It is true!" + +"And you believe that he loves you?" + +"I do!" + +"Listen, then! Three nights ago I lifted that curtain, by the side of +one who has left you for ever, and I saw you in his arms. I followed +him out of the house; I walked by his side to Vaux Abbey, and I told +him what I have told you. I wasted no time in idle threats. I told him +what power was mine, and I said 'Choose!' He was silent!" + +"Choose between what?" I interrupted. + +"I bade him swear that he would never willingly look upon your face +again, or prepare himself to face all the evils which it was in my +power to bring upon him." + +"And he?" + +"He asked for time--for a week!" + +A storm of anger was suddenly stirred up within me. I turned upon him +with flashing eyes and quivering lips. Discretion and restraint were +gone; I was like a tigress. I lacked only the power to kill. + +"And by what right did you dare to thrust yourself between us?" I +cried. "What have I to do with you, or you with me?" + +He held up his hands for a moment, as though to shut out the sight of +my face, ablaze with scorn and hatred. There was a short silence. Then +he spoke in a low tone, vibrating with intensity of feeling. + +"You know! In your heart you know!" he said. "Into my life has come +the greatest humiliation which can befall such as I am! In sorrow and +bitterness it has eaten itself into my heart. I am accursed in my own +sight, and in the sight of God!" + +I mocked at him. "I am not your confessor!" I laughed. "Go and tell +your sins to those of your own order! I am a woman and you are a +priest! Why do you look at me with that light in your eyes? Am I a +prayer-book? Is there anything saintly in my face, that you should +keep your eyes fixed upon it so steadily?" + +I had hoped that my words would madden him, and he would lose his +self-control. To my surprise, they had but little effect. He seemed +scarcely to have heard. + +"What have you to do with me, or I with you?" he repeated, in a voice +which was rapidly gaining strength and passion. "God knows! Yet as +surely as we both live, our lots are intertwined the one with the +other." + +"A godly priest!" I laughed. "What have you to do with me? What +of your vows? Oh, how dare you try to play the lover with me! You +hypocrite!" + +He shrank back as though in pain. I laughed outright, glad that I had +made him feel. + +"Adrea!" he said slowly. "I was never a hypocrite to you. In your +presence I have never breathed a word of my religion. Think for a +moment of those days at Cruta. Did I not refuse to confess you? Why? +You know! Because of those long, dreamy days we spent together, not as +priest and penitent, but as man and woman. Do you remember them--the +cliffs, with their giant shadows standing out across the blue waters +of the harbour; the hollows, where we sat amongst the perfumed wild +flowers, gazing across the sea, and watching the white sails in the +distance; the nights, with their white moonlight and silent grandeur! +Ay, Adrea! look me in the face, if you can, and tell me that you have +forgotten them! You cannot! You dare not! It was you who brought me +those books of wild, passionate poetry whose music entered into my +very soul! It was you who tempted me with soft words, with your music, +with your beauty, into that world of sense which holds me prisoner for +ever. What I once was, I can never be again! It is you who worked the +change--you who awoke my man's heart, and set it beating for ever +at your touch, at your movements, at the sight of you. It is you who +taught me how to love--who opened to me the rose-covered gates of +hell! There is no drawing back! You, who have dragged me down, shall +share my fall with me, for better or for worse! You shall not escape! +No other man shall have you! I have paid the price, and I will have +you!" + +I wrenched myself free from the arms which were closing around me, and +stood trembling before him. + +"Fool!" I cried. "You have dared to think of me like that because I +chose to make use of you at Cruta! Make use of you! Yes, that is what +I did! I wanted to escape! You and she were the only ones who could +help me! Save for that, I had never wasted a moment upon you. I never +thought of you as a man; you were only a priest. I never wished to see +you again! You are in my way now; you stand between me and the man I +love! I hate you!" + +His dark eyes were lit up with a sudden fire and a deep flush stained +his cheeks. For the first time I seemed to see the man in him as well +as the priest, and I saw that he was handsome. It did not interest me; +I noticed it only as an incident. + +"I do not believe it!" he exclaimed. "You are not so false as you +would have me believe, Adrea!" + +His hand was on my wrist, and his dark eyes, strangely softened, were +fixed pleadingly upon mine. Something in his manner, even in his tone, +seemed to remind me of Paul. I was magnetized! For a moment I could +not move, and during that moment his hands closed upon mine. + +"Adrea, is such a love as I can offer you worth nothing? What did you +tell me once was your life's ideal? Was it not the love of a strong, +true man, always faithful, always loving? No one could love you more +tenderly than I, no one could be more faithful. Until I saw you, no +woman's face had dwelt in my thoughts for a single instant. In my +heart you reign alone, Adrea! No one has been there before--no one +will come after! Such as it is, it is a kingdom of your own!" + +"I do not understand you," I said slowly, withdrawing my hands. "You +talk to me of a man's love, a man's faithfulness! What do you know of +it? You are a priest!" + +He threw up his hands with a sudden cry of agony. His face was white +and blanched. + +"Do I not know it?" he exclaimed in a low, fierce tone. "Do you think +I yielded easily to the poisoned web you have woven around me? The +horror of it all has darkened my days, and made hideous my nights. And +yet you can taunt me with it--you, for whom I yield up conscience and +future--you, for whom I give my soul! No other man could love as I +love, Adrea!" + +I looked him straight in the face and I did not spare him. What was +the use? The truth was best! + +"It is folly!" I said. "If your religion is worth anything to you, let +it help you now! Let it teach you to forget me! Go away from here, and +leave unharmed the man I love. If you do not, I shall hate you!" + +He caught hold of my dress. He was on his knees before me--a bent, +imploring figure. + +"Too late! too late!" he cried. "My religion has gone! When love for +you crept into my heart, I became worse than a heretic. It was sin, +and the sin has spread. Oh! have mercy upon me, Adrea, have mercy upon +me! Just a little of your love. It may not be much at first, but it +will grow. Adrea, you must try--you shall try!" + +I shook my gown from his trembling fingers, and looked down upon him +with contempt in my heart, and contempt in my face. The flickering +firelight cast a faint glow upon his blanched, wan features, and +their utter humility filled me with an unreasoning and unreasonable +loathing. I did not try to soften my words. I spoke out just as I +felt, and watched him rise slowly to his feet, like a hunted and +stricken animal, without a pitying word or glance. As he rose upright, +his head dropped. He did not look at me; he did not speak a single +word. He walked slowly to the door with steps that faltered a little, +and walked out of the room, and out of the house. + +I watched him down the avenue, wondering at his strange silence. It +had a curious effect upon me. I would rather have heard threats--even +a torrent of anger. There was something curiously ominous in that +slow, wordless exit. I watched him uneasily, full of dim, shapeless +fears. + +Outside the gate he paused in the middle of the road. To the left +was the monastery where he had stayed; to the right was Vaux Abbey. I +heard my heart beat while he paused, and my face was pressed against +the window. For nearly a minute he stood quite still, with downcast +head, thinking. Then he turned deliberately to the right, and set his +face towards Vaux Abbey. + + * * * * * + +That was early in the evening yesterday--twenty-four hours ago. Since +then not a soul has been near the house. Early this morning I saw +Father Adrian coming along the road from Vaux. I ran upstairs, and +locked myself in my room, after forbidding the servants to let him +enter. From the windows I watched him. To my surprise he never +even glanced in. He walked past the gates, and took the road to the +monastery. I saw him slowly ascend the hill and vanish out of sight +in the darkening twilight. Once, just before he reached the summit, he +paused and looked steadily down here. I could not see his face, but +I saw him raise his right hand for a moment toward the sky. Then he +turned round and pursued his way. + + * * * * * + +If some one does not come to me soon, I shall go mad. Another hour has +passed. My mind is made up; I shall go to Vaux Abbey. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +"MY LIPS ARE CHARGED WITH TRUTH, AND JUSTICE BIDS ME SPEAK" + + +An early darkness had fallen upon the earth. Black clouds had sailed +across the young moon, and the evening breeze had changed into a gale. +There was no rain as yet, but every prospect of it near at hand. A +mass of lurid, yellowish clouds hung low down over the bending woods, +and the wind whistled drearily amongst the fir trees. Paul de +Vaux wrapped his cloak tightly around him, and, standing on the +turf-covered floor of the ruined chapel, peered forward into the +darkness, looking for the man whom he had come to meet. Even then he +heard his voice before he could distinguish the dim outline of Father +Adrian standing by his side. + +"So you have come, Paul de Vaux, and in good time! It is well!" + +"I am here!" Paul answered shortly. "If what you have to say to me +will take long, come up to the house. It is dark and cold, and there +is a storm rising." + +The priest shook his head. "I have no wish to find shelter under the +roof of Vaux Abbey," he said coldly. "You are well protected against +the weather, and so am I. Let us stay here!" + +Paul strove to look into his face, but the darkness baffled him. He +could only see its outline, nothing of his expression. "As you will," +he answered. "Speak! I am ready." + +"I have dealt in no idle threats, Paul de Vaux," was the stern answer. +"I gave you a chance, and you have thrown it away. Perhaps I did ill +ever to offer it to you. But, at any rate, remember this: it is no +idle vengeance which I am dealing out to you this night; it is our +holy and despoiled Church calling for justice. I speak in her name!" + +There was a moment's silence. Paul knew by his companion's bowed +head and laboured utterance that he was suffering from some sort +of emotion. But the darkness hid from him the workings of his pale +features. When he spoke, his voice was low and solemn. + +"Paul de Vaux, turn back in your mind to another night such as this, +when the thunder of sea and wind shook the air, and the anger of God +seemed fallen upon the earth. On that night your father lay dying in +the island monastery of Cruta; and while you were risking your life in +the storm to reach him, I knelt by his side praying for his soul, that +it might not sink down amongst the damned in hell. He was a brave man, +but with the icy hand of death closing around him fear touched his +heart. It was no craven fear! He lay there still and quiet, but his +heart was troubled. In the midst of my prayers he stopped me, and took +the crucifix into his own hand. + +"'Father,' he said, 'I have no faith in dying repentances. I have +scouted religion all my life, and on my deathbed I will not cry for +comfort to a Divinity which is a myth to me. Yet, as man to man, +listen while I tell you a secret; and when I have finished, do you +pray for me.' + +"Shall I go on, Paul de Vaux? Shall I tell you all that your father's +dying lips faltered out to me?" + +"All! every word! Keep nothing back!" Paul spoke quickly, almost +feverishly. He knew a little, but something told him that this priest +knew more. He began dimly to suspect the nature of the revelation +which was to come. + +"You shall know everything," Father Adrian continued, in the same +hushed tone, so low that Paul had to bend forward to catch the +words as they fell from his lips. "If Martin de Vaux had been of our +religion, and had sought me as a priest of the Church a seal would +have been set upon my mouth. But it was not so! Despite all my +ministrations, he died as he had lived, in heresy and grievous sin. +After all, it is only right that you, his son, should know what he +forebore to tell you. Yet, in my weakness I might have spared you, if +you yourself had not brought down this blow upon your head." + +Paul raised his hand, and Father Adrian paused. "Listen," he said, +in a low, deep tone. "There are secret pages in the lives of most of +us--pages blurred and scarred with misery and suffering and sin. But +there is a difference--a great difference. Some are turned over with +firm and penitent fingers, and, although their scarlet record may +never be blotted out, yet, by sacrifice and atonement, the fruits of +the sin itself may die, and, dying, cast no shadow into the future. +A sin against humanity can often be righted by human justice. Towards +the close of my father's days, I knew for the first time that there +was in his life one of those disfigured pages. He told me nothing. I +sought to know nothing. Father Adrian," Paul went on, with a sudden +strain of passion in his tone, and a gesture half unseen in the +darkness, "if the shadow of his sin rests upon any human being, if it +still lives upon the earth, then tell me all that is in your heart +to tell, for there is work to be done. But if that page be locked +and sealed, if those who suffered through it are dead, and the burden +which darkened my father's days is his alone, then spare his memory! +Strike at me, if you will! Deal out your promised vengeance, but let +it fall on me alone!" + +Paul ended his speech with a little burst of passion ringing in those +last few words. He was conscious of a deep and fervent desire to hear +nothing, to listen to nothing, which could teach him to hold less dear +his father's memory. He shrank, with a human and perfectly natural +feeling, from hearing evil of the dead. That last evil deed, the +murder in that grim, bare chamber of death, had haunted him with vivid +and painful intensity. But it was a crime by itself. It was horrible +to imagine that it might indeed be the culmination of a life of +license and contempt of all human laws. He had tried to think of it as +something outside his father's life, something done in a momentary fit +of madness, and that the man who suffered by it was some monster unfit +for the companionship of his fellows--unfit to live. There were still +tales to be heard in the county, and about town even, of the wild +doings of Martin de Vaux in his younger days; but none of these had +reached his son's ears. He would have been the last person likely to +hear of them. + +There was a short silence, and before Father Adrian spoke again the +low-lying clouds were swept over their heads by a gale from seaward, +and the wind commenced to whistle and shriek in the pine wood, +and roar amongst the crumbling ruins, which scarcely afforded them +protection from the blinding rain. Any further conversation was +impossible. Paul lifted up his voice, and shouted in his companion's +ear-- + +"These walls are not safe! We must go into the house. Will you come?" + +Father Adrian hesitated, and then assented, wrapping his cloak around +him. In a few moments they were inside the library, having entered +through a private door and met no one. Breathless, Paul threw off his +cloak, which was dripping with rain, and turned round almost fiercely +upon his companion. + +"Now speak!" he said. "I am ready to hear all." + +The priest looked at him steadily for a moment, and then, with his +pale face turned towards the fire, he commenced to speak. + +"Sin is everlasting!" he said slowly. "Your father's sin lives, and on +you the burden must fall! If you had kept the covenant which I placed +before you, I might have spared you. You yourself have chosen. You +must hear all! Listen! + +"It was by chance that I was spending two months in charge of the +monastery of St. Jerome, at Cruta, when your father arrived," he +continued, without any pause. "He sought our hospitality and he at +once obtained it. For two days he dwelt with us, spending his time for +the most part in idle fashion, wandering about along the seashore or +on the cliffs, but always with the look on his face of a man who does +but dally with some fixed purpose. His doings were nothing to me, but +by chance, from one of the brethren, I learnt that he was no stranger +to the island--that once, many years ago, he had been the guest of the +lord who ruled the little territory, and whose castle overshadows the +monastery. + +"On the third day of his stay, he remained within his guest-chamber +until sundown, writing. As the vesper-bell rang I met him in the +corridor, dressed for walking, and from his countenance I judged that +whatever his mission to the island might be, he was about to bring it +to an end. He passed me without speech, almost as though he had not +seen me, and left the monastery. A few minutes afterwards, looking +down from the windows to watch the brethren come in from their field +tasks, I saw him take the road up to the castle. + +"It was in the middle of the night when he returned. Midnight had come +and gone, and every one in the monastery was asleep, when the hoarse, +clanging bell down in the yard rang slightly, as though pulled by +feeble fingers. I threw my cloak over my shoulders, and descended to +admit him. When the last of the huge bolts had been withdrawn, and I +threw the door open, I found him leaning against the wall, with +his fingers clutched together in agony, and his bloodless features +convulsed with pain. The moonlight was falling right across his face, +pale and ghastly with pain, and by its light I seemed to see +something dark dropping from him on the white flags. I leaned forward, +horror-stricken, and I saw that it was blood." + +"My God!" + +Paul was standing very still and rigid, with his eyes fastened upon +the priest. As yet, he scarcely realized anything more than that +he was being told a very horrible story. But he was conscious of a +feverish impatience, quite beyond his control. When Father Adrian +paused at his exclamation, he beat the ground with his foot +impatiently. "Go on! Go on!" he said hoarsely. + +"I had no time to ask questions," the priest continued quietly. +"Directly he left the support of the wall, and endeavoured to move +towards me, your father threw up his arms with a sharp cry of pain, +and almost fell upon his face. I was just in time to catch him, and +exerting all my strength--for he was a powerful man--I dragged him up +the steps and along the corridor to the nearest empty cell. There I +laid him down upon a bed of ferns, and then hurried out to summon one +of the brethren who was skilled in medicine. + +"In a few moments he returned with me. By his direction, I gave your +father brandy and other restoratives, while he cut open his coat +to find out, if he could, the nature of the wound. It was easily +discovered. He had been stabbed by a long dagger just below the heart. +Had the dagger entered one-sixteenth of an inch higher, he must have +bled to death upon the spot. + +"We bound up the hurt as well as we could, and with the help of other +of the monks, we carried him up to the guest-chamber, and put him to +bed. In about half an hour he recovered consciousness, and called me +to his side. + +"'Pencil, paper,' he whispered. + +"I handed him both. After several futile efforts he succeeded in +writing a few words. Then he folded up the note, and handed it to me. + +"'If you will send it without delay,' he whispered, 'I will give one +hundred pounds to the monastery.' + +"I never hesitated, for our funds were in a desperate state; but first +I glanced at the direction. It was addressed to-- + + PAUL DE VAUX, Esq., + c/o The English Consul, + Palermo. + +"I promised that it should be sent, and, as you know, it was. Then I +sent the others out of the room, and inquired about his hurt. He set +his lips firm, and shook his head. + +"'It was an accident,' he faltered. 'No one was to blame.' + +"I told him briefly that it was impossible. The nature of his wound +was such that it was clearly the work of an assassin. In a certain +sense we were the upholders of the law on the island, and I pointed +this out to him sternly. He only shook his head and closed his eyes. +Neither then nor at any other time could I gain from him one single +word as to his doings on that night. He would tell me nothing." + +"You saw him going toward the castle," Paul interrupted. "Did you make +inquiries there?" + +The priest shook his head slowly. "No, I made no inquiries," he +answered. "It was no matter for my interference. The castle, although +it is a huge place, was deserted save for a few native servants, +whose _patois_ was unintelligible to me. There were only two who dwelt +there--the old Count himself, and one other--to whom I could have +gone. Several nights after your father's illness I left the monastery, +and tried to see the Count. He would not even have me admitted, and on +my return, your father, who had guessed the reason of my absence, sent +for me. He judged of the ill success of my mission, by my face, and +he instantly appeared relieved. He then called me to the bedside, and +made me an offer. He would give me, as a further contribution to our +exhausted funds, a large sum of money on this condition--that I took +no further steps in any direction towards ascertaining the nature of +his accident, as he chose to call it, and that I should not mention it +to you as the cause of his illness, or refer to it in any way if you +arrived while he was there. I hesitated for some time, but in the end +I consented. The money in itself was a great temptation--you see, I am +frank with you--and, apart from that, your father at that time was on +the verge of his fever, and at such a critical time I feared the ill +results of not falling in with his wishes. So I promised, and I kept +my promise; no one--not even you--knew that he died from that dagger +thrust, and during the remainder of my stay on the island, I asked no +questions concerning his visit to the castle." + +"But did you hear nothing? were there no reports?" Paul asked. + +Father Adrian hesitated. "There were no reports about your father," +he said, "but the castle itself was always the object of the most +unbounded superstition on the part of the inhabitants. They told +strange tales of midnight cries, of lights from blocked-up chambers, +and of the old Count who still dwelt there, although he had not been +seen outside the castle walls for many a year. He was reported to have +sold himself to the Evil One, and at the very mention of his name the +people crossed themselves in terror, and glanced uneasily over their +shoulders." + +"Idle tales!" cried Paul angrily. "Tell me, Father Adrian, did you +know this Count of Cruta?" + +There was a moment's silence. Father Adrian's face was turned away, +and he seemed in no hurry to answer. "Yes, I knew him." + +"You knew him! What is he like? Tell me!" + +The priest shook his head. "I have nothing to tell you," he said in a +low tone. + +"You mean that you will not tell me." + +The priest inclined his head. Paul turned upon him fiercely, "He was +my father's murderer," he cried. + +"It may be so. But remember that nothing is known! Remember, too, that +your father's last wish was to keep secret the manner of his death!" + +Paul seemed scarcely to have heard him. He was walking restlessly +up and down the apartment. Presently he stopped in front of Father +Adrian's chair. + +"You have told me what happened to my father on the island," he said; +"now tell me the story of his life, which you say that he confided to +you. I must know what took him there." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +"THE SHATTERED VASE OF LOVE'S MOST HOLY VOWS" + + +Paul had not thought of ringing for lights, and, save around the +fireplace, the room was wrapped in solemn darkness. Father Adrian's +chair had been amongst the shadows, and Paul had seen nothing save +his outline since they had entered the room. But now, his curiosity +stirred by the sudden silence of the priest, he caught up the poker, +and broke the burning log in the grate, so that the flames threw a +quick light on his face. + +Its extreme pallor struck him forcibly. It was a perfectly bloodless +face, and the dark eyes, as black as jet, accentuated its pallor. Yet +there was no lack of nervous strength or emotion. The thin lips were +quivering, and the eyes were soft with feeling. Somehow, it seemed to +Paul that this man's interest in the story which he had come to tell +was no casual one; that he himself was mixed up in it, in a manner +which as yet he had chosen to conceal. His colourless face was alight +with human interest and sympathies. Who was this priest, and why had +he come so far to tell his story? Paul felt that a mystery lay behind +it all. + +"You must not think," Father Adrian commenced slowly, "that your +father told me the whole history of his life. It was one episode only, +the memory of which weighed heavily upon him as death drew near. He +did not tell me all concerning it; what he did tell me I will try and +repeat to you. + +"It was late in the afternoon of the day before your arrival that he +called me to his bedside. Only a few hours ago we had told him that +he must die, and since then he had been very silent. I came and knelt +before him, and was commencing a prayer, when he stopped me. + +"'I want you to listen while I tell you one of the worst actions of my +life,' he said in a low tone, weakened by the suffering through which +he had passed. 'The memory of it has haunted me always; it is the +memory of it which has brought me here. I am not confessing to you, +mind! only after I have told you this story, I want you to pray for +me. + +"'Thirty years ago I was in Palermo, and was introduced there to the +Count of Cruta. We met several times, and on his departure he invited +me to come over here for a week's shooting. I was wandering about on +pleasure, with no fixed plans, and I did not hesitate for a moment. I +should like nothing better than to come, I told him, and accordingly +we returned here together. + +"'The Count was a widower with one daughter, Irene. For a young man +I was not particularly impressionable, and up till then I had thought +very little about women. Nevertheless,--perhaps, I should say, all the +more for that reason,--I fell in love with Irene. In a week's time I +had all but told her so; and finding myself alone with her father one +night after dinner, I boldly asked him for her hand. Somewhat to my +surprise,--for considering the difference in our years, we had become +very friendly,--he refused me point-blank. The first reason which he +gave staggered me: Irene was already engaged to a Roumanian nobleman, +who would be coming soon to claim her. But apart from that, he went +on, he would never have consented to the match on the score of our +different religions. I tried to argue with him, but it was useless; he +would not even discuss the matter. His daughter's hand was promised, +and his word was passed. + +"'On the morrow I appealed to Irene, and here I met with more success. +She confessed that she loved me, and, to my surprise, she consented +at once when I proposed that she should run away with me. Our +arrangements were made in haste and secrecy. My yacht lay in the +harbour, and at midnight Irene stole down to the shore, where I met +her, and rowed her on board. A few minutes later we weighed anchor and +steamed away, with the rusty old guns from the castle firing useless +shots high over our heads. + +"'I want to make my story as short as I can, so I will not attempt +to offer any excuses for my conduct, or to seek to palliate it in any +way. Irene had trusted herself to me, and I betrayed her trust. I did +not marry her. She did not leave me; she did not even openly upbraid +me; but nevertheless it hung like a dark cloud over her life. +By degrees, she became altered. She tried to drown her memory by +frivolity, by all manner of gaiety and excitement, and our life in +Paris afforded her many opportunities. + +"'The old Count of Cruta made two efforts to rescue his daughter from +me. The first time he came alone; and before his righteous fury I was +for a moment abashed. "Give me back my daughter!" he thundered, with +his back to my closed door, and a pistol pointed to my head. I rang +the bell, and Irene came, dressed for the evening, and humming a light +opera tune. Then I saw to what depths of callousness I had dragged +her, and I shuddered. She listened to the old man's stormy eloquence, +and when he had finished his passionate appeal, she shrugged her +shoulders slightly. She was perfectly happy, she declared, and she +would die sooner than go back to that _triste_ Cruta. Had he had a +pleasant journey? she asked, and would he stay and dine? I saw her +father shudder, and the words seemed frozen upon his lips. He looked +at her in perfect silence for a full minute--looked at her from head +to foot, at her soft white dress, with its floating sea of dainty +draperies, and at the diamonds on her neck and bosom. Then his eye +seemed to blaze with anger. + +"'"Girl!" he cried sternly, "you have dragged down into the mire one +of the proudest names in Europe! Curse you for it! As for you, sir," +he added, turning to me, "you are a dishonoured scoundrel! a cur!" + +"'He was right! I was a blackguard. But had it not been for those last +words of his, I should straight-way have offered to have married Irene +on the morrow. The words were on my lips, but the contempt of that +monosyllable maddened me. The better impulse passed away. + +"'"You should have given her to me when I asked for her hand," I +answered. "You cur!" he repeated. I looked at him steadily. "You are +an old man," I said, "or I should throw you down my stairs. Now go! +Irene has nothing to say to you, nor have I." + +"'He lingered on the threshold for a moment, surveying us both with a +calm dignity, before which I felt ashamed. + +"'"As you remind me, I am an old man," he said quietly, "and I have, +alas, no son to chastise you as you deserve. But the season of old age +is the season of prophecy! Listen, Martin de Vaux," pointing towards +me, "you shall taste the bitterest dregs of sorrow and remorse in +the days to come, for this your evil deed. You may scoff, both of +you,--you may say to yourselves that an old man's words are words of +folly,--but the day will come! It is writ in the book of fate, and my +eyes have seen it! Pile sin upon sin, and pleasure upon pleasure; say +to yourselves, 'let us eat and be merry, for to-morrow we shall die!' +For so it is written, and my eyes have seen it!" + +"'He was gone almost before the echo of his words had died away. I +called after him, but there was no answer but the sound of a shutting +door. I looked at Irene; she was calmly buttoning her glove. + +"'"The carriage is waiting," she reminded me coolly. + +"'I gave her my arm, and laughed. We drove to the opera.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +"A BECKONING VOICE FROM OUT A SHADOWY LAND" + + +Midnight rang solemnly out from the Abbey clock. The priest paused in +his story to count the strokes, and Paul drew out his watch with an +incredulous gesture. + +"You must stay here to-night," he said; "it will be too late for you +to leave." + +He rang the bell, and ordered a room to be prepared. Father Adrian, +who had been lost in a fit of deep abstraction, looked up and shook +his head as the servant quitted the room. "I shall not stay here," he +said quietly. "It is impossible." + +Paul pointed to the clock. "You have more to tell me," he said, +"and it is already late. If you are staying at the monastery of +St. Bernard, it is nearly eight miles away, and you cannot possibly +return." + +"I have not so far to go," Father Adrian answered, "and this is the +hour I always choose for walking. Do you wish to hear the rest of your +father's confession?" + +Paul stood on the hearthrug with bowed head and folded arms. "I am +ready!" he said; "go on!" + +Father Adrian remained silent for nearly a quarter of an hour; then he +recommenced his story. + +"'From the time of the old Count's visit,' your father went on, 'I +noticed a gradual change in Irene. She grew thin and pale and nervous, +disliking more and more, every day, to go out, and becoming suddenly +averse to all our previous pursuits and pleasures. We mixed amongst +a Bohemian set in Paris, and we had a good many acquaintances of a +certain sort. Amongst them was a man whom I always disliked, yet who +managed somehow to establish himself upon terms of intimacy with us. +His name was Count Victor Ferdinand Hirsfeld, and his nationality was +rather a puzzle to me, for he chose to maintain, without any apparent +reason, a sort of mystery about it. With Irene he was ever more +intimate than with me, and more than once I noticed references in +their conversation which seemed to point to some previous acquaintance +between them. I asked Irene no questions, for I trusted her but I +watched Count Hirsfeld closely. I felt convinced that, under the mask +of friendship, he was trying to win Irene from me, and though I never +for one moment believed that he would succeed, I was anxious to obtain +some proof of his intentions, that I might punish him. Often after his +visits, which seemed to be carefully chosen for a time at which I was +nearly certain to be out, I found Irene in tears; but when I sought to +make her explain, she had always some excuse. + +"'We had lived together for three years when, without any warning, +Irene left me. I came home one night from a dinner at the English +Embassy, and found her gone. There was no message, not a single line +of adieu, not a ghost of a clew by which I could trace her. It was a +shock to me; but when the first wrench was over, I knew that it was +something of a relief. In my heart I was tired of the irregular life +we had been leading, and longing to return to England and my old +home. Irene herself was no longer dear to me. While she had remained +faithful to me, I had considered myself, in a certain sense, bound to +her, although the bonds had commenced to gall. Now that she had left +me of her own accord, I was free. I troubled little as to what had +become of her; youth is always selfish. She had either gone home to +her father, or had run away with Count Hirsfeld, I determined at once. +Of the two, I was inclined to believe the latter, from the fact of +her having left no message for me, and also as I found that he too had +quitted Paris suddenly. I purposely did not attempt to find out, for +had I discovered the latter to be true, I should have felt bound to +call Count Hirsfeld out the next time I met him, and I hated duelling. +So, with a light heart, I disposed of my Paris establishment, selling +even the house, and everything likely to remind me of a page of my +history which I desired to blot out. + +"'I returned to England, and settled down at Vaux Abbey. In a few +months my life with Irene lay back in the past, like a troubled dream, +and I did my best to forget it. It was all hateful and tiresome to +me. My mind was full now of healthier and more wholesome thoughts and +purposes. I felt like a man commencing life anew. Even my conscience +had almost ceased to trouble me. Irene had left me of her own will, +nor had she been driven to it by any unkindness on my part. I would +forget her. I had the right to forget her. + +"'About six months had passed, and I was in the full enjoyment of my +altered life. One night, when the Abbey was full of guests, a servant +whispered in my ear, as we sat at dinner, that a gentleman,--a +foreigner, the man believed--had just been driven over from the +nearest railway station, and was in the library waiting to see me. I +knew in a moment that some sort of a resurrection of that buried past +was at hand; and though I nodded carelessly and kept my countenance, +my heart sank like lead. As soon as I could make an excuse, I left +the table, with a brief apology to my guests, and made my way to the +library. + +"'I had expected to find there Irene's father. Judge of my +surprise when I found Count Hirsfeld advancing to meet me, pale and +travel-stained, from the shadows of the room. I stopped short, and +stood with my hands behind me. + +"'"Mr. de Vaux, I bring you a letter," he said simply; "I am here as a +messenger, and as a messenger only. Nothing but the prayers of a dying +woman would have induced me to stand beneath your roof!" + +"'"Your presence certainly needs some explanation," I answered coldly. +"Give me the letter!" + +"'He handed it over, and I took it to the lamplight. The handwriting +seemed unfamiliar to me; but when I glanced at the last page, I saw +that it was signed "Irene." I read it through hastily. + + "CRUTA. + + "MARTIN:-- + + "I left you meaning never to speak or write your name + again, but fate has been too strong for me. When you see my + handwriting, you may fear that I want to burden you once more + with my presence, which has grown so wearisome to you! You + need not! Soon there will be nothing left of me but a memory; + even that I know will not survive long. For I am dying. Life + is only a matter of days and hours with me now. For me, only + a few more suns will rise and set. I am dying, else I had not + taken up my pen to write to you. + + "Martin, one's last hours are a time for plain speaking. I + have never suffered one word of reproach to pass my lips, but + you have wronged me deeply! You have turned what should have + been the sweetness of my life into bitterness and gall. I do + not remind you of this to heap idle reproaches on your head; + I remind you of it simply because on my deathbed I am going + to ask you what in the past I scorned to do. I am going to ask + you to marry me. + + "I could not hope to make you understand all that I have + suffered during these last few months of my illness. I would + not if I could. It is not worth while! My father, although + he knows that I am dying, will scarcely speak to me. He has + forgotten that I am his daughter, save when he laments it. + He sits alone day by day, brooding upon the dishonour of his + race. The priest, who prays for me, speaks words of doubtful + comfort, as though, after all, he doubted whether salvation + were possible for me. The horror of it all has entered into my + soul! The sin of the past is ever before my eyes,--black and + threatening,--and a great desolation reigns in my heart. + + "And from it all I turn to you, Martin, to save me! You can do + it! You only! You lose nothing! You risk nothing! and you will + throw some faint light of consolation upon this, my dreary + passage through the shadow-land of death. Once you loved me, + far off and dim though that time may seem to you. You would be + faithful always, you swore, as side by side we stood on board + your yacht on the night of our flight, and watched the shores + of Cruta grow dimmer and dimmer, and the white-faced dawn + break quivering upon the waters. You would be faithful always! + The words come back to me as I lie here in this great, dreary + bedchamber, with a cold-faced priest muttering comfortless + prayers by my side; dying alone, without a single kindly face + to lighten my passage to the grave. Yet, do not read this as + a reproach! Read it only as the prelude to this my last appeal + to you! Marry me, Martin! It would cost you so little: just + a hurried journey here, a few sentences over my bedside, a + week's waiting at the most, and you could see me in my grave, + and feel yourself free again. Is it too great a thing to do, + to make light the heart of a dying woman? I pray God that you + may not think so! You have generosity! I appeal to it! Come, + I beseech you! It is the prayer of a dying woman! I summon you + to Cruta! + + "IRENE." + +"'Back again in the meshes of my old sin. The letter fluttered down +from between my fingers on to the floor, and I stood with folded arms +and bowed head, arraigned at the bar of my own judgment. I had marred +a girl's fair young life! The memory of those old days--my passionate +persuasions and prayers--swept in upon me. Yes! she had trusted me, +and I had deceived her! Her sin and her death lay at my door! The +hideous rascality of the thing oppressed me. I had been false to my +name and traditions. + +"'A cold, low voice from the other end of the room broke in upon my +surging thoughts. It was Count Hirsfeld who spoke. + +"'"Forgive me for disturbing your doubtless pleasant reflections, but +time flies, and time is very precious to me just now. I await your +answer." + +"'"It is not necessary," I replied; "I shall be at Cruta before you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +"LATE THOU COMEST, CRUEL THOU HAST BEEN" + + +"'I sped through England and across the Continent southwards as fast +as express train and steamer could carry me. Count Hirsfeld shared the +special which carried me from our nearest country station to the Great +Northern junction, from whence the Scotch mail bore us to London. Here +we parted company, travelling the remainder of the way separately. +On the evening of the second day, the steamer which I had hired at +Palermo dropped anchor in the bay of Cruta, under the shadow of the +grim, black castle; and a small rowing-boat landed me beneath the +cliffs before night fell. + +"'I made my way up the narrow, winding path alone, and passing across +the paved courtyard, rang the hoarse, brazen bell at the principal +entrance. A servant, bearing a torch, had opened the door, and was +beckoning me to follow him long before its echoes had died away. + +"'"Mademoiselle Irene!" I asked him, in a hushed, anxious tone. "She +lives?" + +"'"She lives!" he repeated sombrely. + +"'I followed him along the wide stone corridors, and up countless +steps. At last he paused before a door, and after listening for a +moment, knocked softly at it. + +"'It was opened by a monk, whose face was hidden by the folds of his +deep cowl. He motioned me to enter, and immediately closed the door. + +"'I found myself in a spacious, lofty bedchamber, bare and dimly lit. +Facing me two pale, solemn-visaged monks stood on either side of a +drawn curtain, as though guarding the plain iron bed which lay beyond, +and towards which I had taken one impulsive step forward. Their +presence, and an indefinable gloom,--beyond even the gloom of a +chamber of death,--which in the dim twilight seemed to hang about the +very air of the place, chilled me. There was little furniture, and no +pictures hung upon the walls, save a wooden cross near the foot of the +bed, before which two candles were burning. I looked around for some +one to whom I could address myself, but there was no one beyond these +dark-coated, silent monks, who seemed more like shadows from another +world. + +"'While I stood in the middle of the room, hesitating, the priest who +had admitted me passed by and took up his station at the foot of the +bed. He motioned me to stand a little nearer, and suddenly the +drear silence of the room was broken by the low, monotonous chant of +prayers. I bowed my head, and kneeling by the bedside I took up the +responses, and once for a moment clasped the white, cold hand which +lay upon the coverlet, and which was all that I could see of the woman +whom I was making my wife. + +"'The ceremony seems to me now like some far-distant dream, of which I +retain only the vaguest recollection. When it was all over, I laid my +hand upon the curtain to draw it back, but the monk nearest to me held +my hand in a vise-like grip, and before I could move, a voice from the +other end of the room, where the shadows were deepest, arrested me. + +"'"Touch that curtain, or dare to look upon my daughter's face, Martin +de Vaux, and you die! For her soul's sake I have permitted this! Now +go!" + +"'I peered through the darkness, and I saw the tall, gaunt frame +of the Count of Cruta standing near the entrance. I hesitated for a +moment. + +"'"Irene is my wife," I answered. "I offer no excuse to you for +my conduct, but at least I have the right to try and win her +forgiveness." + +"'He moved a step forward, and his voice shook with passion. "You have +no rights! You are dishonoured! You are a villain! What! you to reason +with me under my own roof! Away! Out of my sight, lest I forget my +word and deal you out your deserts!" + +"'My heart was hot with shame and anger, but I lingered. "Let her +speak," I answered, pointing to the bed. "It is she against whom I +have sinned, and her word I will obey. Irene! may I not stay by your +side? Tell me that you forgive!" + +"'I clutched passionately at the curtain, resolved to tear it aside, +and plead with Irene upon my knees. But I was held from behind in a +strong, vise-like grasp, and one of the monks who stood there on guard +sternly wrested the curtain from my hands. + +"'"Away with him!" cried the Count, his voice shaking with passion. +"Rudolph, do you hear!" + +"'I nerved myself for a struggle, but in that moment's pause a thin, +white hand stole from behind the curtain and held mine for a moment. + +"'"Martin, go quickly!" said a faint, weak voice, so altered that +I scarcely recognised it as the voice of Irene. "It is my wish--my +command." + +"'"One word, Irene!" I cried, struggling to free myself. "Just one +word!" + +"'"Farewell!" + +"'"Irene, you are my wife. Have you nothing else to say to me?" + +"'"Farewell!" + +"'There was no sweetness, no regret in that single word. I bowed my +head in despair and went.'" + + * * * * * + +There was a long pause. Father Adrian was leaning back in his chair +with half-closed eyes, as though exhausted. Paul, standing opposite +to him, motionless and silent as a figure of stone, was listening to +every word with grave, anxious face. + +"Will you hear the rest of the story now?" the priest asked after a +prolonged silence. + +Paul bowed his head. "I am waiting," he said simply. + +"I will continue, then, in your father's own words as near as +possible. This is what he told me." + +"'I lingered in the island for several days, staying at the monastery, +unwilling to go away, and yet frustrated in every attempt I made +to enter the castle. On the fourth day, at sunrise, I was awakened +suddenly by the deep tolling of the castle bell. I dressed hastily, +and hurried up there; but I was thrust from the door, and forbidden to +enter. I learned the truth, however, from one of the servants. Irene +was dead. On the next day I saw the little funeral procession +start from the castle, and directly they entered the grounds of the +monastery I joined them. The old Count, bowed and aged with grief, +stayed the ceremony, and bade them, with a sudden flash of his old +anger, thrust me from the place. But the priest by whose side I had +taken my stand raised his hand, and forbade them to touch me. I was +in sanctuary,--my feet were on holy ground--and though the Count of +Cruta, and Count Hirsfeld who knelt by his side, trembled with anger +at my presence, I remained, and on my knees by my wife's grave I +uttered the first prayer my lips had framed since childhood. Through +the pine trees which fringed the cliffs, I could see the path where +she and I had met in the days when I was her father's guest, and when +I had knelt at her feet a passionate lover. The sunlight flashed upon +the blue waters below, and the seabirds flew screaming around our +heads. It was all just as it had been in the old days; the same for +me, but never more for her. The long black coffin was lowered into the +grave, and reverently Count Hirsfeld stepped forward and covered it +with armfuls of exquisite white flowers, whose perfume made faint the +odorous air. And I had no flowers to throw, nothing but the tribute +of a passionate grief, and a heart well-nigh broken with sorrow and +remorse. + +"'The ceremony was over, and the black-robed monks and priest had +passed away in a long, solemn procession. Her father, Count Hirsfeld, +and I remained there alone; and over Irene's grave I leaned +forward, speaking gently and humbly to him, praying for one word of +forgiveness. His only answer was a look of scorn, and he turned away +from me with loathing. He would not hear me speak. To him, I was his +daughter's murderer. + +"'I left the island that night, and returned to England. For several +years I lived a very retired life, attending to my duties upon the +estate and seldom travelling beyond it. The memory of Irene seemed to +haunt me. But as time went on, a change came over my spirits. I was +young; and although I still bitterly regretted the past, its influence +became weaker and weaker. What was done could not be undone; such +reparation as was possible I had made. Brooding over my sin would +never make it the less. I reasoned thus with myself, and the final +result was inevitable. I commenced to mix more with my fellows, to +look up my old friends in town,--in fact, to take up again the threads +of my life, which I had once regarded as broken for ever. + +"'After a while I married; and then, more than ever, Irene and that +portion of my past which was bound up with her seemed like some +vague, far-distant nightmare, fast assuming a very remote place in my +thoughts. I loved my wife as I had never loved Irene, and for a time +I was intensely happy. A son was born to me, and in my joy I feasted +half the county at Vaux Abbey. I had desired nothing so much as +this, for the De Vaux estates and mines, immense as they are, are all +strictly entailed. A son was wanted to complete my happiness, and a +son I had. But already, although I knew it not, a storm was gathering +for me. + +"'It was about a fortnight after the festivities, and I had just come +in with some friends from an afternoon's shooting, when I was told +that a gentleman from abroad--the servant believed--was waiting to see +me in the library. Even as he spoke the words I seemed to know who +it was. My heart sank, and the presentiment of some coming evil was +strong upon me. I hesitated, and then, feverishly anxious to know +the worst, I turned away with some careless excuse to my guests and +entered the library. + +"'It was Count Hirsfeld who stood there waiting for my arrival, with +a calm, evil smile upon his lips, which instinctively I felt to be +the herald of some coming trouble for me. Yet my courage did not +altogether desert me. + +"'"Count Hirsfeld, your presence here demands an immediate +explanation," I said sternly. "Had I been at home, you would not have +been admitted." + +"'"I come," he answered slowly, with his eyes fixed steadily upon my +face, "as an ambassador from your wife." + +"'"From my wife!" I repeated. "You do not know her! What do you mean?" + +"'He shrugged his shoulders. "I regret that my meaning is not clear," +he said. "I repeat that I come as an ambassador from your wife, Irene +de Vaux. I have brought you a message from her." + +"'"A message from the dead!" I gasped. + +"'"Dead! By no means!" he answered, with a slow, cruel smile. "Irene +is living! Is it possible that you did not know it?"'" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +"GRIM FIGURES TRACED BY SORROW'S FIERY HAND" + + +The lamp which stood on Paul's writing-table had gone out, and only +a few dull red embers remained in the grate. By moving a single yard +backwards, Paul was almost lost in the deep shadows which hung about +the room, whilst such light as there was fell directly upon the +priest's pale face. During those last few moments his voice had grown +a shade more solemn--more intense. Paul, who stood looking out at +him from the darkness with dazed senses, like a man in a dream, never +doubted for an instant, although perhaps he scarcely realized the full +meaning of the story to which he was listening. + +"It must have been in this very room," Father Adrian continued, +looking around him, "that your father and Count Hirsfeld stood face to +face. But you are naturally impatient. I will take up the story again +in your father's own words to me. + + * * * * * + +"'It was several moments before I could collect myself sufficiently +to answer Count Hirsfeld. Everything seemed dim and unreal around me. +Only that calm, mocking face remained steadfast, and his words rang in +my ears. + +"'"It is a lie!" I gasped. "We stood together by her grave! She is +dead!" + +"'The calmness suddenly vanished from my tormentor's face and manner. +His eyes were ablaze with mingled triumph and hate. "You thought so, +you poor fool!" he hissed out at me across the table. "Bah! you were a +fool! You were easily deceived! Listen! + +"'"You thought it a light thing to carry off the only daughter of the +last Count of Cruta. 'Twas easily done, no doubt; but you made for +yourself enemies of men from whose vengeance you were bound to suffer. +One was the Count whose daughter you had dishonoured, and whose proud +name you disgraced; the other was myself, the man whom she was to have +married--myself, who loved her! Do you think that because I did not +seek you out and shoot you as you deserved, that I forgot? There were +men on the island who loved their lord, and who at the word from him +would have hunted you down and murdered you. If he restrained them, +do you imagine he was willing to bear this great dishonour without +striking a blow? Bah! it was my word that said 'wait,' my counsel +which saved you from death as too light a punishment. There is another +way, I said. So we waited. + +"'"It was my persuasions which induced Irene to leave you and return +to her father. It was I who pointed out to her your great selfishness, +and raised in her the longing for revenge! It was I who laid the plot +into which you fell. + +"'"A few words more! It is all so simple! Irene was about to become a +mother; and you, believing her to be on her deathbed, married her. The +child was born on the next day--your son and heir! Meanwhile, Irene's +waiting maid, who had been for long in a consumption, died. It was +her funeral which you attended with such interesting penitence. Irene +herself was fast recovering; she was never in any real danger. She +lives with her old father, and the boy lives with her. We waited! We +read of your marriage, and the Count cried, 'Let us strike!' But I +said, 'No, let us wait!' Time went on. We read again of the birth of a +son and heir to you, and of the great rejoicings. Irene held your boy +in her arms, and she frowned. 'Go now,' she commanded, 'tell Martin +de Vaux that his son and heir is here, and his wife is here! Tell him +that they are weary of his absence.' So I came!" + +"'There was a dead silence. My throat and lips were dry; I could +not speak. Count Hirsfeld watched me with folded arms. It was his +vengeance! + +"'"It is not true!" I stammered out at last. "I will not believe it. +Irene is dead!" + +"'I tried to speak confidently, but I failed. In my heart I believed +the Count. + +"'He shrugged his shoulders. "You have reason," he remarked. "Why +should you believe me? Come to Cruta, and you will see for yourself. +You can see the headstone at the foot of the grave: 'Sacred to the +memory of Marie, faithful servant of Irene of Cruta.' You can see the +doctor who attended her and your wife at the same time! Better still, +you can see your wife and your infant son! What do you say?" + +"'"I will not go!" I cried passionately. "I will not see them! It was +base treachery!" + +"'"One must use the weapons of craft against villains," he said. +"There is no baseness to equal yours. You are repaid in your own coin; +that is all." + +"'I sank into a chair. The insult moved me to no fit of anger. I was +numbed. + +"'"If this be true," I asked, "what does Irene ask for? I will not go +back to her, or see her, or acknowledge her in any way. She can have +money, that is all!" + +"'"Naturally, she requires an allowance," Count Hirsfeld answered, +"and a large one, to enable her to bring up her son in accordance with +his position!" + +"'"She shall have the allowance; she shall have what she asks for," I +declared; "but I will never acknowledge the boy, or her. If he takes +the name of De Vaux, or forces himself upon me in any way, it shall be +open war. The English courts will annul that marriage." + +"'"I think not," he answered coolly. "Besides, you married into +a noble family, did you not--a duke's daughter? How pleasant her +position would be while such a case was being tried! And your son----" + +"'I stopped him angrily. "I repeat that I will not acknowledge them. +Money they can have, and the boy's future shall be my care! But not if +he ever dares to call himself De Vaux." + +"'The Count shrugged his shoulders. "I am but an ambassador," he said. +"I will convey what you have said to your wife. You shall hear her +decision." + +"'He went away, and for a fortnight I was left in misery. At the end +of that time I had a letter signed "Irene." It was cold and short. It +told me that, so far as she herself was concerned, she had no desire +or intention of claiming her position as my wife. All she demanded was +an allowance to be paid to her order at a certain bank in Palermo +at regular intervals for the support of herself and for the proper +education and bringing up of her son. As to his future, she could not +pledge herself to anything; for when the time came, he should +decide for himself. She would bring him up in ignorance; but on his +twenty-fifth birthday she should tell him the whole story, and place +all the necessary papers in his hands. If he chose to use them and +claim the De Vaux estates, he would easily be able to do so. If, on +the other hand, he decided to remain as he was, she should not attempt +in any way to alter his decision! + +"'The letter was a great relief to me. Five-and-twenty years was a +long respite. The boy might die--a thousand things might happen before +then. At any rate, I was enough of a philosopher to seal down that +secret page in my history, and to live as though it had never existed. + +"'Five-and-twenty years is a long time, but it passed away. It is the +portion of my life which I look back upon with the most pleasure. +I did my utmost to atone for a wasted youth, and in some measure I +succeeded. My fears had grown fainter and fainter, and when the blow +came it was like a thunderbolt falling from a clear sky. One morning +I received a letter in Irene's writing, a little fainter and less firm +than of old, but still familiar to me. It contained only a few lines. +She had told her son all, and he elected to assert his rightful name +and position. In future he intended to call himself "De Vaux" and on +my death he would claim the estates. + +"'I read the letter, and determined on instant action. In a week my +son Paul and I were on board my yacht, starting for the Mediterranean. +We made for Palermo, and here we separated,--Paul, at all hazard, to +find Count Hirsfeld, to whom I made a splendid offer if he would +aid me in inducing Irene to change her purpose; I for Cruta, to see +Irene.' + + * * * * * + +"This is almost the end of your father's confession to me," Father +Adrian continued. "At Cruta he sought the hospitality of the +monastery, where he was taken ill. He wrote an urgent letter to you, +and immediately he was able to walk he went up to the castle. I have +already told you of the manner of return. Of that visit he told me +scarcely anything, and he told me nothing at all concerning the wound +which he received there. Only I gathered that he was more than ever +anxious to see Count Hirsfeld. It was while waiting for your return +that he made this confession to me. I have finished." + + * * * * * + +The white morning light was stealing into the room through the +uncurtained windows. The fire had burnt out, and there was only a +handful of ashes in the grate. Outside in the park a grey mist was +hanging about in the hollows and over the tree-tops, and something of +its damp chilliness seemed to have found its way into the apartment. +Paul, who had been leaning heavily upon the mantelpiece, with his head +buried in his hands, looked up and shivered. Then he glanced quickly +across towards the opposite easy-chair. Father Adrian was still there, +and at Paul's movement he rose to his feet. + +"This has been a terrible night for you, I fear," he said quietly. +"I am sorry to have given you so much pain. If I could I would have +spared you." + +"I thank you," Paul answered wearily. "It was right that I should +know. Why did you not tell me at Cruta?" + +"It seemed to me that your father's death was enough for you to bear! +Perhaps I was wrong!" + +Paul made no answer. His thoughts seemed suddenly to have travelled +far away. Father Adrian watched his pale, stricken face with cold, +pitiless eyes. + +"You are weary," he said softly. "I shall leave you now, but I have +something more to say to you on this matter. It is no part of your +father's confession. It is from myself. Can I come to-morrow or the +next day?" + +"Come in a week," Paul answered. "I shall be able to talk calmly then +about this." + +Father Adrian hesitated. "A week! Well, let it be so, then. Farewell!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +"ADREA'S DIARY" + + "Spring blossoms on the land, and anguish in the heart." + + +To-night I shall close my diary for a long while, very likely for +ever. I am heartily thankful for it. These last few days have been so +wretched, full of so much miserable uncertainty, that their record has +grown to be a wearisome task. It has ceased to give me any relief; it +has become nothing but a burden. How could it be otherwise, when +the days themselves have been so grey, so full of shadows and +disappointments? You have been a relief to me sometimes, my silent +friend; but what lies before me is not to be recorded in your pages. + +Twenty-four hours have passed since I made my last entry. It was night +then, and it is night now. All that lies between seems phantasmagoric +and unreal. I ask myself whether it has really happened; and when +the day's events rise slowly up before my memory, I almost fail to +recognise them. Yet I have but to close my eyes and lean back, and it +all crowds in upon me. In the future I know that this day will stand +out clear and distinct from all the rest of my life. + +It was early in the morning when I started for Vaux Abbey across the +moorland road. So long have I seen this bleak county wrapped in mists +and sea fogs that to-day I scarcely recognised it. There was a clear +blue sky, streaked with little patches of white, wind-swept clouds, +and the sun--actually the sun--was shining brilliantly. How it changed +everything! The grey, hungry sea, which I had never been able to look +upon without a shudder, seemed to have caught the colouring of the +sky, and a million little scintillations of glistening light rose and +fell at every moment on the bosom of the tiny, white-crested waves. +And the moorland, too, was transformed. Its bare, rock-strewn +undulations lost all their harshness of outline and colouring in the +sweet, glancing sunlight; and afar off the line of rugged hills, which +I had never seen save with their heads wreathed in a cloud of white +mist, stood out clear and distinct against the distant horizon, tinged +with a dim, purple light. + +Why did it all make such an impression upon me, I wonder? I cannot +say; but nothing in all my life ever struck so deep a note of sadness. +I feel it now; I shall feel it always. There was madness in my blood +when I started, I think; but before my walk was half over, it had +increased a thousand-fold. Every little sound and sight seemed to +aggravate it. I missed the dull sighing and moaning of the wind in the +black copses--a sound which had somehow endeared itself to me during +these last few days--and in its place the soft murmur of what seemed +almost a summer breeze amongst the tall pine-tops stirred in me an +unreasonable anger. The face of the whole country seemed smiling at +me. What mockery! What right had the earth to rejoice when grief and +anxiety were driving me mad? For it was indeed a sort of madness which +laid hold of me. I clenched my hands, and muttered to myself as I +walked swiftly along. The road was deserted, and I met no one. Once +a dark bush away off seemed to me to take a man's shape. I stopped +short. Could it be Father Adrian returning to the Abbey? I felt my +breath come quickly as I stood there waiting. The idea excited me. +I found myself trembling with a passion that was not of fear, and, +suddenly stooping down, I picked up a sharp flint, and grasped it +tightly between my fingers. Then I moved stealthily on, and the thing +defined itself. After all, it was only a bush, not a man at all. I +tossed my weapon on one side with a strained little laugh. The sense +of excitement passed away, but it left an odd flavour behind it. I +found myself deliberating as to what I had meant to do with that +stone if it had really been Father Adrian, and if I had succeeded in +stealing silently up behind him. Perhaps I scarcely realized my +full intention, but a dim sense of it remained with me. It was the +development of a new instinct born of this swiftly-built-up hatred. +I have my reasons for writing of this. I wish to distinctly mark the +period of the event which I have just recorded. + +There was no fear of my mistaking the way to Vaux Abbey, for it stood +upon a hill, and had been within sight ever since I had taken the +moorland road. I was unused to walking, and the road was rough; but I +do not remember once feeling in any way fatigued or footsore, although +one of my shoes had a great hole in it, and was almost in strips. My +mind was too full of the end of my journey to be conscious of such +things. I had only one fear: that I should be too late; that somehow +the threatened blow would have been struck, and Paul in some way +removed from me. It was fear more than hope which buoyed me up. But +anyhow, it answered its purpose, for in less than three hours after I +had started I found myself before the great hall-door of Vaux Abbey. + +A deep, hollow peal followed my nerveless little pull at the chain +bell-rope, and almost immediately the door opened. A grey-haired +manservant, in black livery, looked down at me in surprise. + +"I wish to see Mr. Paul de Vaux!" I announced. "Is he in?" + +The man hesitated. "I believe so, miss," he said doubtfully; "but he +is engaged on some important business, and has given orders that no +one is to disturb him. Lady de Vaux is at home." + +"My business is with Mr. Paul de Vaux," I said. "Will you tell him +that it is some one from the Hermitage, and I think that he will see +me." + +The man did not answer me in words, but motioned me to follow him. My +courage was failing me a little, and I was certainly inclined not to +look around, but nevertheless the place made an impression on me. The +great hall which we were crossing was like the interior of some richly +decorated church. The ceiling was dome-shaped, and the base of the +cupola was surrounded by stained glass windows, which cast a dim light +down upon the interior. The white stone flags were here and there +covered by Eastern rugs, thrown carelessly down, but for the most part +were bare, and as slippery as marble; so slippery that once I nearly +fell, and only saved myself by catching at an oak bench. Just as I +recovered myself, I saw the figure of a woman descending the huge +double oak staircase which terminated opposite to us. My guide paused +when he saw her, and I was also compelled to. + +"Here is her ladyship!" he said. + +I watched her slowly advance toward us, a fine, stately old lady, +carrying herself with unmistakable dignity, although she was forced +to lean a good deal on a gold-mounted, black ebony stick. And, as I +looked at her, I thought of Father Adrian's words: "I can break his +mother's heart;" and I leant eagerly forward in the chastened twilight +with my eyes anxiously fixed upon her. She came slowly on towards me, +and when she was a few yards away she spoke to the servant. + +"Does this young lady wish to see me, Richards?" + +She spoke to the man, but she looked towards me, and evidently +expected me to address her. For a moment I could not. A little gasp +of relief had quivered upon my lips, and my eyes were suddenly dim. To +look into Lady de Vaux's face, stately, calm, and kind, seemed like +a strong antidote to my fears of Father Adrian. It was quite evident +that nothing unexpected had happened during the last twenty-four +hours. Father Adrian's threat had been an empty one. In the presence +of Lady de Vaux, the fears which had been consuming me departed. She +was so unmoved, so indifferent. How could a little Jesuit priest hurt +such a one as she? + +The thoughts chased one another quickly through my mind; but still my +hesitation was apparent. After waiting in vain for me to speak, the +servant who was conducting me answered Lady de Vaux's question. + +"The young lady asked for Mr. Paul, your ladyship. It was doubtful +whether I might disturb him." + +"For Mr. Paul?" Lady de Vaux looked at me, leaning forward on +her stick, and with her eyebrows a little uplifted. "My son is +particularly engaged, and has left word that he does not wish to be +disturbed for several hours," she said. "If you have anything to say +to him, you can say it to me. I am Lady de Vaux!" + +"Thank you! I must wait and see your son," I answered. + +She moved away with a slight and distinctly haughty inclination of her +head. "You can show this young lady into the waiting-room, Richards," +she directed. "Take her name in to Mr. Paul when he rings. By the +bye," she added, pausing in her slow progress over the hall, and +looking me once more steadily in the face, "what is your name?" + +"You would not know it," I answered. "I have come from the +Hermitage--near here." + +She did not speak to me for a moment, but I saw the colour rising into +her cheeks, and her fingers were trembling. It was foolish of me to +have told her. A glance into her face showed me that she had heard +something, she knew something of me. She was looking at me as at some +object almost beneath her contempt. Yet she spoke quite calmly. + +"You are Adrea Kiros, the dancing girl!" + +I answered her quite coolly--I believe respectfully. She was Paul's +mother. Yet I could see that she was going to be very rude to me. + +"You can have nothing to say to my son," she declared. "It is infamous +that you should have followed him here--to his own house. Be so good +as to quit it at once. Mr. de Vaux shall be informed later of the +honour of your visit, and if he has anything to say to you, he can +find other means save an interview under this roof. Richards!" + +She pointed across the hall towards the entrance. I stood quite still, +struggling with my passion. If she had been any other woman, I should +have struck her across the lips. + +"I shall remain!" I answered. "I am here to see Mr. de Vaux; I shall +see him! Don't dare to touch me, man!" I added fiercely, as Richards +laid his hand upon my shoulder. + +He shrank back hastily. I even believe that he muttered an apology. +Perhaps they saw that I was not to be trifled with, for Lady de Vaux +suddenly changed her tactics. + +"Follow me!" she said, sweeping round, with an imperious gesture. "You +shall see my son! You shall hear from his own lips what he thinks of +this--intrusion. Perhaps you will leave the Abbey at his bidding, if +not at mine." + +I followed her in silence, carrying myself proudly, but with +fast-beating heart. What would he think of my coming? Would he call +it an intrusion? At any rate he could not be pleased; for even if he +received me kindly, he would have his mother's anger to face. Yet, how +could I have kept away? + +We halted, all three of us, before a closed door at the back of the +hall. There was no answer to the man's somewhat ostentatious knock, +and Lady de Vaux, after a moment's waiting, turned the handle of the +door and swept into the room. I kept close behind her. + +I can remember it now; I shall always remember it--the dim, peculiar +light which tired our eyes the moment we had stepped inside. It was +easy to discover the reason. The heavy velvet curtains were still +drawn in front of the high windows, and on a distant table a lamp +was only just flickering out. At first it seemed as though the great +chamber was empty. There was no one to be seen, and it was not until +we reached a deep recess at the further end that we discovered Paul. + +At the sight of him we both stood still--Lady de Vaux moved in spite +of her stately composure, and I spellbound. He was sitting before an +oak writing desk covered with papers, and in the midst of them his +head was resting upon his bowed arms. He neither spoke nor moved, +nor seemed indeed in any way conscious of our approach. The window +fronting him was, unlike all the others, uncurtained and wide open, +and a flood of sunshine was streaming in upon his bowed head, and +mingling with the sicklier light of the rest of the apartment. It was +a strange and ghastly combination; not only in itself, but in the sort +of halo it seemed to cast around his dark, bowed head. Ah! Paul, my +love, my love! how my heart ached for you! + +"He is asleep," Lady de Vaux said fearfully. "Paul!" + +I held out my hand to check her. "Let him alone!" I whispered +hoarsely. "I will go away. Don't you see that he is resting." + +She took no notice of me, nor of my backward movement, but leaned over +towards him as though to touch his arm. A sort of fury came upon me. +I knew that the Paul whom she was trying to recall from the land of +unconsciousness would never again be the Paul of the past. Father +Adrian had kept his word. The blow which he had threatened had fallen. +Paul! I looked at your dear bowed head until the tears dimmed my eyes, +and the great room swam around me. For in my heart I felt that it was +I who had brought this thing upon you; I who could have saved you by a +single word. + +"Paul, wake up! It is I, your mother." + +I snatched hold of her hand, and drew it away. "Let him rest," I +cried, fiercely. "He will waken soon enough." + +She looked at me in dignified astonishment. "How dare you presume to +dictate to me in this fashion?" she exclaimed. "And why should he not +be awakened? It is past mid-day. Paul!" + +The crouching figure moved. He had heard, then! I held my breath, +longing to escape, yet compelled to watch with fascinated eyes the +rising of that bowed head. There was no start, or hurried awakening, +if indeed he had been asleep at all. He simply turned his head, and +looked at us with surprise, without any emotion of any sort. + +I hid my face in my hands, and sobbed. Lady de Vaux was silent with +horror. For there was something inexpressibly, awfully moving in the +silent, passionless sorrow which seemed written with an unsparing +hand onto that white face. All combativeness had passed away, but +resignation had not come to take its place. And, apart from the +outward evidence of the agony through which he had passed, its +physical traces were very apparent. Deep, black lines seemed furrowed +into the flesh under his dull eyes, and the firm, handsome mouth was +drawn and quivering. It was such a change as might have been worked by +some deadly Eastern poison, eating away the corporal frame. To think +that it had worked from within--that burning and terrible sorrow had +caused it--was horrible. + +Lady de Vaux was the first to speak. The icy composure of her manner +was gone. Her voice was strained and anxious. + +"Why, Paul, what have you been doing here all night? Do you know that +it is past mid-day? Has anything happened? Are you ill?" + +"Ill? No; I think not." He seemed to be speaking from a great way +off. Nothing about him was natural. He was on his feet, but I expected +every moment to see him reel and fall. + +"But, Paul, what have you been doing--writing?" Lady de Vaux asked +anxiously. Then, as though warned by his strange appearance, she +checked his mechanical answer. "Never mind, never mind! You are tired, +I can see. Won't you go and lie down for awhile? Come, I will go with +you." + +She had forgotten me, until she found that he paid no heed to her +words; that his eyes travelled past her, and remained fixed upon me. +Then she turned swiftly upon me. + +"You had better go," she said in a low, imperative whisper. "Ask them +to show you into my room, and wait there for me." + +I took no notice of her. My eyes were fixed upon Paul. I felt that he +was going to speak to me; and he did. + +"Adrea! Adrea!" he said slowly. "How is it that you are here? You did +not come with him, did you? No! no! of course not. And yet, how is it +that you are here?" + +"I feared Father Adrian and his threats, and I was alone, quite alone, +and--and I could bear it no longer. I was obliged to come." + +His face grew a trifle more animated; I could see that he was +recovering. The dumb stupor which had held his features rigid was +passing away. + +"Yes, I am glad you are here. I want to talk to you. I had some +important business which kept me writing here all night, and must have +fallen asleep. I will go and change my things and come back to you." + +He looked down at his crumpled shirt-front and disordered tie, and +then moved slowly towards the door. Lady de Vaux hesitated for a +moment, with a dark frown upon her face, and then laid her hand upon +his arm. + +"Your explanation should surely have been addressed to me, Paul," she +said coldly. "Who is this young lady?" + +"She is a friend of mine," Paul answered, "and----" + +"I heard you call her 'Adrea,'" Lady de Vaux continued. "May I ask +whether it is indeed Miss Adrea Kiros?" + +"I have told you that is my name, Lady de Vaux," I answered promptly. +"You have possibly heard of me." + +Lady de Vaux turned her back upon both of us, and left the room +without a word. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +"ADREA'S DIARY" + + "Love, blossoming in the roses, holds a dagger in her hands." + + +We were alone, Paul and I, in that great, solemn room, full of pale, +phantom-like lights and quivering shadows. He was standing a few +yards away from me, with his head half averted, and his eyes full of +a great, hopeless despair. In silence I approached him, and took his +death-cold hand in mine. + +"It is no matter," I whispered; "I do not care for your mother! +Her words are nothing! I will not leave you--not till you tell me +everything." + +"Everything!" He echoed the word, and looked at me helplessly. +"Everything! Tell you everything!" + +Suddenly there was a change. The numbed, helpless look left his face, +and his features were relaxed. He was himself again; a strong, brave +man, only shaken by the storm. + +"Adrea, forgive me! Did you think that I was going mad? I have had +a terrible shock, and I have been up all night listening to a story +which brings great suffering and misery upon me!" + +His eyes had suddenly a far-away look in them, so sad that I felt +the tears rush into mine. I pressed his hand to let him know that I +understood; but I kept my face turned from him. Ah! love is a strange +thing, indeed! If I had not cared, Paul, I could have sympathised with +you so nicely, and made so many pretty speeches. But I love you, and +it made me feel very strange and solemn. I had nothing to say; my +heart was too full. Did you understand, I wonder? Will you ever +understand? Paul, my love! my love! It is so sweet to say that over +and over to myself in this dark chamber, where there is no one to hear +me, or to see me looking so foolish. You make me feel so different, +Paul! That is because you yourself are so different from all the men I +know; from all the men I have ever seen. + +We stood there, quite silent, for some moments. Then he drew a quick, +stifled breath, and caught hold of my hands. "I cannot breathe in this +place," he said, looking half fearfully around; "the very air seems +tainted with that horrible story, and its ghosts are lurking in every +corner!" + +"Let me draw the curtains," I whispered. "The sunlight will banish +them. You are dazed." + +He held my hand tightly, and drew me towards the window. "Never mind +the curtains! We will go out; out over the moor." + +He was feverishly impatient to be gone, but I held him back. "Your +clothes!" I reminded him. "And you have no hat!" + +He looked down doubtfully at his disordered evening dress, and then +released my hands. "Wait for me, here," he begged. "Promise that you +will not go away; that nothing shall make you go." + +I promised. + +"See! I shall lock the door," he continued, as he reached the +threshold. "No one can come in and disturb you!" + +"Please to have some tea and a bath!" I begged. "I do not mind +waiting. You will be ill, if you do not mind." + +He was gone about half an hour. Once, some one came and tried the +door, but I took no notice. At last I heard the key turn in the lock, +and he entered. "Did you think that I was long?" he asked, coming up +to me with a smile. + +I shook my head; my eyes were full of tears, and there was a lump in +my throat. I could not speak. He had changed all his clothes, and was +carefully dressed in a brown tweed shooting suit and gaiters, but +the correctness and order of his external appearance seemed only to +emphasize the ravages which one single night's suffering had wrought +upon his strong, handsome face. Hard, cruel lines had furrowed their +way across his forehead, and under his eyes were deep black marks. His +bronze cheeks were white and sunken, and a bright red spot burned on +one of them. But it was a change of which the details could give no +idea. His face had caught the inflection of his inward agony, and +retained it. It was there, if not for the world to see, at any rate +terribly evident to me, to those who loved him. + +He was quite calm now, however. It was as though the fires of +suffering had burnt themselves out, leaving behind them a silent, +charred desolation. He took my arm, and together we left the room, +passing through the high French windows and along an open terrace +until we reached the gardens. We turned down a broad walk bordered by +high yew hedges, at the bottom of which was a little gate leading into +the park. The air was fragrant with the perfume of violets, and early +stocks and hyacinths, mingled every now and then with a more delicate +perfume from the greenhouses on the other side of the red-brick wall. +How beautiful it all seemed, in that sweet, dancing sunlight!--the +songs of the birds, the blossoming fruit-trees, and pink-budded +chestnuts, the scents which floated about on the soft west breeze, and +the constant humming of bees and other winged insects. Only in England +could there have been so sudden a change from the grey mists and +leaden skies of yesterday. Even in that moment of extreme tension I +could not help an exclamation of admiration as we came to an end of +the gravelled walk, and Paul held open for me a little iron gate. + +"How beautiful your home is!" I cried. "How you must love it!" + +A look almost of agony passed across his face. It came and went in +a moment. "Yes! I love it!" he answered, "but it is not my home. +Henceforth I have no home. I may well be thankful that I have even a +name!" + +I looked at him, waiting for an explanation, but he walked on in +silence. It was not until we were half-way across the park that I +spoke. "I do not understand!" I said softly. "Will you not tell me +something of your trouble?" + +"I would that I could, Adrea!" he answered. His voice was so gentle, +and yet his face was so stern. "But no, I cannot. It is a secret. It +is only a blotted page of our family history made clear to me. But it +alters everything!" + +"Does it make you poorer?" I asked falteringly. + +He looked down in my eyes bravely; but his voice shook as he answered: +"If it be true--as I scarcely doubt--it takes from me everything: my +money, my home, my future. It brings everything but disgrace upon us, +Adrea, and even that must touch our name. Even though the living are +spared, the memory of the dead must suffer!" + +I felt the tears flowing down my cheeks, but I dashed them away. "I do +not understand. I----" + +"Of course not! and I cannot explain. Yet it is simple! I have an +elder brother, of whom I never heard, to whom everything belongs. I am +going to find him!" + +"Where is he?" I cried. He shook his head. "That I cannot tell. Father +Adrian knows, but he will not speak. I am going in search of him +myself. I am going to Cruta!" + +To Cruta! The name rang in my ears, and earth and trees and sky seemed +reeling before me. Then I clutched him by the arm, and cried out +hysterically,-- + +"You shall not go there! The place is horrible! You shall not go!" + +He stood still, and looked at me in wonderment. We had crossed the +park now, and were on the edge of the bare moorland. His figure alone +stood out in solitary relief against the sky. I was half mad with fear +and dismay. He did not understand. How could he? + +"It is at Cruta that I can learn all that there still is for me to +learn," he said. "I shall start for there to-night." + +Oh! it was horrible! What could I say? How was I to stop him? How much +dare I tell? I caught hold of his hands, and held them tightly. + +"Paul, I want to ask you something! When you heard from the convent +that relations had claimed me and taken me away, and then, a year +afterwards, you found me there--in London--a dancing girl, what did +you think?" + +He answered me at once and without hesitation. "I thought that you had +misled the Lady Superior,--that you were weary of your life there, and +had run away." + +I shook my head. "I knew that you thought so and I never denied it. +But it was not so! I was not unhappy at the convent, but one day I was +sent for and bidden prepare for a journey. Some relatives had sent for +me, and I was to go. And to where? It was to Cruta! Paul, it was old +Count of Cruta who claimed me. I cannot tell you anything of the time +I spent there, shut up in the gloomy castle; it was horrible beyond +all words. Even the memory of it makes me shudder. If only I could +tell you! But I must not! I can tell you this, though. In less than +six months I felt myself going mad; and one night I stole down to the +beach and unfastened a small boat and rowed away, scarcely caring what +happened to me so that I could but escape from that awful place. +It was a desperate chance. I was out all day without food or water, +rowing and drifting until Cruta lay like a speck in the distance. Then +by chance I was picked up by an English yacht, and they brought me to +London. I arrived there helpless and miserable, and, ah! how lonely! +I dared not go back to the convent for fear I should be sent back to +Cruta. There was only you. I went to your bankers, and they told me +that you were abroad--on the Continent. By chance they asked me there +my name, and by chance again I told them it truthfully. They told me +that they had money for me there. I had only to sign a receipt, and +they gave me more than I asked for--ten times more. Then I remembered +the address of an English girl who had been at the convent with me, +and she gave me a home for a time. It was through her dancing mistress +that I became--a dancing girl. I have told you this, Paul, because I +want you to promise me not to go to Cruta. It is an evil place. They +are mad there. Promise me!" + +He looked at me gravely and very tenderly; but his tone was firm. +"Adrea, it is necessary that I go there," he said. "I cannot rest for +a moment until I know for certain whether a story which I have just +been told is a true one. The proof lies in Cruta! It is no whim which +is taking me there! I must go!" + +My heart was sick with dread. Yet what could I do? I said nothing; +only I covered my face with my hands and wept. + +"Adrea, you are a foolish child!" he said, bending over me. "What is +there for me to fear at Cruta? Look up and tell me!" + +I shook my head. "You would not heed me," I answered sadly. "I dare +not tell you. But there is one thing," I added hastily. "Will you do +it for me simply because I ask you?" + +"If it be possible, yes!" + +I stood still on a little hillock, and faced him eagerly. "Then do not +go to Cruta until to-morrow!" I begged. "It will make no difference to +you." + +"And what difference will it make to you, he asked, perplexed. + +"Never mind! promise!" He hesitated for a moment, with a frown on his +forehead, and his face turned seaward. + +"Well! I will promise then!" + +I caught hold of his hand, and held it tightly. "You are very good to +me!" I said. "_Allons!_ let us move onward!" + +We had reached the Hermitage, and I had spoken scarcely a single word +of comfort. An icy coldness seemed to have stolen into my heart. I +had ceased to think of Paul, or of my love. There was something else; +another passion which made me blind. Yet I let him come in with me, +and yielded myself up for a while to the dream of loving and being +loved by him. While I lay in his arms, with my head upon his shoulder, +and every now and then felt his light, caressing touch upon my +face,--why then, the world for me was bounded by that little room, and +I had no thoughts which travelled outside it. But it lasted only while +he was with me. When he stood up, and said that he must go, I did not +seek to keep him. + +"Shall I come again?" he asked, as we stood hand in hand before the +door. + +I shook my head. "Not to-night love! I shall be better alone. I am +weary, and I have my things to collect." + +I knew he would be surprised. He withdrew his hand, and manlike, was +almost angry. "I forgot. You will leave here, I suppose!" + +I shrugged my shoulders. "What should keep me, Paul? I could not live +here alone. Every stone and tree would be full of barren memories. No! +to-morrow I go to London. I have sent all the servants away to-day, +except Gomez. You will be with me early!" + +"I will be outside your window before you are up!" he promised with a +touch of gaiety in his tone. "See that Gomez has breakfast for two!" + +He passed down the avenue, and out of sight. I closed the door with +a little shudder and turned round. Gomez was by my side. Through the +gloom I could see that his dark eyes were full of fire, and his olive +features were set and grim. + +"What do you want Gomez?" I asked quickly. + +He drew close to my side. "The priest," he muttered, "has he--has he +dared----" + +His breath was coming quickly. He spoke English but slightly, and in +the excitement the words seemed to stick in his throat. + +I interrupted him. "He has told Mr. de Vaux some strange, horrible +story. What do you know of it?" + +"All! All! All! I was there--in the chamber! My master's words to +him--I heard them all. He has told, then! He has threatened! Oh! if +only I had known when he was here!" + +The man's fierce face and gesture told their own tale. I beckoned +him to follow me into the room where Paul and I had been sitting, and +closed the door. + +"You were Martin de Vaux's faithful servant," I said. "Do you want to +see his son driven from his home and robbed of his lands?" + +The man moved his lips, making a curious sound, and drew a long, +gurgling breath. He was shaking with excitement. + +"Who should do it?" + +"The priest!" I answered softly. + +"Because of the words, the story of which my master spoke to him at +his death in the monastery?" + +"Yes! because of that." + +"Ah!" He stole up to my side with a noiseless, animal movement, and +whispered in my ear. His eyes were burning; his face was full of evil +meaning. Yet I did not shrink from him. I welcomed him with a smile. +He whispered into my ear. It was like the hiss of a snake; but I +smiled. I whispered back again. He nodded. Ah! the way before me was +growing clear at last. Was it not fate that had brought Gomez ready to +my hand? Ay! fate! A good fate! A kind fate! We stood close together +in that dimly lit room; and though we were alone in the house, we +spoke in whispers to one another. When I moved to the door, Gomez +followed me. + +I came down in ten minutes, clad in a long, dark cloak, with a small +hat and a thick veil. I took a stick from the rack, and there was +something else in my deep pocket. + +"Alone!" he whispered, as I moved towards the door. + +"Alone!" I answered. "Make a good fire in the drawing-room, and let +there be food and wine there." + +"For two?" he asked with an evil smile. + +"For two!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +"ADREA'S DIARY" + + "A land that is lonelier than a ruin." + + +A cold twilight followed close upon the day. The sky was strewn with +dark clouds, and a wild wind blew in my face. I was on an unknown +road, and in all my life I had seen nothing so dreary. + +On one side, about a hundred yards away, was the sea; on the other +was a broken stretch of bare moorland covered with only the scantiest +herbage and piles of barren grey rocks. Some were lying together in +quaint, grotesque shapes; others stood out alone against the sky, +and broken fragments of all sizes covered the ground, choking and +destroying all vegetation. There was no background of woods or trees; +there was nothing between that barren, stony surface and the leaden +sky. What turf there had been had lost its colour, and never a +fragment of moss had grown upon one of those weather-beaten boulders. +The sea air had stained them, and the grey evening mists had rotted +them, until their surface was honeycombed with indentations, but +neither had softened or toned down their fierce ugliness. Even in the +bright sunlight such a country as this must still have been a country +of desolation, and a light heart must sometimes have lost its gaiety +and felt oppressed. To me, as I hurried along, with the cold evening +settling down around me, that walk was horrible. Strange shadows +seemed to dog my path and stalk solemnly along by my side. Footsteps +seemed to follow behind me, and every stone I dislodged made me start. +Sometimes I fancied that I heard strange whisperings in my ears, and +I started round, shivering and trembling, to find myself alone. Once I +stopped short. Was that a dead man in the way? How my heart beat! No! +it was only a long boulder of rock! Listen! was not that the scream +of a dying man? My own voice, raised in helpless terror, drowned the +sound, and while I stood there ready to sink to the ground, a great +sea-gull came circling round my head, and the blood flowed warm in my +veins once more. How sad and mournful was that solitary cry and slow, +hopeless flapping of the wings! Who was it said that the evil spirits +of dead men dwell imprisoned in those sad-crying birds? It was +very, very human, that cry. Bah! was I getting superstitious and +faint-hearted before my task was begun? I set my teeth and stepped +boldly onwards. For a while I had no more fancies. + +Throughout that hideous walk my whole imagination seemed coloured +with a reflection of the purpose towards which I was tending. I do +not write this in any morbid fit. Few women have passed through what +I have passed through; fewer still have stopped to record their +sensations. It is strange that it should afford me any satisfaction to +record them here, but it is so. I have begun, and I must go on. This +part of my life is drawing rapidly to a close, and with its close I +shall seal this little book up and put it away for ever. + +The night grew darker, and the road was fast becoming little more than +a rude cattle-track. A little distance ahead of me, from some building +as yet unseen, a strong, clear light was steadily burning. Save for +it, I might have feared that I had lost my way, for as yet I had +passed no sign of human habitation. But that light was sufficient. +Gomez had told me of it. It was the light which burned always, from +dusk to morning, from the tower of the monastery of St. Bernard. + + * * * * * + +Two things seemed strange to me, or rather seem strange to me now, +when I look back upon that walk. The first was my utter indifference +to all physical pain. There was a hole in my boot, and I found +afterwards that my foot must have been bleeding most of the time. I +never felt it. I was conscious of neither pain nor fatigue. The second +thing which surprises me is that, as I drew near to my journey's end, +I grew calmer. I had no desire to draw back. I had no fear. The thing +which was before me never assumed any definite shape! It was there--in +the background--a dim, floating purpose, never once oppressing +me, never forcing its way forward in my mind for more definite +consideration, and only showing itself at all in a vague, lurid +glow which seemed to change even the shapes of all the gruesome +surroundings of my dismal walk. Towards the end of my expedition this +became even more marked. My thoughts had recoiled from the present to +the past. Vague pictures of the days that had gone by seemed floating +before my eyes. I saw myself in the convent garden, with all my little +world enclosed in those four walls, and I heard the shrill laughter +of the girls with whom I was walking, and I even fancied that I could +catch the perfume of the lilac trees which drooped over the smoothly +kept lawn. And then the picture faded away, and from the vessel's side +I saw Cruta, a purple-topped island rising like some precious jewel +from the sea! I shuddered at the memory of that face, which soon +became a living dread to me, and I heard again the passionate voice +of a dark-robed man reading poetry, and crushing with white, nervous +fingers the hyacinths whose odour was making the air faint. I saw his +white, sad face, in which the struggle of the man against himself was +already born--born, alas! in those long mornings by the sea, at my +unconscious bidding! And soon Cruta, too, faded away, and you, Paul, +my love, my dear, dear love, your face came to me. Almost my eyes +closed, almost I stayed here to dream. Ah! how the magic of this love, +this wonderful love, lightens my little world! My heart is stirred to +music, my blood is dancing. I am chilled no longer. Ah! Paul, it is +for you that I strike this blow, for you that I tread this stony way. +It is sweet to think of it. I go on as blithely as ever a village +maiden stepped forward to her wedding. The way is as sweet to me as +a garden of roses. Your face, too, is dying out of my thoughts, Paul. +Farewell! Farewell! + + * * * * * + +The valley of the shadow of death! Did any one speak those words? What +an evil fancy! Yet the air seemed full of whisperings. The valley +of the shadow of death! Yes! it might be that, and these cold, grey +boulders the spirits of the evil ones risen up out of Hades. Is there +a hell, I wonder? How chill and dark the air seems! There is death +about! + + * * * * * + +The sound of a single bell broke in upon my thoughts. I raised +my eyes. My journey was accomplished. Before me was a grim, stern +building, and attached to it a chapel. It was the monastery of St. +Bernard. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +"ADREA'S DIARY" + + "Farewell to the dead ashes of life." + + +The path which I had been following led straight up to the bare, +arched door of the building. I had reached it unmolested, and rang the +bell. + +What a hoarse, clanging sound! I shivered as I stood there listening +to its gloomy echoes until they died away. No one came. The place +seemed wrapped in an austere silence. I listened, but I could hear no +sound within; only the dull, melancholy sighing of the wind amongst a +sickly avenue of firs behind. + +I stretched out my hand, and rang again. Almost before the echoes had +died away I heard footsteps within. A heavy bolt was withdrawn, and +a dark-robed monk stood on the threshold before me. He recoiled for a +moment at seeing a woman, and I thought that he would have closed the +door, but he did not. + +"What would you have at this hour, sister?" he asked sternly. "The +chapel is closed, and morning is the time for dispensing charity." + +"I have come in search of a priest who is only a visitor here," I +said. "Father Adrian he is called!" + +He seemed still indisposed to admit me. "Is your business urgent?" he +asked doubtfully. "Father Adrian is at his devotions, and must not be +lightly disturbed." + +"It is urgent," I answered. + +He beckoned me to follow him, and in silence led me a few yards down a +bare stone corridor. Then he threw open the door of a small room, and +bade me enter. + +"This is the guest-chamber," he said. "Wait here, and I will summon +Father Adrian!" + +He closed the door and disappeared. The interior of the room in which +he had left me was bare and chilling. I turned from it to the window. +Almost opposite was a small eminence, and at its summit a rude cross +of Calvary. A dark figure, with clasped hands and bent head, was +slowly descending the path. + +Even at that distance I thought I recognised the walk, and as he came +nearer I saw that he was wearing the ordinary garb of a Roman Catholic +priest instead of the monk's robes. I stood close to the window +watching him, and as he crossed the open space before the door he +raised his eyes and saw me. How he started, and how his eyes seemed +to burn in their sockets! Doubtless he would have turned paler, but he +was already deathly white. He stood there, swaying from side to side, +with his eyes fastened wildly upon me, as though an apparition had +appeared before him. Then he took a quick step forward; I heard the +great front door creak and groan upon its hinges, and almost as soon +as I could turn round he was on the threshold before me. + +"Adrea! Adrea!" he cried, in a low, suppressed whisper which shook +with passion. "You here! What has happened? Stand in the light! Let me +see your face!" + +I moved a step towards him, and raised my veil. "I am lonely," I said +softly. "Was it very wrong of me to come here?" + +He stood before me, with hungry, incredulous eyes fastened upon my +face, as though he would see through it into my false heart. Yet I +did not flinch; I was actress enough for my part. I watched him +tremble--watched the colour flush into his face and die away. It was +a very storm of passion which shook him before he could find the words +to answer me. + +"Adrea! Adrea! have you come here to mock me? As you are a woman, I +implore you to spare me! Speak the truth!" + +I answered him softly, with my eyes fixed upon the ground. "I came +because I was lonely. Let us go away from here! Come home with me!" + +"Home with you! Home with you!" He repeated my invitation. He scarcely +seemed to understand. + +"Yes! I was very silly the other day! I did not understand you! I did +not understand myself! And you see I have humbled myself very much! I +have come to tell you so! Am I forgiven?" + +I raised my eyes to his, and added in a half whisper: "Won't you come +home with me, and read aloud, as we used to on the rocks at Cruta?" + +He stood there as though fascinated. I began to feel impatient, but I +dared not show any signs of it. + +Suddenly he took a quick step towards me, and before I could prevent +it he had thrown himself at my feet on the cold stone floor, and was +holding my hands tightly in his. + +"Adrea!" he cried, his voice choked with passion, "is this thing true? +My brain reels with the delight of it; but, oh, forgive me if I seem +to doubt! I know nothing of women, but surely your lips could never +lie! You are not mocking me? Oh, Adrea, my love, lift up your eyes and +swear that this is no dream. I am dizzy with joy! Speak to me! Let me +look into your face! I am not doubting you, yet say it once more! Tell +me it is not a dream!" + +I lied to him with my face, and with my eyes, and with my lips. "It is +no dream," I said softly. "I have come to you, Adrian, because I want +you. No one else would do." + +He stood up, pale and shaken. His voice was still full of deep, +throbbing earnestness. "Adrea!" he cried, "to-day I have been fighting +a grim fight. Look into my face and mark its traces. I am desperate! +For hours I have knelt on what was once a hallowed spot. In vain! In +vain! On my knees before the cross of Calvary I have striven to pray, +as a man wrestles for his life with the waves of a great ocean. Alas! +alas! In the twilight I fancied always that your face was moving +amongst the shadows, and even the breeze which rustled in the shrubs +around seemed ever to be murmuring your name. Oh, my love, my love, +sometimes I wonder that I have lived through the anguish of these +days. But it is over! You have come to me, and the evil days are past. +I renounce my priesthood! It has become only a barren farce to me! +Heaven or hell, what matters it? I leave here with you to-night never +to return! Never! never! never!" + +He pressed hot kisses upon my hands; they stung me like molten lead, +but I did not withdraw them. Then he rose up and held out his arms to +me with a great yearning stealing into his dark eyes. But I kept him +away. + +"Not here! not here!" I cried. "I heard footsteps outside. Let us go!" + +"You are right," he answered. "Wait for me; I have but few +preparations to make." + +He left me, and I breathed freely again. I had no fears, no +hesitation. I never dreamt of turning back; but I began to find my +task more difficult even than I had imagined. It was his touch, his +passionate looks and words which were so hard to endure. My lips could +lie, but it was hard to govern my looks; and oh, how I hated him! + +Soon he was back--too soon for me; and then we left the place. He had +changed his clothes, and, to my surprise, he wore an ordinary +dark walking suit and a long ulster. He had discarded the priest +altogether. + +At the bend he looked back. There was a rift in the clouds just behind +the hill of Calvary, and the rude cross stood out vividly against the +sky. "At last!" he murmured; "at last! Farewell to the dead ashes of +life! It is rest to have ended the struggle, even to have fallen. My +new life is here!" + +He touched my hand fondly, and held it within his own. "How deathly +cold your hand is, Adrea!" he said. "It is the night air. You are +well, are you not?" he added anxiously. + +"Quite well; only tired." + +He took my arm. I could not resist him, only I walked the more +swiftly. He tried to check me, but I shook my head. "I am cold and +tired," I told him. "This desolate walk frightened me, and even with +you I think I am a little nervous. Let us hurry. Hark! What was that?" + +"A bittern in the marshes! Why, Adrea, how frightened you are! It is +not like you!" + +"I know it," I answered; "but to-night--to-night the air seems full of +whisperings and strange sounds. Yes, I am frightened." + +I shivered as I spoke. He would have drawn me closer to him, but I +waved him away. How could he know anything of the horrors of that walk +for me! Strange phantoms seemed ever rising from the sea, stalking +across the path, and away over the moor, and passing and repassing, +grinning and whispering in my ear. Sometimes it seemed as though I +could have touched them by stretching out my hand; but when I tried, +my fingers closed upon thin air. What were they? Why had they come to +torment me? Was it because they scented an evil deed? Would they haunt +me for ever like this? What folly! If I gave way so I should soon be +altogether unnerved, and my task was still before me. I closed my eyes +and opened them again. They had gone! It was good! I had conquered! + + * * * * * + +It was late, and we had eaten and drunk together. He was lying back in +an easy-chair, flushed, and strange to say, wonderfully handsome. The +hollows in his cheeks seemed suddenly filled up, and his eyes were +soft and bright. I sat at his feet looking into the firelight. + +"Will you answer me some questions, Adrian?" I asked. "There has been +so much mystery around us lately, and, like a woman, I am curious." + +"Yes, I will tell you anything," he answered. "Am I not your slave, +dearest? Only ask me them quickly. There are many things I have to +talk about. What was that?" he added quickly. "Is there any one else +in this room?" + +I shook my head. "No one; it was fancy. Tell me, who was Madame de +Merteuill?" + +"My mother!" + +"Your mother?" + +"Yes; and the old Count of Cruta is my grandfather. Madame de +Merteuill is his daughter. But that is not her real name!" + +There was a high screen just behind his chair,--a japanned one, which +seemed to have been badly used, for there was a great hole in it. +While we had been talking a strange thing had happened. A man's hand +had slowly been thrust through, and a crumpled piece of paper was +dropped upon the carpet. I moved to his side, and raised the cushion +in his chair. Before I could help it he had caught my face, and +pressed a hot, burning kiss upon my cheek. I dared not struggle. I +had to yield, and endure for a moment his passionate embrace. Then I +dropped my handkerchief upon the piece of paper, and picked up both +hastily. + +"Will you tell me something else, please?" + +"Anything you ask! You know that I will!" + +"The De Vaux estates----" + +"Are mine. I am the son of Martin de Vaux. Paul de Vaux has no claim +at all. If I had remained in the Church, it was my intention to found +a great monastery here. But now----" + +"Well?" + +"Everything is yours!" + +There was a moment's silence. I drew the piece of paper from my +pocket, as though by accident, and read it to myself. There were only +a few hastily scrawled lines:-- + +"I dare not do it. I am afraid. I will put the knife on the floor." + +I glanced towards the hole. The hand was there, holding a long, +gleaming dagger. It laid it noiselessly upon the carpet, and was +withdrawn. I went over to his side, and knelt down there. + +"And what will become of Paul de Vaux?" I asked. + +He laughed grimly. "He must take his chance. He knows the whole story. +He has known since last night. Adrea, tell me once more," he pleaded: +"you never loved him really,--say that you never did!" + +"Are you jealous, sir?" I asked lightly. My left hand was wandering +down his side! Ah! there was his heart! How it was beating! My right +hand was on the floor, cautiously feeling its way towards the screen. +It reached the dagger! I clutched it by the hilt! Now was the time. +There was his heart. I knew the exact spot. + +"Adrea, are you ill?" he asked. "How white and strange you look! Ah!" + + * * * * * + +It was done! Lucrezia Borgia could not have bungled less! He lay +doubled up in the chair, with a long Genoese dagger buried in his +heart, and it was I who had done it! + +Gomez crawled from behind the screen, and looked first at him and +then at me with protruding eyes. He tried to speak, but his teeth +chattered. + +"It is done!" I said calmly, "and you are saved, Paul, my love," I +whispered to myself. "Be a man, Gomez. We must carry it into the wood. +Lift him gently; there must be no blood here." + +It took all our strength to move him, and we had to drag him, yard by +yard, down the avenue and across the road into the little wood. + +My pen is weary of horrors. The memory of that hour is not to be +written about. But when he turned away I took the flowers which he had +begged for from my corsage and threw them down amongst the wet leaves. +It was my sole moment of relenting. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +"THE LORD OF CRUTA" + + +A strange figure stood on the edge of the castle cliff, looking across +the bay of Cruta to the sea. He was tall, loose jointed, and gaunt, +and the long grey beard and unkempt locks of flowing hair which +streamed behind in the breeze showed that he was an old man; but his +eyes, set back in deep hollows, and fringed with long, bushy grey +lashes, were still dark and piercing. Great passions had branded +his face with deep-set lines, but had failed to belittle him. On the +contrary, his presence, though forbidding and awesome, was full of +latent strength and dignity. To the islanders, who never mentioned +their lord's name save with bated breath and after having zealously +crossed themselves, he was the object of the most unbounded +superstition. His personality and the strangeness of his habits +appalled them. They scarcely believed him a being of the same world as +their own. The most ignorant amongst them firmly believed that the sea +obeyed his uplifted hand, and that when he spoke the thunder rolled +amongst the hills. When stories were told of the mystery and strange +isolation in which he lived, they nodded their heads and were willing +to believe everything. No one ever met him or had speech with him, for +twenty years had passed since he had issued from the castle gates. But +sometimes, most often when a storm was brewing, they could see a +tall, dark figure standing on the giddy edge of the castle wall which +overhung the sea, or walking, with slow, stately movements, up and +down the narrow foot-path at the summit of the cliff. If the moon had +risen, or the sky were clear beyond, they could see the huge, gaunt +figure outlined with grim distinctness against the empty background, +always with his face to the sea, and with a long black cloak flowing +behind. It was not often that they saw him, but when they did they +told one another in whispers; and though the sky were cloudless and +the sea calm, the women whose husbands were out in their fishing boats +beyond the bay told their beads and prayed for their safe return, and +those who had remained behind prepared for rough weather. Once, at +a marriage feast, when all the little village was making merry, the +whisper had gone about that "the Count was walking;" and immediately +they had all departed for their homes in fear and silence, and the +luckless bride and bridegroom had hastened to the priest and besought +him to unloose the knot, that they might celebrate their wedding on +some less ill-omened day. + +To-night the storm was already breaking when the Count appeared on the +castle wall and turned his face seaward. One by one the fishing smacks +were crossing the gathering line of surf, and gaining the deep, still +waters of the bay. As they passed underneath the towering mass of +granite rock, against the base of which the waters were boiling and +seething, the men in the boats gazed fearfully up at that black speck +far away above their heads, and crossed themselves. The Count had +stood there for an hour, they whispered, ever since that piled-up mass +of angry, lurid clouds had first gathered, and a warning breath of +wind had swept across the smooth, glass-like surface of the water, now +troubled and restless. Not one of them doubted but that his coming had +brought the storm; but there was not one of them who dared to utter +a word of complaint. Only they stood up in their boats, and shielding +their eyes with an uplifted hand from the fierce rays of the sinking +sun, gazed out seaward, searching for the boats not yet in safety. + +Suddenly a little murmur arose from amongst them, and a word was +passed from one to another of their little crafts. The blinding glare +of the sun and its reflection, stretched far away across the surface +of the sea, had dazzled their eyes, and for the last quarter of an +hour they had seen nothing on the westward horizon. But now the bright +silver light was fading into a dull, glorious purple; and full upon +its bosom a strange sail was seen, making direct for the harbour. The +sunlight was still flashing upon its white sails,--little specks of +gold upon a background of richer colouring--and they saw that she +was a handsome, shapely-looking vessel, very different to the dirty +Italian lugger which put in at their harbour for a few hours week by +week. + +"Will she need a pilot?" cried Francesco, rising in his boat, and +watching the stranger. "Let us wait here, and see if she signals for +one!" + +"Let us all go! There will be something for each!" cried another. + +"We will race," Antonio answered, whose boat was the fastest. "The +first to reach her shall have the stranger's money!" + +"No, no! that is not fair," chorused the others. "We will draw lots!" + +Then up rose old Guiseppe, the father of them all. He shook his head, +and turned a sorrowing face seawards. "Peace! children. You are like +chattering seabirds squabbling over a bait which will never be yours. +Yonder ship will need no pilot! She is no stranger to Cruta!" + +They looked at her, and shook their heads. "We have never seen her +before," they said. + +"Some of you are too young to remember her," the old man continued, +"and you were all away when she was here within a twelvemonth ago! But +I know her! Three times has she entered this harbour, and each time +has she left sorrow and grief behind her. It is the ship of the +English lord who stole away the daughter of our Count many years ago!" + +There was a little murmur of suppressed wonder. Then, as though moved +by a common instinct, every face was turned upward to the castle wall. + +The Count had gone. But, even as they looked, he reappeared, leading +another figure by the hand. They held their breath with wonder. No one +had ever seen him there save alone, and now a woman stood by his +side. They could see nothing of her, save her long hair flowing in +the breeze, and the bare outline of her figure. "Who was she? Guiseppe +must know! Who was she?" they asked him eagerly. + +He shook his head. "Better not ask," he answered. "Better not know! +Strange things have happened up there! It is not for us to chatter of +them!" + +"One night as I sailed homeward," Antonio said, in a low tone, "I +heard strange cries from the castle. The night was still, and the +breeze brought the sound to my ears. They came from up above, and +when I strained my eyes I fancied that I could see a white figure--the +figure of a woman--standing on the castle walls. She was crying for +help, but suddenly, as though a hand were placed over her mouth, her +cries ceased, and the figure vanished. It was three nights before the +English lord died at the monastery!" + +Ferdinand stood up. "On that same night," he said, in a low, hoarse +whisper, "I saw a figure steal up the path to the castle. It was the +English lord! On the morrow I traced him back again with drops +of blood. They led right into the monastery courtyard. Two days +afterwards he died." + +"Silence! all of you!" commanded Guiseppe, with shaking voice. "Are +these things to be spoken of thus openly? Know you not, you children, +that the winds have ears, and he listens there above us." + +"It is a thousand feet!" muttered Antonio. "To him our boats can seem +only as specks upon the water." + +"You fool!" answered Guiseppe. "Do you think that the man whose +presence brings storm and wind upon us is like ordinary men? Do you +think he cannot hear what he chooses!" + +"Ave Maria!" cried Antonio, crossing himself. "I would as soon face +the devil himself as the Count! I shall ask Father Bernard to say a +prayer for me to-night!" + +"Do! and I hope his penance will be a stiff one," answered Guiseppe +grimly. "Come, let us trim our sails, and get homeward. The English +ship will not want us, and we can watch who lands from the beach." + +"'Twould be no such bad thing if she struck on the rocks, if she +brings such ill luck to the castle," muttered Antonio, as he unfurled +the sail and grasped the tiller. "There would be some pickings for us, +beyond doubt--some pretty pickings!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +"THE DAWN OF A SHORT, SWEET LIFE" + + +The little group of fishing smacks, homely-looking and uncleanly, on +close examination, presented a very different appearance from the deck +of the English yacht fast nearing the harbour. Their brown sails had +gleamed purple in the dying sunlight, and their rude outline seemed +graceful and shapely as they rose and fell on the long waves. Paul, +who stood on the captain's bridge of his yacht, uttered a little cry +of admiration as they sailed out from the shadows of the huge rock, +and fell into a rude semicircle across the bay. + +"What colouring one sees in these southern waters!" he remarked. "Did +you notice the glinting light on those sails?" + +His companion, who was holding firmly the rail by his side, looked +up and smiled. "Yes," she said softly; "it is beautiful! We have seen +more beautiful things on this voyage, I think, than I ever saw before +in my life. I have never been so happy! You are not angry with me now +for coming, are you?" + +He looked down into her wistful, upturned face, and then away to the +distant line where sea and sky met. "No! I am not angry," he said +softly. + +Adrea was very beautiful. The fresh sea air and the southern sun had +been as kind to her as to one of their own daughters. Only a very +faint, delicate shade of pink had stained her clear, transparent skin, +harmonising exquisitely with the slight olive hue of her complexion. +The strong breeze had loosened the coils of her dark hair, and it was +waving and flowing in picturesque freedom about her face. There was a +change, too, in her appearance, greater than any the wind or sun +could effect. Her dark eyes were glowing with a new life, and a soft, +wistful joy shone in her face. Those few days had been like heaven for +her. She had been alone, for the first time, with the man she loved; +sailing upon a sunlit sea hour after hour, with his voice ever in her +ears, and his tall figure by her side. The sense of his presence was +ever upon her, bringing with it a calm, sweet restfulness, a happiness +beyond anything which she had ever imagined. + +And it was heaven, too, after hell! Thrust away in a dark corner of +her memory was the recollection of a day and a night full of grim, +phantasmal horrors, which were fast becoming little more than a dream +to her. The time was not yet come for remorse. In that deep glow of +passionate and self-forgetful devotion, quickened now into fullest +and sweetest life by his constant proximity, even sin itself, for his +sake, seemed justified to her. Everything, too, which lay behind her +brief stay in that bare, wind-swept country was fast assuming a far +distant place in her thoughts. It was such a change from her little +rooms in Grey Street, dainty and home-like though they had been, from +the brilliantly lit drawing-rooms where she had performed, and the +same wearisome compliments ever in her ears. The bonds of town life +had always galled her. She was an artist, although she had denied +it. She had become subject to her environment but it had been an +imprisonment. Nature was her mother, and Nature had claimed her now. +She knew it all; she knew that she could never be a dancer again. She +had stolen out on to the deck each morning in her slippers, and had +seen the dawn break through the clouds and descend upon the quivering +waters. She had seen the eastern sky streaked with faint but +marvellous colouring, growing deeper and deeper, until the sun's rim +had risen from out of the water. Grey had become mauve, and white +amber. It was wonderful! And by night she had leaned over the side +of the yacht, and looked up into a sky ablaze with trembling stars, +casting their golden reflections down upon the boundless waves which +rose and fell beneath--waves which were sometimes green, and sometimes +golden in the wonderful phosphoric light which touched them with a +weird splendour. It was like the opening of a new world to Adrea. All +that had gone before seemed harsh and artificial! It was the dawn of a +new life. + +Paul had noticed the change. To him it had appeared chiefly as an +increased womanliness, a gentle softness of speech and mannerism very +charming and attractive. Those few days at sea together had been like +a dream to him. He had come on board as nearly broken-hearted as a +strong man could be, and fiercely anxious to reach his destination and +know the whole, cruel truth. In a few hours all had been changed. His +sorrows seemed numbed. He was no longer battling alone with his grief. +Adrea knew all, and as they sailed southwards together, the sense +of the present was strong enough to drive past and future from +his thoughts. The clouds cleared from his face, and his heart was +lightened. It was Adrea who had saved him from despair. + +He thought of this as she stood by his side, and he answered her +question. Before their eyes, Cruta was rising up from the sea. The +grim castle was there, looking as old as the rocks on which it was +perched, the wide, open harbour, and the little fleet of fishing +smacks. The seabirds circled about their heads; every moment brought +the rocky little island more distinctly into view. Paul looked down +into Adrea's face gravely. + +"It is our destination, Adrea," he said. "You must go now. There will +be a lot of surf crossing the bar, and I shall have enough to do +to run her in. Look behind! It is just as well we are going into +harbour!" + +He pointed to the fast-gathering clouds coming up from the westward, +and she paused with her foot on the ladder. "We leave the storm behind +us," she said. "There is fair weather ahead!" + +She went down into her cabin, and left Paul upon the bridge, with his +eyes fixed upon the castle. Fair weather ahead! How dared he hope +for it! The sun had finally disappeared now, but some part of the +afterglow still lingered in curious contrast to the lurid yellow and +black clouds hurrying on behind him. The old castle was bathed for a +moment in a sea of purple light,--every line of it, and the huge rock +which it crowned, standing out with peculiar vividness against the +empty background. But it was a brief glory. Even while Paul was +gazing, the colouring faded away, and it resumed its former aspect. +Fair weather ahead! Every moment, as memories of his former visit to +the place thronged in upon him, Paul doubted it the more. + +He was close to the entrance of the harbour now, and all his thoughts +and energies were required to pilot his yacht safely. In a few moments +the brief line was passed, and the islanders waiting about upon the +beach saw the English vessel ride smoothly into harbourage under +shadow of the huge castle rock. Presently she dropped an anchor, and +swung gracefully round. A boat was lowered, and made for the shore. + +There were plenty of hands willing to help pull her in. Paul stepped +out on to the beach, and looked around for some one to whom he could +make himself understood. + +They were all islanders of the rudest class; but seeing no one else, +Paul lifted his hand to the castle, and asked them the way in Italian. +They understood him, and pointed along the beach to a point where a +rude road curved inland, and reappeared a little higher up in zigzag +fashion behind the rocks. But no one offered to go a step with him. On +the contrary, directly the question had left his lips, they all shrunk +away, whispering and exclaiming amongst themselves. + +"It is the son of the Englishman!" cried Antonio. "He is going into +the lion's mouth! Do not let us be seen with him. The Count may be +watching." + +"I wonder if he knows his danger?" Guiseppe said thoughtfully. "He is +young and brave looking. It would be a good action to warn him." + +"I would not risk it!" cried Antonio. + +"Nor I!" echoed Ferdinand. + +"Nor I!" chorused the others. + +Guiseppe glanced at them in contempt. Then he stepped forward and laid +his hand upon Paul's shoulder--a strange, picturesque-looking object, +in his bright scarlet shirt, and trousers turned up to his knees. He +had been in Italy once, and he tried to speak the language of that +country as well as he could. + +"Illustrious Englishman!" he said, "go not to that castle, the home of +the Count of Cruta. Danger lurks there for you--danger and death. It +is our lord who lives there; we are his vassals, and we are dumb. But +he is wild and fierce, and your countrymen are like devils to him. +Strange things have happened up there. Be wise. Put back your boat, +weigh your anchor and sail away. The stormy seas are dangerous, but +not so dangerous as the Castle of Cruta to an Englishman of your +features. Take the word of Guiseppe, and depart!" + +Paul shook his head. He understood most of what Guiseppe had said, +and he knew that it was kindly meant. "You are very good," he said. +"I thank you for your warning; but I have important business with the +Count, and I have come from England on purpose to see him. Here, spend +this for me," he added, throwing a handful of silver money amongst the +little group of men. "Yonder path will take me straight to the castle, +I suppose. Good evening." + +He strode away along the beach alone. Meanwhile a strange thing was +happening. The islanders were all gathered eagerly around the little +shower of money, but not one had offered to touch a piece. + +"Holy Mother! there are fifty pieces!" cried Antonio. "If only I +was sure that the Count would not see me! I would keep holiday for a +month, and start again with a fresh set of fishing nets." + +"Touch not the money!" advised Guiseppe, shaking his head. "The +Count's eyes are everywhere!" + +"It is very hard!" groaned Ferdinand. "It has been such a bad season, +too!" + +"I know! I know!" cried Antonio excitedly. "We will go to the +monastery, and get Father Bernard to come and bless it. He will claim +half for the Church, but we can divide the other half, and we shall, +each man, have given six pieces in charity. What say you? shall we +go?" + +"Bravo! Antonio is right! Antonio is a sensible fellow!" they all +cried. Then there was the sound of bare feet scampering over the hard +sands as they hastened up to the monastery. Guiseppe was left alone. + +He waited until they were out of sight. Then he stooped down, +and carefully collecting all the coins, placed them in his pouch. +"Ignorant fools!" he muttered. "The Count can see no further than +other men, and at any rate he will not see these in my pocket." + +He stood up, and gazed steadily along the path which Paul had taken. +"What am I to do now?" he continued. "It is to the Englishman's father +that I owe my boat and my little hoard of sayings. He behaved to me as +a prince, did Signor de Vaux. Can I see his son hasten yonder to his +doom without one effort to save him? No. The Count is terrible, but I +need run no risk. At any rate, I will follow a little way." + +He walked swiftly along the beach, and commenced the ascent to the +castle. In a few minutes the little band of fishermen returned, +carrying lanterns in their hands, and with a priest walking amongst +them. They reached the spot, and paused, while the priest commenced +to mumble a prayer. He was scarcely half-way through when he was +interrupted. + +"The money is gone!" cried Antonio. + +"Every piece!" echoed Ferdinand. + +There was a moment's blank silence. Then they all crossed themselves. +"Let us go home," whispered Antonio hoarsely. "The Count knows. He has +been here." + +The priest turned away disgusted, and the others followed him, talking +with bated breath amongst themselves. And, in the darkness, no one +noticed Guiseppe's absence. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +"A VOICE AND FIGURE FROM THE DISTANT PAST" + + +It was a long, steep ascent, hewn out of the solid rock; but at last +Paul stood before the great gates of the castle, and paused to take +breath. Hundreds of feet below him his yacht was riding at anchor, +looking like a toy vessel upon a painted sea, and a little group of +scattered lights showed him where the hamlet lay. Before him was the +stern, massive front of the castle, wrapped in profound gloom, but +standing out in clear, ponderous outline against the starlit sky. +There seemed to be no light from any part of it, and the great iron +gates leading into the courtyard were closed. Nor was there any sound +at all, not even the barking of a dog. It was like a dwelling of the +dead. + +A great, rusty bell-chain hung by the side of the gate, and as there +seemed to be no other means of communication with the interior, Paul +pulled it vigorously. Its hoarse echoes had scarcely died away before +several rough-looking islanders, carrying flaring oil lamps, trooped +into the courtyard from the rear of the building, and one of them, +drawing the bolts, threw open the gates. + +"I have come to see the Count," Paul said, addressing the nearest of +them. "Will you conduct me to him?" + +The man replied energetically, but in a _patois_ utterly +unintelligible. He led the way across the courtyard towards the +castle, however, and Paul followed close behind. They did not enter +by the front, but by a low, nail-studded door at the extreme corner of +the tower, which the man immediately closed and locked behind him. + +Paul looked around him curiously, but in the semi-darkness there was +little to see. He was in a corridor, of which the walls were simply +whitewashed, and the floor bare stone; but as they passed onward, +down several passages, and up more than one flight of steps, the +proportions of the place expanded. The ceilings grew loftier, and the +corridors wider. Yet there was no attempt anywhere at decoration or +furniture of any sort. The place was like an early-day prison--huge, +bare, and damp. Once, crossing a balustraded corridor, there was a +view of a huge hall down below, bare save for a few huge skins thrown +carelessly around, and a great stack of firearms and other weapons +which lined the walls on either side. It was the only sign of +habitation that Paul had seen. + +Suddenly his guide paused, and held up his finger. Paul, too, +listened; and close at hand he heard, to his surprise, the muffled +sound of voices chanting some sad hymn in a deep minor key. The rise +and fall of those mournful voices was wonderfully impressive. What +could it mean? It was a dirge, a funeral hymn! Its every note seemed +to breathe of death. + +"What is that?" Paul asked. "Is any one ill--dying?" + +The man shook his head. He could not understand. He only motioned to +Paul to move silently, and hurried on. They were in a wide corridor, +with disused doors on either side, but their feet fell no longer upon +the bare stone. A rough sort of drugget had been hastily thrown down +in the centre of the passage, and their movements roused no more +strange echoes between the bare walls and the vaulted roof. At every +step forward they took the chanting grew more distinct, and at last +the man stopped at the end of the passage before a door, softly tapped +at it. It was opened at once, and Paul found himself ushered into a +great, dimly lit bedchamber. + +He glanced around him with keen interest. If the interior of the +room was a little dilapidated, it was full of the remains of past +magnificence. The walls were still covered with fine tapestry, of +which the design was almost obliterated, although the texture and +colouring still remained. The furniture was huge, and of the +fashion of days gone by, and the bedstead was elaborately carved and +surmounted by a coat of arms. Further Paul had but little opportunity +to discover, for as soon as his presence became known in the room, a +black-cowled monk left the bedside and approached him. + +"We have been expecting you," he said in Italian, "and we fear now +that you come too late. Our poor lady is beyond human skill!" + +Paul looked at him in astonishment. "I do not quite understand you! It +is the Count of Cruta whom I came to see!" + +The priest started back, and commenced fumbling with a lamp which +stood on a table at the foot of the bed. "Are you not the German +doctor from Palermo?" he asked, bending over towards Paul, with his +keen, dark face alight with suspicion and distrust. + +Paul shook his head. "I am no doctor at all!" he answered. "I am an +Englishman, and my name is Paul de Vaux!" + +"Ah!" There was a faint, incoherent cry from the bed--a cry, which, +faint though it was, shook with stifled emotion. Both men turned +round, and Paul could see that the other's face was dark and stern. + +The woman, who had been lying on the bed still and motionless as a +corpse, had raised herself with a sudden, spasmodic movement. Her +cheeks were sunken to the bone, and her eyes were large and staring. + +The seal of death was upon her face, but Paul recognised her. It +was the woman whom he had seen last in the drawing-room of Major +Harcourt's house, the woman whom Adrea had called her stepmother. + +He took a sudden step forward, and she held out her hands in a gesture +half of welcome, half of fear. "Paul de Vaux! Holy Mother of God! What +has brought you here--here into the tiger's den? Come close to me! +Hasten!" + +Paul stepped forward, but the priest stood between them, holding +out his hands in a threatening gesture. "Sister, forbear!" he cried +sternly. "You have made your peace with God; you have done with the +world and all its follies. Close your eyes and pray. Fix your thoughts +upon things above!" + +She did not heed him. She did not even look towards him. Her eyes were +fixed upon Paul, and he read their message aright. + +"This woman wishes to speak to me. Stand aside, and let me go to her!" +he exclaimed. "If she be indeed dying, surely you should respect her +wishes." + +He spoke imperatively, for the priest stood in the way, and prevented +his approach; pointing towards the door with a stern, commanding +gesture. + +"There must be no converse between you and this woman!" he said. "I am +no lover of violent deeds; but if you insist upon forcing your way +to her bedside, I shall summon the Count, and you will pay for your +rashness with your life. Your name and features are a certain death +warrant in this house. Escape while you may, and _pax vobiscum_. +Remain and I cannot save you!" + +Paul glanced round the room. Two monks were standing with lighted +tapers on the further side of the bed, one of whom was mumbling a +Latin prayer. The man who had brought him here was gone. There was no +one else in the room, except the priest and himself. + +"You are inhuman!" he said shortly. "The prayers of a dying woman are +more to me than your threats. Stand on one side!" + +Paul laid his hand heavily upon the priest's shoulder. He was prepared +even to have used force had it been necessary, but it was not. The +latter moved away at once, shaking his robes free from Paul's touch +with contemptuous gesture, and calling one of the monks to him, Paul +sank on one knee by the side of the dying woman, and bent low down +over her. + +"Madame de Merteuill, you have something to say to me!" he whispered. +"What is it?" + +Her voice was very low and very faint. She was even then upon the +threshold of death. Each word came out with a painful effort, but with +a curious distinctness. "I am not Madame de Merteuill at all! I am the +daughter of the Count of Cruta!" + +She paused to gather fresh strength, and Paul caught hold of some of +the bedclothes, and clutched them in his fingers convulsively. This +woman, the daughter of the Count of Cruta! this wan, faded creature, +the girl whom his father had borne away in triumph! His brain reeled +with the wonder of it! If only he had known a few weeks ago! +She should never have left the Hermitage until she had told him +everything! Was it too late now? She was trying to speak to him. Was +he upon the brink of a tremendous revelation? Was the whole past about +to be made clear? Oh! if the old Count would keep away for awhile. + +Her lips commenced to move. He bent close over her, determined not to +lose a syllable. "You know the story about your father, Martin de Vaux +and me. I----" + +"Yes, yes! I know!" he assured her softly. "I have only heard it +lately!" + +"From whom?" + +"From the priest who was always with you at De Vaux,--from your son!" +he added, as the truth suddenly swept in upon him. Yes; Father Adrian +was this woman's son! + +Her corpse-like face was fixed steadily upon him. Her words were +monotonous and slow, yet they preserved their distinctness. "You have +come here to know the truth of the story he told you?" + +"Yes; I have come to discover it, if I can!" + +"The holy Saints must have brought you to me. The story----" + +"Yes?" + +"The story is false!" + +Paul bent lower still, with strained hearing. There had been a plot, +then, after all. Oh, if she should die without finishing her story! He +looked into her bloodless face, and his pulses throbbed at fever-heat. + +"You know my story," she murmured. "I commence at the time when I left +your father in Paris. I had thought myself hardened in my sin; I was +mistaken. Repentance crept slowly but surely in upon me immediately +after my father's visit to us. His words haunted me. I began to steal +away in the evening to vespers at the Church of St. Cecilia. One night +a grave, sweet-faced priest stood up in the pulpit; and as his words +sank into my heart my sin rose up before me black and grim, and the +burden of it grew intolerable. After the service I sought him, and +I confessed. On the morrow I left Martin secretly and without adieu. +Count Hirsfeld aided my escape. I came here! + +"I came, hoping for forgiveness; but he, my father, could not forget +the past. I found him living in grim and fierce solitude, shunned and +dreaded by every one, ever brooding over my sin and his dishonour. He +made me stay, yet he cursed me. + +"Six months after my arrival Adrian was born. It was while I lay +between life and death that I wrote that letter to your father. +Afterwards I told my father what I had done. The letter lay there; +I dared not send it without my father's sanction. I sent for him and +told him all. To my surprise, he consented. He did more than that; he +spoke of it to Count Hirsfeld, and the Count volunteered to take the +letter to England. Their readiness made me worried and anxious. I +knew how they hated Martin de Vaux, and I was suspicious. I called the +doctor to my side, and questioned him closely. He declared solemnly +that I could not live a fortnight; it was impossible. I put my +suspicions away. It was for the honour of his name that my father had +consented to receive Martin beneath his roof; there could be no other +reason. And I myself felt that the end was near. My body was cold, and +there was a deadly faintness, against which I was always struggling. I +dreaded only lest he should come too late! + +"It was only the night before his arrival that I learnt the truth. I +was lying with my eyes closed, and they thought that I was asleep. The +doctor and my father were talking together in whispers. The crisis +was over, I heard them say. In a few days Adrian would be born, and I +should speedily recover, if all went well. I nerved myself, and called +my father to me. I had overheard, I said; if Martin came, I would +not marry him. His anger was terrible. Both Count Hirsfeld and he had +known from the commencement that I was likely to recover, but they +wished to see Martin tricked into marrying me. I was firm; I would not +consent! I had written that letter believing myself to be dying. +If Martin came, I would not see him now. If he was forced into my +presence, I should tell him the truth. + +"My father left me, speechless with rage. For the next week my door +was kept carefully locked, and no one but the doctor and the nurse +were permitted to enter. Yet I learnt afterwards all that happened. +Marie, my maid, who was slowly dying of consumption, was moved into +the principal bedchamber; and when Martin arrived, she was made to +personate me. It was the priest who gained her consent; the priest who +confessed her and gave her absolution. His share of the spoil was to +be the De Vaux estates, handed over to the Church if ever they carried +out their plot successfully. Martin came, and, as he thought, granted +that fervent prayer of mine. They stood around him with drawn swords; +they would not allow him to approach the bed. As soon as the ceremony +was over, he was thrust from the castle. + +"It happened that in less than a week Marie died. From my bed, which +faced the window, I saw the little funeral procession leave the +castle--my father and Count Hirsfeld the chief mourners. I saw Martin +following away off, with sorrowing face, and I was glad then that +I had not deceived him. I saw him weeping over the grave which he +believed to be mine. The day afterwards my son was born. + +"As soon as Adrian could crawl about, he was taken from me by the +priests. They sent him to Italy, where he grew up a stranger to me. +When he returned, I did not know him. I spoke to him of that false +marriage; I wept for his lack of parentage. He knew everything; he +spoke to me of it coldly, but without unkindness. He was a son of the +Church, he said; he needed no other mother. + +"He dwelt for awhile at the monastery, and it was while he was there +that I became suspicious. My father, and he, and the Superior of the +monastery were always together. They seemed to be urging something +upon him, which he was loath to undertake. By degrees I found it all +out. Adrian was to go to England as my lawful son and claim the De +Vaux estates for the Church. At first he was unwilling; but by degrees +they won upon him. Warning was sent to Martin de Vaux, and he came +here swiftly--to his death! I was kept a close prisoner, but I found +out everything that was happening. For years afterwards, Adrian was +undecided whether to go to England and claim the estates. At last he +decided, unknown to me, to go. I escaped and followed him. I tried +my best to persuade him, but failed. I came back here ill--to die--to +die!" + +"And Adrea?" + +"Adrea? She knew nothing! How could she?" + +"Do you know who Adrea was?" + +She seemed surprised that anything else could, for a moment, occupy +his mind after the story to which he had listened; but she struggled +to answer him. "She was Count Hirsfeld's daughter! He never spoke to +me of her mother! It was in Constantinople. I am afraid----" + +He bowed his head. "I understand," he said simply. The colour had +suddenly flooded into his cheeks, and there was a mist before his +eyes. Even in that supreme moment, when her senses were failing and +her eyes were growing dim, she saw and understood. + +"I wanted to be kind to her always," she faltered. "We would have +adopted her, but she would not stay here. She was unhappy, and I +helped her to escape. I had my reasons!" + +He had already guessed at them, and he held out his hand. He did not +wish to hear any more. There was a moment's silence. She was looking +at him with dim, wistful eyes. + +"You--you are very like your father!" she said, painfully. "Will you +kiss me?" + +He stooped down and kissed the pale, trembling lips, and held +her hands tightly. Her breath was coming fast, and she spoke with +difficulty. + +"Thank God they brought you here instead of the doctor! I can die--at +peace now! But you--you are in danger! You must escape from here! +You must not lose a minute! Oh, you do not know! you do not know! The +Count is cruel--bitterly cruel! He will not come to me although I die. +He will not forgive, although I have suffered agonies! He is my father +but he will not forgive me. And you--you are in danger if he finds +you! They have gone for him! Ah! I remember! Father Andrew went for +him! He is afraid that I shall tell you the truth, and that the Church +will not gain your property. Quick! you must go! Kiss me once more, +Paul, and go! Go quickly! These monks are wolves, but they are +cowards! Strike them down if they try to stop you! Don't hurt my +father! Farewell! farewell!" + +"I will stay with you till the end," Paul whispered. + +"No, no! away! I cannot die in peace and think of you--in danger. I +want to pray. Leave me, now, Paul. Dear Martin! Martin, my love--is it +you?" + +Her mind was wandering, and she saw her lover of old days in the man +whose hand she clasped so frantically; and Paul, although out in +the passage he could hear the sound of hurrying feet, could not +tear himself away from her dying embrace. A faint, curious smile was +parting her pallid lips, and her dim eyes seemed suddenly to have +caught a dim reflection of the light to come. + +"Martin! Martin! there is a mist everywhere--but I see you, dear love! +Wait for me! Let us go hand in hand--hand in hand through the Valley +of the Shadow of Death. Oh, my love! it has been a weary, weary while. +Hold me tighter, Martin! I cannot feel your hand! Ah! at last, at +last! Farewell sorrow, and grief, and suffering! We are together once +more--a new world--behind the clouds! I am happy." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +"FROM OUT LIFE'S THUNDERS TO A STRANGE, SWEET WORLD" + + +She was dead, and, after all, her end had been crowned with peace. +She did not hear the door thrown roughly open, the swelling of angry +voices, or the fast-approaching tramp of many feet. Nor did Paul heed +any of these signs of coming danger; he had folded his strong arms +around her, and his lips, pressed close to her, seemed to draw the +last quivering breath from her frail body. It was only when her head +sunk back, and he knew that she was dead, that he laid her reverently +down and turned around. + +The room was full of strange flashes of light and grotesque shadows +falling upon the white faces of half a dozen monks. Standing in front +of them was Father Andrew, and by his side was an old man, tall and +straight, with snow-white beard and hair. He stood in full glare of +a torch held by one of the monks behind him, and his face seemed like +the face of a corpse, save for the steady, malignant light in his +jet-black eyes. As Paul turned round, with his features suddenly +visible in a stream of lurid light, he raised his arm and pointed a +long, skinny finger steadily towards him. + +"The son of the devil!" he cried, his deep, tremulous voice awakening +strange echoes in the high vaulted chamber. "Welcome! Welcome! Thrice +welcome!" + +Paul straightened himself, and reverently laid the little white hand +which he had been clasping across the coverlet. "She is dead!" he said +solemnly. "What I came here to learn from you, I have learnt from her. +Let me go!" + +He moved a step forward, but the old man remained there in the way, +motionless, and around the door were gathered a solid phalanx of +monks. Paul halted, conscious at once of his danger. The white faces +of the monks were all bent upon him, full of savage, animal ferocity, +and a gleam of something still worse lit up the dark eyes of that old +man. Their very silence was unnatural and oppressive. Paul bore it, +looking round amongst them with questioning eyes, until he could bear +it no longer. + +"Am I a prisoner?" he cried. "What do you want with me? Speak! some of +you! Count of Cruta, answer me!" + +A dull, hollow laugh echoed through the chamber. Paul turned away, +sick with horror. It was like being in the power of a hoard of madmen. +The air of the place, too, seemed suddenly to have become stifling. +The perspiration was standing out upon his forehead in great beads. It +was a relief when the Count spoke. + +"You have done well, Paul de Vaux, to find your way here--here +into the very presence of a dying woman, and force from her lips a +confession that has made you glad. You think that you will go back now +to your country, and cheat me of my well-planned vengeance. You will +hold up your head once more; you will mock at the Church's rights. You +will go your way through the world rich and honoured; you will call +yourself by an old name. You will pluck all the roses of life. Worthy +son of a worthy father! Look at me! Who was it who blasted my life, my +happiness, my honour, my name? A name grander and older than his, as +the oak is older and grander than the currant bush. When he took my +daughter into his arms, he wrote the funeral of his race! I played +with him, as a tiger plays with a miserable Hindoo! When life was +sweetest to him, I struck. He came here for mercy; I laughed, and I +was merciful. I stabbed him to the heart. The knife hangs side by side +with the arms of the Crusaders of Cruta. You are his son! You are the +next to die! You will not leave these walls alive! These monks know +you! It is you who hold the lands of De Vaux, which by right belong to +their Holy Church. You would go back to resist their just claims! The +good of the Church demands that you should not go back! You shall not +go back! The Count of Cruta demands that you shall not go back. You +shall not go back! You shall be slain, even where your father was +slain, but you shall not creep back to your hole to die! Your bones +shall whiten and shrivel upon the rocks. Your blood shall be an +honoured stain upon my floor. Monks of Cruta! there he stands! He who +alone can resist your just possession of the broad lands and abbey +of De Vaux. The despoiled Church cries to you to strike. The end is +great! Haul him away!" + +They were around him like a pack of wolves, their lean faces hungry +and fierce, and their long, skinny fingers clutching at his throat and +at his clothing. One silently drew a knife and brandished it over him. +Paul wrenched himself free with a tremendous effort, but they were +upon him again. They forced him slowly backwards, backwards even +across the bed where that dead woman lay with her eyes as yet +unclosed. The great heat, as much as their numbers, was overpowering +him. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a choking in his throat. +Again the long knife was lifted; other hands held him motionless, +ready for the blow. He was too weak to struggle now. He saw the blue +steel quivering in the air. Then he closed his eyes. + +What was that? There was a shrill cry from one of the monks, and Paul, +finding their grasp relaxed, started up. They were cowering down like +a flock of frightened animals. The room seemed full of red fire. The +glass in the windows cracked; it flew into pieces, and a column of +smoke curled in. The door was thrown open; Guiseppe stood for a moment +on the threshold. + +"Fly!" he cried. "Fly! The castle is on fire. The flames are near!" + +They rushed for the door like panic-stricken cattle before a great +prairie fire, biting and trampling upon one another in their haste. +Paul followed, but the old Count stood in his way, trembling, not with +fear, but with anger. + +"Cowards! beasts!" he cried after the flying monks. "But you shall not +escape me!" + +He wound his long arms around his enemy, but the strength of his +manhood was gone, and without effort Paul threw him on one side. Then, +through the smoke, he found himself face to face with Guiseppe. + +"This way, Signor!" he said coolly. "Follow me closely!" + +The old Count was up again, and seemed about to attack them. Suddenly +he changed his mind, and with a hoarse cry, ran down an empty +corridor. Guiseppe and Paul turned in the opposite direction. + +"We must fly, Signor!" the man cried. "He goes to the cellars! He is a +devil! He will blow up the castle! Cover up your nose and your mouth!" + +They hurried along wide, deserted corridors, down stone stairs, and +finally reached what seemed to be a circular underground passage. +Round and round they went, until Paul's head swam; but the air was +cooler, and every moment brought relief. Suddenly there was a cold +breeze. They turned one more corner, and Guiseppe stopped. They were +in an open aperture facing the sea, barely twenty feet below. A small +boat with a single man in it was there waiting. + +"Dive!" cried Guiseppe. "We must not wait for the rope!" + +Over they went almost simultaneously. The shock of the cold water +sent the blood dancing once more through Paul's veins. He came to the +surface just after his guide, cool and refreshed. They scrambled into +the boat, and Paul gave a little cry of wonder. They were drifting on +a sea of ruddy gold, and the space all around them was brilliant with +the reflection. High above, the flames were leaping up towards the +sky, and the dull sing-song of their roar set the very air vibrating. +Guiseppe, still dripping, seized an oar. + +"Pull, for your lives! pull!" he cried anxiously. + +His companion shrugged his shoulders. "But why?" + +"Ask no questions! You will see!" + +They did see. They were barely half-way to the yacht, when there came +the sound of a low rumbling from the castle. Suddenly it broke into a +roar. Belching sheets of flame burst out on every side. Huge cracks in +that brilliant light were suddenly visible in the walls, creeping in a +jagged line from the foundation to the turret. Fragments of the +stone work flew outwards and upwards. It seemed as though some mighty +internal force were splitting the place up. The men in the boat sat +breathless and transfixed. Only Guiseppe whispered: "It is the old +Count! He is the devil! He has blown the place up!" + +There was another, and then a series of explosions. Fragments of the +rock and stone fell hissing into the water scarcely a hundred feet +away. Great waves rolled towards them. It seemed as though the earth +underneath were shaking. Then it all died away, and there was silence. +Only the blackened walls of the castle remained, with the dying flames +still curling fitfully around them. The air grew darker, and the +colour faded from the sea. + +"It is the last of the Count of Cruta, and his castle of horrors!" +cried Guiseppe. "God be thanked!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +"LOVE THAN DEATH ITSELF MORE STRONG" + + +I had no thought of writing in you again, my silent friend. Only a +little while ago I said to myself, the time has gone by when solitude +and heart hunger could drive me to your pages for consolation. Only a +little while ago, it is true; and yet between the past and future is +fixed a mighty gulf. As I write these words I stand upon the threshold +of death! What death may mean, I know not! I have no religion to throw +bright gleams of hope upon its dark mysteries. I have no hope of any +other life, save the one I am quitting! If I am resigned and calm, it +is because the lamp of my life has burnt out, and I am in darkness. I +wait for death as a maiden waits for the first gleams of dawn on her +marriage day. + +Who said that love was everlasting? They lied! Love is a dream, a +floating shadow full of golden lights, quenched by the first breath of +morning! Who should know, if I do not know? Who has done more for love +than I--I whose hands are red with blood, I who this night must die? +It was for his sake, I struck--for his sake! and now that the hour of +my punishment must come, I sit here alone and forsaken, waiting for +the signal which must end my life! It was for his sake! A death-white +face rises up before me, and a hoarse, dying cry sobs ever in my ears! +I pass on my way through the Valley of the Shadow of Death with no +hope to cheer me, forsaken, friendless, and shaken with dim fears! +Am I alone! He for whom I struck has turned from me. Oh, the bitter +cruelty of it! It was he who taught me what love was, and yet of love +he knows nothing, else I would not be here to meet my doom alone! +Oh! Paul, Paul! Oh, for one touch of your hand, for one kind look! My +heart is sick and faint with longing! Am I indeed so low and vile a +thing that you should turn away with never a single word of farewell? +O! my love, you are hard indeed! If my hands are stained with +blood--for whose sake was it? It was only a word I craved for, Paul! +Only a word--a look, even! Was it too great a boon to grant? + + * * * * * + +Oh, memory! help me, help me to keep sane just a few more hours--until +the end comes. It is a last luxury! I will think of those golden days +we spent together ere the blow fell. Ah! how happy we were! Every +breath of life was sweet; every moment seemed charged with the +delicious happiness! The past, with its haunting shadows, and the +memory of that grim, deathly figure huddled up amongst the ferns +in the bare pine wood had perished. Background and foreground had +vanished in the bewildering joys of the present. Oh! Paul, that was +happiness, indeed. All measures of outside things seemed lost! At +times I found it hard to recollect in what country we were! Oh! the +world, such as ours was, is a sweet, sweet world! + +At last the blow fell. He came to me one morning, as white as a sheet, +with an old, soiled copy of the Times in his hand. + +"Read, Adrea," he cried, thrusting it into my hand. "A horrible thing +has happened!" + +I let the paper fall through my fingers. An agony of fear was upon me. +"I know! I know! Do not ask me to read it." + +"You knew, and you did not tell me!" + +"No! I--no!" + +There was a deadly swimming before my eyes, and a throbbing in my +ears. I sank back, grateful for the unconsciousness which gave me +respite, however short. When recovered, I was on the verge of a fever; +and Paul, seeing my condition, did not refer to the news which had +been such a shock to him. But for an hour the next day he was away +from me, writing letters home. When he returned there was a restraint +between us. He was kind as ever, but restless and unsettled. As yet he +had no suspicion, but I could see that he was longing to get back to +England.... The thought was like madness to me. + +Then came the beginning of the end. We were staying in a villa which +we had rented for a month near Florence, and one day we drove into the +city together to do some shopping. Paul was at the post-office, and I +was crossing the square to go to him, when of a sudden I felt a hand +upon my dress, and a hoarse whisper in my ear. I started round in +terror. A man, pale and hollow-eyed, stood by my side. It was Gomez! + +"Listen quickly!" he said. "I must not stay by your side! You are in +danger! The English police are upon your track!" + +I caught hold of the railing to prevent myself from falling. Above my +head, a little flock of pigeons lazily flapped their wings against the +deep blue sky. All around, the sunlit air was full of laughing voices, +and gaily dressed crowds of people were passing backwards and forwards +only a few yards away. Already, one or two were glancing in +my direction curiously. In a moment Paul would come out of the +post-office, looking for me. I made a great effort, and steadied +myself. + +"Tell me! What can I do?" + +He answered me quickly, keeping his back turned to the stream of +people. "You must fly! It may be already too late, but in twenty-four +hours you will certainly be arrested if you are in Florence. I have +travelled night and day to find you. The holy saints grant that it may +not be too late. Call yourself by a strange name; and if Paul de Vaux +be with you, see that he alters his also. There are already two of the +detectives in Florence searching for you. A third, with a warrant, +may be here at any time. Get to the furthest corner of the world, for +everything is known. Farewell!" + +He left me abruptly; and although I felt that my doom had been spoken, +I walked firmly across the square to meet Paul. I would tell him +everything. He should be my judge. My love should plead for me! It +would triumph; yes! it would triumph! I was convinced of it! As for +the danger I was in, I thought less of that. + +On the steps of the postoffice I met Paul. He held in his hand a +bundle of papers, one of which he had opened, and, as he raised his +head and looked at me, I saw that what I had dreaded had come to pass. +He looked like a man stricken down by some sudden and terrible blow. +He was white even to the lips, and a strange light burned in his eyes. + +He laid his hand upon my arm. Was it my fancy, or did he really recoil +a little as he touched me? "Let us go home!" he said hoarsely. "I +have--something to say to you!" + +We entered the carriage, which was waiting near, and drove off. We +came together into this room. It was barely two hours ago. He closed +the door and turned towards me. I did not wait for his question. I +told him everything! + +Ah me! I had thought that love was a different thing. I had sinned, +it is true, but he was not my judge. So I commenced, humbled and +sorrowful indeed, but with no fear of what was before me. But +gradually, as I watched his face, a cold, ghastly dread crept in upon +me. What did it mean--that blank look of horror, his quiet withdrawal +from the only caress I attempted? I finished--abruptly--and called out +to him piteously,-- + +"Paul! Paul! Why do you turn away? Oh! kiss me, Paul! It was horrible, +but it was to save you!" + +He did not answer; he did not hold out his arms, or make any movement +towards me. I touched his arm; and oh! horrible! he shuddered. I crept +away into a corner of the room, with a strange, burning pain in my +heart. + +"How long is it, since you saw Gomez?" he asked, and his voice, +strained, yet low, seemed to come from a far distance. + +"An hour!--perhaps more--I cannot tell!" + +He stood before the door like a ghost. "I must go and try to find him! +Forgive me, Adrea! I cannot talk now! I will come back!" + +So he left me. I have not seen him since! God only knows whether I +shall see him again! My heart is torn with the agony of it! I cannot +bear it any longer! If he is not here in half an hour I shall end it! + + * * * * * + +He has not come! Ten minutes more! + +Five minutes! + + * * * * * + +It is done; I have taken poison! In half an hour I shall be dead! Oh! +Paul, my love, my love, come to me! If I could only die in your +arms, if I could only feel once more your kisses upon my lips! It is +horrible to die alone! Already I feel weaker! Oh! if there be a God +in heaven, send me Paul just for one last moment! I do not ask for +forgiveness or pardon, only send me Paul! I am afraid to die alone! +Never to see him again! Oh! I shall cry out! Paul! Paul! come to me! I +do not ask for heaven, only to die in his arms, to---- + + * * * * * + +There were sounds upon the stairs, and in the hall; the sounds of a +man's quick entrance and approach. Adrea, with that passionate +prayer still quivering upon her lips, dragged herself to the door and +listened. A moment's agonised apprehension, and then she staggered +back, faint with joy. The door was opened, and quickly closed; Paul +stood before her. + +"Oh! my love! my love," she murmured. "Take me in your arms! It is for +the last time!" + +He moved to her side, and supported her. "Adrea," he said quietly, "I +want you to change your things quickly, and come with me. There is +a carriage at the door, and I have chartered a steamer to take us to +Genoa. From there we can sail to-morrow for New York. Gomez was right; +you are in danger here! Be brave, little woman, and all will be well!" + +She clung to him passionately, with her arms locked around his neck, +and her wet face close to his. Only a confused sense of his words +reached her. His tone and his embrace were sufficient. + +"And you?" + +"I go with you, of course! We shall begin a new life in a new world! +Come! We have no time to lose!" + +"A new life in a new world." She repeated the words dreamily, still +holding him to her. Then a sudden dizziness came. It passed away, but +it reminded her that the end could not be far off. + +"Adrea, do you not understand? How cold your lips are! Try and bear +up, love! We have a long journey before us!" + +She shook her head slowly. He began to notice that she was like a dead +weight in his arms. + +"It is a long journey, love, but I go alone. You cannot come, Paul! +Yet I am not afraid, now that you are here!" + +"Adrea! what do you mean? I will not leave you! Have courage! Adrea! +Soon we shall leave all dangers behind us!" + +"Paul! do you not understand? I am dying!" + +Dying! He looked at her face, calm and even smiling, but terribly +blanched and white, and he saw the empty phial upon the table. The +whole truth swept in upon him. He staggered and almost fell with her. + +"It is best so," she whispered. "I only minded when--I thought that +you might not be back in time. I am quite--content now!" + +"A doctor!" he cried hoarsely. "I must fetch a doctor! Adrea----" + +"Please don't!" she interrupted. "Long before he could come--I should +be dead. It is so much better! Did you think, Paul, that I could have +you--tied for life--to a poor, hunted woman--forced to live always +in a foreign country? Oh! no, no! I have had this poison by me ever +since--in case--anything happened. Paul, carry me--to the sofa! There +is--no pain--but I am getting weaker--very weak. My eyes are a little +dim, too--but I can see you--Paul!" + +He obeyed her, and sank on his knees, with his arms still around her. +It seemed to him that she had never been so lovely as in those last +few minutes of her life. It was wonderful to see her resigned as she +was. + +There was a brief silence, broken only by a sharp, convulsed sob from +the kneeling man. Adrea, who heard it, stretched out her hand, and +passed it caressingly along the side of his face. He caught it and +covered it with kisses. + +"Paul, we have been happy together, have we not?" + +"My darling, you know it!" + +She raised herself a little, and spoke earnestly. "For me--it has been +like heaven--and yet I am not sure--that it would have lasted. +You would have wearied soon! My nature is too light a one to have +satisfied you always. I have felt it! I--I know it!" + +She paused, struggling for breath. He did not answer her. He only +held her tighter, and whispered her name lovingly. In a moment she +re-opened her eyes. + +"So--it is best--" she continued, with a little more effort. "Paul, +things seem all so clear--to me now! I think of you in the future--it +must be a happy future, Paul--I know it will! I see you the master of +that grand old home of yours, up amongst the moors you love so much. +I can see you there in the future, living your quiet, country +life--always the same, honourable and just. I like to think of you +there--it is so natural. I want you--to forget--these days then! +Remember that it was--I--who--came to you, Paul! You had no--choice. +I would come. If there has been--any sin--it has been--mine only. You +were far above--poor me! I have dragged you down--a little way--but +you will go back again! You will marry--some one good and worthy of +you. It is my--last wish! God bless you, Paul, dear--dear, Paul. I +think that I am--going now--kiss me!" + +"My love! My love! Oh! that you could live to be happy with me once +more!" + +"There are steps upon the stairs--I think--but they come--too late! +The book on the table--take it! It will--tell you--what you do not +know--of my life! Farewell! Sister Elise! Is that you? Ah! back +once more--in the old convent garden! How sweet--and gentle--the air +is--and what perfumes! You here, Paul! You too! How dim your face +seems--and yet--how happy it makes me--to see it. Dear Paul! we have +been--so happy! Farewell!" + + * * * * * + +There were strangers in the room, but they came too late. They found +only the corpse of a woman, whose dead lips were parted in a strangely +sweet smile, and a strong man who had swooned by her side in the utter +abandonment of his grief. The hand of human justice had been stayed by +God's mercy! + +THE END. + + + + +DO YOU LIKE MENTAL SURPRISES? + +Things that make your eyes open wider, and cause you to assume a +changed position, so that you can continue your reading without +tiring? Sustained excitement and strange scenes that compel you to +read on page after page with unflagging interest? Something that lifts +you out of your world of care and business, and transports you to +another land, clime, and scenes? Yes? Then don't fail to read + +THE + +MYSTERY OF THE RAVENSPURS + +BY FRED M. WHITE + +the best book written by this popular author, since his "Crimson +Blind" and "Corner House," which met with such tremendous success. + +It is a romantic tale of adventure, mystery and amateur detective +work, with scenes laid in England, India, and the distant and +comparatively unknown Thibet. A band of mystics from the latter +country are the prime movers in the various conspiracies, and their +new, unique, weird, strange methods form one of the features of the +story. + +The book contains 320 pages, with four full-page illustrations and +wrapper design in colors by DE TAKACS, handsomely bound in cloth. + +PRICE, $1.25, NET. BY MAIL, POSTPAID, $1.35. + +WE HEARTILY RECOMMEND THIS BOOK. + +FOR SALE WHEREVER BOOKS ARE SOLD. + +J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY + +57 Rose Street, New York + + + + +OGILVIE'S POPULAR COPYRIGHT LINE + + +THE PEER AND THE WOMAN + +BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM + +AUTHOR OF "A MONK OF CRUTA," "THE MISSIONER," ETC. + +_One of the Most Popular Authors of the present day._ + + * * * * * + +A story of romance, mystery, and adventure, in which, as in many +mystery stories, there is the adventuress, with whom, for some reason, +the peer, notwithstanding his breeding and social position, becomes +entangled, until he is mysteriously put out of the way. From this +point on complication and adventure succeed each other in rapid +succession, holding the reader in rapt fascination until the end +of the story is reached, where the plots of love and mysterious +disappearances are surprisingly unfolded. + +This story has been written in Mr. Oppenheim's most entertaining and +interesting style, and will be appreciated by all lovers of the class +of fiction which has made him famous. + +_A Wonderful Story of Mystery._ + + * * * * * + +Bound in cloth, handsomely stamped in colors. + + * * * * * + +SENT BY MAIL, POSTAGE PAID, FOR 75 CENTS. + +You can buy this at any bookstore or direct from us. + + * * * * * + +J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY + +57 Rose Street, New York + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Monk of Cruta, by E. Phillips Oppenheim + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MONK OF CRUTA *** + +***** This file should be named 31535-8.txt or 31535-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/5/3/31535/ + +Produced by Alcina Hadwin, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |