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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34545-8.txt b/34545-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb8e07f --- /dev/null +++ b/34545-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8895 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Dr. Rumsey's Patient, by L. T. Mead and Dr. Halifax + +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: Dr. Rumsey's Patient + A Very Strange Story + +Author: L. T. Mead + Dr. Halifax + +Release Date: December 2, 2010 [EBook #34545] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT + + _A VERY STRANGE STORY_ + + BY L. T. MEAD AND DR. HALIFAX + + JOINT AUTHORS OF "STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR" + + + NEW YORK + HURST & COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + COPYRIGHTED, 1896, BY + THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY + _ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_ + + + +[Illustration: MRS L. T. MEADE.] + + + + +DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Two young men in flannels were standing outside the door of the Red Doe +in the picturesque village of Grandcourt. The village contained one long +and straggling street. The village inn was covered with ivy, wistaria, +flowering jessamine, monthly roses, and many other creepers. The flowers +twined round old-fashioned windows, and nodded to the guests when they +awoke in the morning and breathed perfume upon them as they retired to +bed at night. In short, the Inn was an ideal one, and had from time +immemorial found favor with reading parties, fishermen, and others who +wanted to combine country air and the pursuit of health with a certain +form of easy amusement. The two men who now stood in the porch were +undergraduates from Balliol. There was nothing in the least remarkable +about their appearance--they looked like what they were, good-hearted, +keen-witted young Englishmen of the day. The time was evening, and as +the Inn faced due west the whole place was bathed in warm sunshine. + +"This heat is tremendous and there is no air," said Everett, the younger +of the students. "How can you stand that sun beating on your head, +Frere? I'm for indoors." + +"Right," replied Frere. "It is cool enough in the parlor." + +As he spoke he took a step forward and gazed down the winding village +street. There was a look of pleased expectation in his eyes. He seemed +to be watching for some one. A girl appeared, walking slowly up the +street. Frere's eye began to dance. Everett, who was about to go into +the shady parlor, gave him a keen glance--and for some reason his eyes +also grew bright with expectation. + +"There's something worth looking at," he exclaimed in a laughing voice. + +"What did you say?" asked Frere gruffly. + +"Nothing, old man--at least nothing special. I say, doesn't Hetty look +superb?" + +"You've no right to call her Hetty." + +Everett gave a low whistle. + +"I rather fancy I have," he answered--"she gave me leave this morning." + +"Impossible," said Frere. He turned pale under all his sunburn, and bit +his lower lip. "Don't you find the sun very hot?" he asked. + +"No, it is sinking into the west--the great heat is over. Let us go and +enliven this little charmer." + +"I will," said Frere suddenly. "You had better stay here where you are. +It is my right," he added. "I was about to tell you so, when she came in +view." + +"Your right?" cried Everett; he looked disturbed. + +Frere did not reply, but strode quickly down the village street. A dozen +strides brought him up to Hetty's side. She was a beautiful girl, with a +face and figure much above her station. Her hat was covered with wild +flowers which she had picked in her walk, and coquettishly placed there. +She wore a pink dress covered with rosebuds--some wild flowers were +stuck into her belt. As Frere advanced to meet her, her laughing eyes +were raised to his face--there was a curious mixture of timidity and +audacity in their glance. + +"I have a word to say to you," he accosted her in a gruff tone. "What +right had you to give Everett leave to call you Hetty?" + +The timidity immediately left the bright eyes, and a slight expression +of anger took its place. + +"Because I like to distribute my favors, Mr. Horace." + +She quickened her pace as she spoke. Everett, who had been standing +quite still in the porch watching the little scene, came out to meet the +pair. Hetty flushed crimson when she saw him; she raised her dancing, +charming dark eyes to his face, then looked again at Frere, who turned +sullenly away. + +"I hope, gentlemen, you have had good sport," said the rustic beauty, in +her demure voice. + +"Excellent," replied Everett. + +They had now reached the porch, which was entwined all over with +honeysuckle in full flower. A great spray of the fragrant flower nearly +touched the girl's charming face. She glanced again at Frere. He would +not meet her eyes. Her whole face sparkled with the feminine love of +teasing. + +"Why is he so jealous?" she whispered to herself. "It would be fun to +punish him. I like him better than Mr. Everett, but I'll punish him." + +"Shall I give you a buttonhole?" she said, looking at Everett. + +"If you'll be so kind," he replied. + +She raised her eyes to the honeysuckle over her head, selected a spray +with extreme care, and handed it to him demurely. He asked her to place +it in his buttonhole; she looked again at Frere,--he would not go away, +but neither would he bring himself to glance at her. She bent her head +to search in the bodice of her dress for a pin, found one, and then with +a laughing glance of her eyes into Everett's handsome face, complied +with his request. + +The young fellow blushed with pleasure, then he glanced at Frere, and a +feeling of compunction smote him--he strode abruptly into the house. + +"Hetty, what do you mean by this sort of thing?" said Frere the moment +they were alone. + +"I mean this, Mr. Horace: I am still my own mistress." + +"Great Scot! of course you are; but what do you mean by this sort of +trifling? It was only this morning that you told me you loved me. Look +here, Hetty, I'm in no humor to be trifled with; I can't and won't stand +it. I'll make you the best husband a girl ever had, but listen to me, I +have the devil's own temper when it is roused. For God's sake don't +provoke it. If you don't love me, say so, and let there be an end of +it." + +"I wish you wouldn't speak so loudly," said Hetty, pouting her lips +and half crying. "Of course I like you; I--well, yes, I suppose I +love you. I was thinking of you all the afternoon. See what I +gathered for you--this bunch of heart's-ease. There's meaning in +heart's-ease--there's none in honeysuckle." + +Frere's brow cleared as if by magic. + +"My little darling," he said, fixing his deep-set eyes greedily on the +girl's beautiful face. "Forgive me for being such a brute to you, Hetty. +Here--give me the flowers." + +"No, not until you pay for them. You don't deserve them for being so +nasty and suspicious." + +"Give me the flowers, Hetty; I promise never to doubt you again." + +"Yes, you will; it is your nature to doubt." + +"I have no words to say what I feel for you." + +Frere's eyes emphasized this statement so emphatically, that the +empty-headed girl by his side felt her heart touched for the moment. + +"What do you want me to do, Mr. Horace?" she asked, lowering her eyes. + +"To give me the flowers, and to be nice to me." + +"Come down to the brook after supper, perhaps I'll give them to you +then. There's aunt calling me--don't keep me, please." She rushed off. + +"Hetty," said Mrs. Armitage, the innkeeper's wife, "did I hear you +talking to Mr. Horace Frere in the porch?" + +"Yes, Aunt Fanny, you did," replied Hetty. + +"Well, look here, your uncle and I won't have it. Just because you're +pretty--" + +Hetty tossed back her wealth of black curls. + +"It's all right," she said in a whisper, her eyes shining as she spoke. +"He wants me to be his wife--he asked me this morning." + +"He doesn't mean that, surely," said Mrs. Armitage, incredulous and +pleased. + +"Yes, he does; he'll speak to uncle to-morrow--that is, if I'll say +'Yes.' He says he has no one to consult--he'll make me a lady--he has +plenty of money." + +"Do you care for him, Hetty?" + +"Oh, don't ask me whether I do or not, Aunt Fanny--I'm sure I can't tell +you." + +Hetty moved noisily about. She put plates and dishes on a tray +preparatory to taking them into the parlor for the young men's supper. + +"Look here," said her aunt, "I'll see after the parlor lodgers +to-night." She lifted the tray as she spoke. + +Hetty ran up to her bedroom. She took a little square of glass from its +place on the wall and gazed earnestly at the reflection of her own +charming face. Presently she put the glass down, locked her hands +together, went over to the open window and looked out. + +"Shall I marry him?" she thought. "He has plenty of money--he loves me +right enough. If I were his wife, I'd be a lady--I needn't worry about +household work any more. I hate household work--I hate drudgery. I want +to have a fine time, with nothing to do but just to think of my dress +and how I look. He has plenty of money, and he loves me--he says he'll +make me his wife as soon as ever I say the word. Uncle and aunt would be +pleased, too, and the people in the village would say I'd made a good +match. Shall I marry him? I don't love him a bit, but what does that +matter?" + +She sighed--the color slightly faded on her blooming cheeks--she poked +her head out of the little window. + +"I don't love him," she said to herself. "When I see Mr. Awdrey my heart +beats. Ever since I was a little child I have thought more of Mr. Awdrey +than of any one else in all the world. I never told--no, I never told, +but I'd rather slave for Mr. Robert Awdrey than be the wife of any one +else on earth. What a fool I am! Mr. Awdrey thinks nothing of me, but he +is never out of my head, nor out of my heart. My heart aches for +him--I'm nearly mad sometimes about it all. Perhaps I'll see him +to-night if I go down to the brook. He's sure to pass the brook on his +way to the Court. Mr. Everett likes me too, I know, and he's a gentleman +as well as Mr. Frere. Oh, dear, they both worry me more than please me. +I'd give twenty men like them for one sight of the young Squire. Oh, +what folly all this is!" + +She went again and stood opposite to her little looking-glass. + +"The young ladies up at the Court haven't got a face like mine," she +murmured. "There isn't any one all over the place has a face like mine. +I wonder if Mr. Awdrey really thinks it pretty? Why should I worry +myself about Mr. Frere? I wonder if Mr. Awdrey would mind if I married +him--would it make him jealous? If I thought that, I'd do it fast +enough--yes, I declare I would. But of course he wouldn't mind--not one +bit; he has scarcely ever said two words to me--not since we were little +'uns together, and pelted each other with apples in uncle's orchard. Oh, +Mr. Awdrey, I'd give all the world for one smile from you, but you think +nothing at all of poor Hetty. Dear, beautiful Mr. Awdrey--won't you love +me even a little--even as you love your dog? Yes, I'll go and walk by +the brook after supper. Mr. Frere will meet me there, of course, and +perhaps Mr. Awdrey will go by--perhaps he'll be jealous. I'll take my +poetry book and sit by the brook just where the forget-me-nots grow. +Yes, yes--oh, I wonder if the Squire will go by." + +These thoughts no sooner came into Hetty's brain than she resolved to +act upon them. She snatched up a volume of L. E. L.'s poems--their weak +and lovelorn phrases exactly suited her style and order of mind--and ran +quickly down to a dancing rivulet which ran its merry course about a +hundred yards back of the Inn. She sat by the bank, pulled a great bunch +of forget-me-nots, laid them on the open pages of her book, and looked +musingly down at the flowers. Footsteps were heard crunching the +underwood at the opposite side. A voice presently sounded in her ears. +Hetty's heart beat loudly. + +"How do you do?" said the voice. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Robert," she replied. + +Her tone was demure and extremely respectful. She started to her feet, +letting her flowers drop as she did so. A blush suffused her lovely +face, her dancing eyes were raised for a quick moment, then as suddenly +lowered. She made a beautiful picture. The young man who stood a few +feet away from her, with the running water dividing them, evidently +thought so. He had a boyish figure--a handsome, manly face. His eyes +were very dark, deeply set, and capable of much thought. He looked every +inch the gentleman. + +"Is Armitage in?" he asked after a pause. + +"I don't know, Mr. Robert, I'll go and inquire if you like." + +"No, it doesn't matter. The Squire asked me to call and beg of your +uncle to come to the Court to-morrow morning. Will you give him the +message?" + +"Yes, Mr. Robert." + +There was a perceptible pause. Hetty looked down at the water. Awdrey +looked at her. + +"Good-evening," he said then. + +"Good-evening, sir," she replied. + +He turned and walked slowly up the narrow path which led toward the +Court. + +"His eyes told me to-night that he thought me pretty," muttered Hetty to +herself, "why doesn't he say it with his lips? I--I wish I could make +him. Oh, is that you, Mr. Frere?" + +"Yes, Hetty. I promised to come, and I am here. The evening is a perfect +one, let us follow the stream a little way." + +Hetty was about to say "No," when suddenly lifting her eyes, she +observed that the young Squire had paused under the shade of a great +elm-tree a little further up the bank. A quick idea darted into her vain +little soul. She would walk past the Squire without pretending to see +him, in Frere's company. Frere should make love to her in the Squire's +presence. She gave her lover a coy and affectionate glance. + +"Yes, come," she said: "it is pretty by the stream; perhaps I'll give +you some forget-me-nots presently." + +"I want the heart's-ease which you have already picked for me," said +Frere. + +"Oh, there's time enough." + +Frere advanced a step, and laid his hand on the girl's arm. + +"Listen," he said: "I was never more in earnest in my life. I love you +with all my heart and soul. I love you madly. I want you for my wife. I +mean to marry you, come what may. I have plenty of money and you are the +wife of all others for me. You told me this morning that you loved me, +Hetty. Tell me again; say that you love me better than any one else in +the world." + +Hetty paused, she raised her dark eyes; the Squire was almost within +earshot. + +"I suppose I love you--a little," she said, in a whisper. + +"Then give me a kiss--just one." + +She walked on. Frere followed. + +"Give me a kiss--just one," he repeated. + +"Not to-night," she replied, in a demure voice. + +"Yes, you must--I insist." + +"Don't, Mr. Frere," she called out sharply, uttering a cry as she spoke. + +He didn't mind her. Overcome by his passion he caught her suddenly in +his arms, and pressed his lips many times to hers. + +"Hold, sir! What are you doing?" shouted Awdrey's voice from the +opposite side of the bank. + +"By heaven, what is that to you?" called Frere back. + +He let Hetty go with some violence, and retreated one or two steps in +his astonishment. His face was crimson up to the roots of his honest +brow. + +Awdrey leaped across the brook. "You will please understand that you +take liberties with Miss Armitage at your peril," he said. "What right +have you to take such advantage of an undefended girl? Hetty, I will see +you home." + +Hetty's eyes danced with delight. For a moment Frere felt too stunned to +speak. + +"Come with me, Hetty," said Awdrey, putting a great restraint upon +himself, but speaking with irritation. "Come--you should be at home at +this hour." + +"You shall answer to me for this, whoever you are," said Frere, whose +face was white with passion. + +"My name is Awdrey," said the Squire; "I will answer you in a way you +don't like if you don't instantly leave this young girl alone." + +"Confound your interference," said Frere. "I am not ashamed of my +actions. I can justify them. I am going to marry Miss Armitage." + +"Is that true, Hetty?" said Awdrey, looking at the girl in some +astonishment. + +"No, there isn't a word of it true," answered Hetty, stung by a look on +the Squire's face. "I don't want to have anything to do with him--he +shan't kiss me. I--I'll have nothing to do with him." She burst into +tears. + +"I'll see you home," said Awdrey. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +The Awdreys of "The Court" could trace their descent back to the Norman +Conquest. They were a proud family with all the special characteristics +which mark races of long descent. Among the usual accompaniments of +race, was given to them the curse of heredity. A strange and peculiar +doom hung over the house. It had descended now from father to son during +many generations. How it had first raised its gorgon head no one could +tell. People said that it had been sent as a punishment for the greed of +gold. An old ancestor, more than a hundred and fifty years ago, had +married a West Indian heiress. She had colored blood in her veins, a +purse of enormous magnitude, a deformed figure, and, what was more to +the point, a particularly crooked and obtuse order of mind. She did her +duty by her descendants, leaving to each of them a gift. To one, +deformity of person--to another, a stammering tongue--to a third, a +squint--to a fourth, imbecility. In each succeeding generation, at least +one man and woman of the house of Awdrey had cause to regret the gold +which had certainly brought a curse with it. But beyond and above all +these things, it was immediately after the West Indian's entrance into +the family that that strange doom began to assail the male members of +the house which was now more dreaded than madness. The doom was unique +and curious. It consisted of one remarkable phase. There came upon those +on whom it descended an extraordinary and complete lapse of memory for +the grave events of life, accompanied by perfect retention of memory for +all minor matters. This curious phase once developed, other +idiosyncrasies immediately followed. The victim's moral sense became +weakened--all physical energy departed--a curious lassitude of mind and +body became general. The victim did not in the least know that there was +anything special the matter with him, but as a rule the doomed man +either became idiotic, or died before the age of thirty. + +All the great physicians of their time had been consulted with regard to +this curious family trait, but in the first place no one could +understand it, in the second no possible cure could be suggested as a +remedy. The curse was supposed to be due to a brain affection, but brain +affections in the old days were considered to be special visitations +from God, and men of science let them alone. + +In their early life, the Awdreys were particularly bright, clever sharp +fellows, endowed with excellent animal spirits, and many amiable traits +of character. They were chivalrous to women, kind to children, full of +warm affections, and each and all of them possessed much of the golden +gift of hope. As a rule the doom of the house came upon each victim with +startling suddenness. One of the disappointments of life ensued--an +unfortunate love affair--the death of some beloved member--a money loss. +The victim lost all memory of the event. No words, no explanations could +revive the dead memory--the thing was completely blotted out from the +phonograph of the brain. Immediately afterward followed the mental and +physical decay. The girls of the family quite escaped the curse. It was +on the sons that it invariably descended. + +Up to the present time, however, Robert Awdrey's father had lived to +confute the West Indian's dire curse. His father had married a Scotch +lassie, with no bluer blood in her veins than that which had been given +to her by some rugged Scotch ancestors. Her health of mind and body had +done her descendants much good. Even the word "nerves" had been unknown +to this healthy-minded daughter of the North--her children had all up to +the present escaped the family curse, and it was now firmly believed at +the Court that the spell was broken, and that the West Indian's awful +doom would leave the family. The matter was too solemn and painful to be +alluded to except under the gravest conditions, and young Robert Awdrey, +the heir to the old place and all its belongings, was certainly the last +person to speak of it. + +Robert's father was matter-of-fact to the back bone, but Robert himself +was possessed of an essentially reflective temperament. Had he been less +healthily brought up by his stout old grandmother and by his mother, he +might have given way to morbid musings. Circumstances, however, were all +in his favor, and at the time when this strange story really opens, he +was looking out at life with a heart full of hope and a mind filled with +noble ambitions. Robert was the only son--he had two sisters, bright, +good-natured, every-day sort of girls. As a matter of course his sisters +adored him. They looked forward to his career with immense pride. He was +to stand for Parliament at the next general election. His brains +belonged to the highest order of intellect. He had taken a double first +at the University--there was no position which he might not hope to +assume. + +Robert had all the chivalrous instincts of his race toward women. As he +walked quickly home now with Hetty by his side, his blood boiled at the +thought of the insult which had been offered to her. Poor, silly little +Hetty was nothing whatever to him except a remarkably pretty village +girl. Her people, however, were his father's tenants; he felt it his +duty to protect her. When he parted with her just outside the village +inn, he said a few words. + +"You ought not to allow those young men to take liberties with you, +Hetty," he said. "Now, go home. Don't be out so late again in the +future, and don't forget to give your uncle my father's message." + +She bent her head, and left him without replying. She did not even thank +him. He watched her until she disappeared into the house, then turned +sharply and walked up the village street home with a vigorous step. + +He had come to the spot where he had parted with Frere, and was just +about to leap the brook, when that young man started suddenly from under +a tree, and stood directly in his path. + +"I must ask you to apologize to me," he said. + +Awdrey flushed. + +"What do you mean?" he replied. + +"What I say. My intentions toward Miss Armitage are perfectly honest. +She promised to marry me this morning. When you chose to interfere, I +was kissing my future wife." + +"If that is really the case, I beg your pardon," said Awdrey; "but +then," he continued, looking full at Frere, "Hetty Armitage denies any +thought of marrying you." + +"She does, does she?" muttered Frere. His face turned white. + +"One word before you go," said Awdrey. "Miss Armitage is a pretty +girl----" + +"What is that to you?" replied Frere, "I don't mean to discuss her with +you." + +"You may please yourself about that, but allow me to say one thing. Her +uncle is one of my father's oldest and most respected tenants; Hetty is +therefore under our protection, and I for one will see that she gets +fair play. Any one who takes liberties with her has got to answer to me. +That's all. Good-evening." + +Awdrey slightly raised his hat, leaped the brook, and disappeared +through the underwood in the direction of the Court. + +Horace Frere stood and watched him. + +His rage was now almost at white heat. He was madly in love, and was +therefore not quite responsible for his own actions. He was determined +at any cost to make Hetty his wife. The Squire's interference awoke the +demon of jealousy in his heart. He had patiently borne Everett's marked +attentions to the girl of his choice--he wondered now at the sudden +passion which filled him. He walked back to the inn feeling exactly as +if the devil were driving him. + +"I'll have this thing out with Hetty before I am an hour older," he +cried aloud. "She promised to marry me this very morning. How dare that +jackanapes interfere! What do I care for his position in the place? If +he's twenty times the Squire it's nothing to me. Hetty had the cool +cheek to eat her own words to him in my presence. It's plain to be seen +what the thing means. She's a heartless flirt--she's flying for higher +game than honest Horace Frere, but I'll put a spoke in her wheel, and in +his wheel too, curse him. He's in love with the girl himself--that's why +he interferes. Well, she shall choose between him and me to-night, and +if she does choose him it will be all the worse for him." + +As he rushed home, Frere lashed himself into greater and greater fury. +Everett was standing inside the porch when the other man passed him +roughly by. + +"I say, Frere, what's up?" called Everett, taking the pipe out of his +mouth. + +"Curse you, don't keep me, I want to speak to Miss Armitage." + +Everett burst into a somewhat discordant laugh. + +"Your manners are not quite to be desired at the present moment, old +man," he said. "Miss Armitage seems to have a strangely disquieting +effect upon her swains." + +"I do not intend to discuss her with you, Everett. I must speak to her +at once." + +Everett laughed again. + +"She seems to be a person of distinction," he said. "She has just been +seen home with much ceremony by no less a person than Awdrey, of The +Court." + +"Curse Awdrey and all his belongings. Do you know where she is?" + +A sweet, high-pitched voice within the house now made itself heard. + +"I can see you in Aunt's parlor if you like, Mr. Horace." + +"Yes." + +Frere strode into the house--a moment later he was standing opposite to +Hetty in the little hot gaslit parlor. + +Hetty had evidently been crying. Her tears had brought shadows under her +eyes--they added pathos to her lovely face, giving it a look of depth +which it usually lacked. Frere gave her one glance, then he felt his +anger dropping from him like a mantle. + +"For God's sake, Hetty, speak the truth," said the poor fellow. + +"What do you want me to say, Mr. Horace?" she asked. + +Her voice was tremulous, her tears nearly broke forth anew. Frere made a +step forward. He would have clasped her to his breast, but she would not +allow him. + +"No," she said with a sob, "I can't have anything to do with you." + +"Hetty, you don't know what you are saying. Hetty, remember this +morning." + +"I remember it, but I can't go on with it. Forget everything I said--go +away--please go away." + +"No, I won't go away. By heaven, you shall tell me the truth. Look here, +Hetty, I won't be humbugged--you've got to choose at once." + +"What do you mean, Mr. Horace?" + +"You've got to choose between that fellow and me." + +"Between you and the Squire!" exclaimed Hetty. + +She laughed excitedly; the bare idea caused her heart to beat wildly. +Her laughter nearly drove Frere mad. He strode up to her, took her hands +with force, and looked into her frightened eyes. + +"Do you love him? The truth, girl, I will have it." + +"Let me go, Mr. Horace." + +"I won't until you tell me the truth. It is either the Squire or me; I +must hear the truth now or never--which is it, Squire Awdrey or me?" + +"Oh, I can't help it," said Hetty, bursting into tears--"it's the +Squire--oh, sir, let me go." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Frere stood perfectly still for a moment after Hetty had spoken, then +without a word he turned and left her. Everett was still standing in the +porch. Everett had owned to himself that he had a decided penchant for +the little rustic beauty, but Frere's fierce passion cooled his. He did +not feel particularly inclined, however, to sympathize with his friend. + +"How rough you are, Frere!" he said angrily; "you've almost knocked the +pipe out of my mouth a second time this evening." + +Frere went out into the night without uttering a syllable. + +"Where are you off to?" called Everett after him. + +"What is that to you?" was shouted back. + +Everett said something further. A strong and very emphatic oath left +Frere's lips in reply. The innkeeper, Armitage, was passing the young +man at the moment. He stared at him, wondering at the whiteness of his +face, and the extraordinary energy of his language. Armitage went +indoors to supper, and thought no more of the circumstance. He was +destined, however, to remember it later. Everett continued to smoke his +pipe with philosophical calm. He hoped against hope that pretty little +Hetty might come and stand in the porch with him. Finding she did not +appear, he resolved to go out and look for his friend. He was leaving +the Inn when Armitage called after him: + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Everett, but will you be out late?" + +"I can't say," replied Everett, stopping short; "why?" + +"Because if so, sir, you had better take the latchkey. We're going to +shut up the whole place early to-night; the wife is dead beat, and Hetty +is not quite well." + +"I'm sorry for that," said Everett, after a pause; "well, give me the +key. I dare say I'll return quite soon; I am only going out to meet Mr. +Frere." + +Armitage gave the young man the key and returned to the house. + +Meanwhile Frere had wandered some distance from the pretty little +village and the charming rustic inn. His mind was out of tune with all +harmony and beauty. He was in the sort of condition when men will do mad +deeds not knowing in the least why they do them. Hetty's words had, as +he himself expressed it, "awakened the very devil in him." + +"She has owned it," he kept saying to himself. "Yes, I was right in my +conjecture--he wants her himself. Much he regards honor and behaving +straight to a woman. I'll show him a thing or two. Jove, if I meet him +to-night, he'll rue it." + +The great solemn plain of Salisbury lay not two miles off. Frere made +for its broad downs without knowing in the least that he was doing so. +By and by, he found himself on a vast open space, spreading sheer away +to the edge of the horizon. The moon, which had been bright when he had +started on his walk, was now about to set--it was casting long shadows +on the ground; his own shadow in gigantic dimensions walked by his side +as he neared the vicinity of the plain. He walked on and on; the further +he went the more fiercely did his blood boil within him. All his life +hitherto he had been calm, collected, reasonable. He had taken the +events of life with a certain rude philosophy. He had intended to do +well for himself--to carve out a prosperous career for himself, but +although he had subdued his passions both at college and at school, he +had never blinded his eyes to the fact that there lived within his +breast, ready to be awakened when the time came, a devil. Once, as a +child, he had given way to this mad fury. He had flung a knife at his +brother, wounding him in the temple, and almost killing him. The sight +of the blood and the fainting form of his only brother had awakened his +better self. He had lived through agony while his brother's life hung in +the balance. The lad eventually recovered, to die in a year or two of +something else, but Frere never forgot that time of mental torture. From +that hour until the present, he had kept his "devil," as he used to call +it, well in check. + +It was rampant to-night, however--he knew it, he took no pains to +conceal the fact from his own heart--he rather gloried in the knowledge. + +He walked on and on, across the plain. + +Presently in the dim distance he heard Everett calling him. + +"Frere, I say Frere, stop a moment, I'll come up to you." + +A man who had been collecting underwood, and was returning home with a +bagful, suddenly appeared in Frere's path. Hearing the voice of the man +shouting behind he stopped. + +"There be some-un calling yer," he said in his rude dialect. + +Frere stared at the man blindly. He looked behind him, saw Everett's +figure silhouetted against the sky, and then took wildly to his heels; +he ran as if something evil were pursuing him. + +At this moment the moon went completely down, and the whole of the vast +plain lay in dim gray shadow. Frere had not the least idea where he was +running. He and Everett had spent whole days on the plain revelling in +the solitude and the splendid air, but they had neither of them ever +visited it at night before. The whole place was strange, uncanny, +unfamiliar. Frere soon lost his bearings. He tumbled into a hole, +uttered an exclamation of pain, and raised himself with some difficulty. + +"Hullo!" said a voice, "you might have broken your leg. What are you +doing here?" + +Frere stood upright; a man slighter and taller than himself faced him +about three feet away. Frere could not recognize the face, but he knew +the tone. + +"What the devil have you come to meet me for?" he said. "You've come to +meet a madman. Turn back and go home, or it will be the worse for you." + +"I don't understand you," said Awdrey. + +Frere put a tremendous restraint upon himself. + +"Look here," he said, "I don't want to injure you, upon my soul I don't, +but there's a devil in me to-night, and you had better go home without +any more words." + +"I shall certainly do nothing of the kind," answered Awdrey. "The plain +is as open to me as to you. If you dislike me take your own path." + +"My path is right across where you are standing," said Frere. + +"Well, step aside and leave me alone!" + +It was so dark the men only appeared as shadows one to the other. Their +voices, each of them growing hot and passionate, seemed scarcely to +belong to themselves. Frere came a step nearer to Awdrey. + +"You shall have it," he cried. "By the heaven above, I don't want to +spare you. Let me tell you what I think of you." + +"Sir," said Awdrey, "I don't wish to have anything to do with you--leave +me, go about your business." + +"I will after I've told you a bit of my mind. You're a confounded +sneak--you're a liar--you're no gentleman. Shall I tell you why you +interfered between me and my girl to-night--because you want her for +yourself!" + +This sudden accusation so astounded Awdrey that he did not even reply. +He came to the conclusion that Frere was really mad. + +"You forget yourself," he said, after a long pause. "I excuse you, of +course, I don't even know what you are talking about!" + +"Yes, you do, you black-hearted scoundrel. You interfered between Hetty +Armitage and me because you want her yourself--she told me so much +to-night!" + +"She told you!--it's you who lie." + +"She told me--so much for your pretended virtue. Get out of the way, or +I'll strike you to the earth, you dog!" + +Frere's wild passion prevented Awdrey's rising. + +The accusation made against him was so preposterous that it did not even +rouse his anger. + +"I'm sorry for you," he said after a pause, "you labor under a complete +misapprehension. I wish to protect Hetty Armitage as I would any other +honest girl. Keep out of my path now, sir, I wish to continue my walk." + +"By Heaven, that you never shall." + +Frere uttered a wild, maniacal scream. The next instant he had closed +with Awdrey, and raising a heavy cane which he carried, aimed it full at +the young Squire's head. + +"I could kill you, you brute, you scoundrel, you low, base seducer," he +shouted. + +For a moment Awdrey was taken off his guard. But the next instant the +fierce blood of his race awoke within him. Frere was no mean +antagonist--he was a stouter, heavier, older man than Awdrey. He had +also the strength which madness confers. After a momentary struggle he +flung Awdrey to the ground. The two young men rolled over together. Then +with a quick and sudden movement Awdrey sprang to his feet. He had no +weapon to defend himself with but a slight stick which he carried. Frere +let him go for a moment to spring upon him again like a tiger. A sudden +memory came to Awdrey's aid--a memory which was to be the undoing of his +entire life. He had been told in his boyhood by an old prize-fighter who +taught him boxing, that the most effective way to use a stick in +defending himself from an enemy was to use it as a bayonet. + +"Prod your foe in the mouth," old Jim had said--"be he dog or man, prod +him in the mouth. Grasp your stick in both hands, and when he comes to +you, prod him in the mouth or neck." + +The words flashed distinctly now through Awdrey's brain. When Frere +raised his heavy stick to strike him he grasped his own slender weapon +and rushed forward. He aimed full at Frere's open mouth. The stick went +a few inches higher and entered the unfortunate man's right eye. He fell +with a sudden groan to the ground. + +In a moment Awdrey's passion was over. He bent over the prostrate man +and examined the wound which he had made. Frere lay perfectly quiet; +there was an awful silence about him. The dark shadows of the night +brooded heavily over the place. Awdrey did not for several moments +realize that something very like a murder had been committed. He bent +over the prostrate man--he took his limp hand in his, felt for a +pulse--there was none. With trembling fingers he tore open the coat and +pressed his hand to the heart--it was strangely still. He bent his ear +to listen--there was no sound. Awdrey was scarcely frightened yet. He +did not even now in the least realize what had happened. He felt in his +pocket for a flask of brandy which he sometimes carried about with him. +An oath escaped his lips when he found he had forgotten it. Then taking +up his stick he felt softly across the point. The point of the stick was +wet--wet with blood. He felt carefully along its edge. The blood +extended up a couple of inches. He knew then what had happened. The +stick had undoubtedly entered Frere's brain through the eye, causing +instant death. + +When the knowledge came to Awdrey he laughed. His laugh sounded queer, +but he did not notice its strangeness. He felt again in his +pocket--discovered a box of matches which he pulled out eagerly. He +struck a match, and by the weird, uncertain light which it cast looked +for an instant at the dead face of the man whose life he had taken. + +"I don't even know his name," thought Awdrey. "What in the world have I +killed him for? Yes, undoubtedly I've killed him. He is dead, poor +fellow, as a door-nail. What did I do it for?" + +He struck another match, and looked at the end of his stick. The stick +had a narrow steel ferrule at the point. Blood bespattered the end of +the stick. + +"I must bury this witness," said Awdrey to himself. + +He blew out the match, and began to move gropingly across the plain. His +step was uncertain. He stooped as he walked. Presently he came to a +great copse of underwood. Into the very thick of the underwood he thrust +his stick. + +Having done this, he resolved to go home. Queer noises were ringing in +his head. He felt as if devils were pursuing him. He was certain that if +he raised his eyes and looked in front of him, he must see the ghost of +the dead man. It was early in the night, not yet twelve o'clock. As he +entered the grounds of the Court, the stable clock struck twelve. + +"I suppose I shall get into a beastly mess about this," thought Awdrey. +"I never meant to kill that poor fellow. I ran at him in self-defence. +He'd have had my blood if I hadn't his. Shall I see my father about it +now? My father is a magistrate; he'll know what's best to be done." + +Awdrey walked up to the house. His gait was uncertain and shambling, so +little characteristic of him that if any one had met him in the dark he +would not have been recognized. He opened one of the side doors of the +great mansion with a latch key. The Awdreys were early people--an +orderly household who went to roost in good time--the lamps were out in +the house--only here and there was a dim illumination suited to the +hours of darkness. Awdrey did not meet a soul as he went up some stairs, +and down one or two corridors to his own cheerful bedroom. He paused as +he turned the handle of his door. + +"My father is in bed. There's no use in troubling him about this horrid +matter before the morning," he said to himself. + +Then he opened the door of his room, and went in. + +To his surprise he saw on the threshold, just inside the door, a little +note. He picked it up and opened it. + +It was from his sister Ann. It ran as follows: + + "DEAREST BOB.--I have seen the Cuthberts, and they can join us + on the plain to-morrow for a picnic. As you have gone early to + bed, I thought I'd let you know in case you choose to get up at + cockcrow, and perhaps leave us for the day. Don't forget that + we start at two o'clock, and that Margaret will be there. Your + loving sister, ANN." + +Awdrey found himself reading the note with interest. The excited beating +of his heart cooled down. He sank into a chair, took off his cap, wiped +the perspiration from his brow. + +"I wouldn't miss Margaret for the world," he said to himself. + +A look of pleasure filled his dark gray eyes. A moment or two later he +was in bed, and sound asleep. He awoke at his usual hour in the morning. +He rose and dressed calmly. He had forgotten all about the murder--the +doom of his house had fallen upon him. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +"I wish you would tell me about him, Mr. Awdrey," said Margaret Douglas. + +She was a handsome girl, tall and slightly made--her eyes were black as +night, her hair had a raven hue, her complexion was a pure olive. She +was standing a little apart from a laughing, chattering group of boys +and girls, young men and young ladies, with a respectable sprinkling of +fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts. Awdrey stood a foot or two away +from her--his face was pale, he looked subdued and gentle. + +"What can I tell you?" he asked. + +"You said you met him last night, poor fellow. The whole thing seems so +horrible, and to think of it happening on this very plain, just where we +are having our picnic. If I had known it, I would not have come." + +"The murder took place several miles from here," said Awdrey. "Quite +close to the Court, in fact. I've been over the ground this morning with +my father and one of the keepers. The body was removed before we came." + +"Didn't it shock you very much?" + +"Yes; I am sorry for that unfortunate Everett." + +"Who is he? I have not heard of him." + +"He is the man whom they think must have done it. There is certainly +very grave circumstantial evidence against him. He and Frere were heard +quarrelling last night, and Armitage can prove that Everett did not +return home until about two in the morning. When he went out he said he +was going to follow Frere, who had gone away in a very excited state of +mind. + +"What about, I wonder?" + +"The usual thing," said Awdrey, giving Margaret a quick look, under +which she lowered her eyes and faintly blushed. + +"Tell me," she said, almost in a whisper. "I am interested--it is such a +tragedy." + +"It is; it is awful. Sit down here, won't you, or shall we walk on a +little way? We shall soon get into shelter if we go down this valley and +get under those trees yonder." + +"Come then," said Margaret. + +She went first, her companion followed her. He looked at her many times +as she walked on in front of him. Her figure was full of supple and easy +grace, her young steps seemed to speak the very essence of youth and +springtime. She appeared scarcely to touch the ground as she walked over +it; once she turned, and the full light of her dark eyes made Awdrey's +heart leap. Presently she reached the shadow caused by a copse of young +trees, and stood still until the Squire came up to her. + +"Here's a throne for you, Miss Douglas. Do you see where this tree +extends two friendly arms? Do you observe a seat inlaid with moss? Take +your throne." + +She did so immediately and looked up at him with a smile. + +"The throne suits you," he said. + +She looked down--her lips faintly trembled--then she raised her eyes. + +"Why are you so pale?" he asked anxiously. + +"I can't quite tell you," she replied, "except that notwithstanding the +beauty of the day, and the summer feeling which pervades the air, I +can't get rid of a sort of fear. It may be superstitious of me, but I +think it is unlucky to have a picnic on the very plain where a murder +was committed." + +"You forget over what a wide extent the plain extends," said Awdrey; +"but if I had known"--he stopped and bit his lips. + +"Never mind," she answered, endeavoring to smile and look cheerful, "any +sort of tragedy always affects me to a remarkable degree. I can't help +it--I'm afraid there is something in me akin to trouble, but of course +it would be folly for us to stay indoors just because that poor young +fellow came to a violent end some miles away." + +"Yes, it is quite some miles from here--I am truly sorry for him." + +"Sit down here, Mr. Awdrey, here at my feet if you like, and tell me +about it." + +"I will sit at your feet with all the pleasure in the world, but why +should we talk any more on this gruesome subject?" + +"That's just it," said Margaret, "if I am to get rid of it, I must know +all about it. You said you met him last night?" + +"I did," said Awdrey, speaking with unwillingness. + +"And you guess why he came by his end?" + +"Partly, but not wholly." + +"Well, do tell me." + +"I will--I'll put it in as few words as possible. You know that little +witch Hetty, the pretty niece of the innkeeper Armitage?" + +"Hetty Armitage--of course I know her. I tried to get her into my Sunday +class, but she wouldn't come." + +"She's a silly little creature," said Awdrey. + +"She is a very beautiful little creature," corrected Miss Douglas. + +"Yes, I am afraid her beauty was too much for this unfortunate Frere's +sanity. I came across him last night, or rather they passed me by in the +underwood, enacting a love scene. The fact is, he was kissing her. I +thought he was taking a liberty and interfered. He told me he intended +to marry her--but Hetty denied it. I saw her back to the Inn--she was +very silent and depressed. Another man, a handsome fellow, was standing +in the porch. It just occurred to me at the time, that perhaps he also +was a suitor for her hand, and might be the favored one. She went +indoors. On my way home I met Frere again. He tried to pick a quarrel +with me, which of course I nipped in the bud. He referred to his firm +intention of marrying Hetty Armitage, and when I told him that she had +denied the engagement, he said he would go back at once and speak to +her. I then returned to the Court. + +"The first thing I heard this morning was the news of the murder. My +father as magistrate was of course made acquainted with the fact at a +very early hour. Poor Everett has been arrested on suspicion, and +there's to be a coroner's inquest to-morrow. That is the entire story as +far as I know anything about it. Your face is whiter than ever, Miss +Douglas. Now keep your word--forget it, since you have heard all the +facts of the case." + +She looked down again. Presently she raised her eyes, brimful of tears, +to his face. + +"I cannot forget it," she said. "That poor young fellow--such a +fearfully sudden end, and that other poor fellow; surely if he did take +away a life it must have been in a moment of terrible madness?" + +"That is true," said Awdrey. + +"They cannot possibly convict him of murder, can they?" + +"My father thinks that the verdict will be manslaughter, or, at the +worst, murder under strong provocation; but it is impossible to tell." + +Awdrey looked again anxiously at his companion. Her pallor and distress +aroused emotion in his breast which he found almost impossible to quiet. + +"I'm sorry to my heart that you know about this," he said. "You are not +fit to stand any of the roughness of life." + +"What folly!" she answered, with passion. "What am I that I should +accept the smooth and reject the rough? I tell you what I would like to +do. I'd like to go this very moment to see that poor Mr. Everett, in +order to tell him how deeply sorry I am for him. To ask him to tell me +the story from first to last, from his point of view. To clear him from +this awful stain. And I'd like to lay flowers over the breast of that +dead boy. Oh, I can't bear it. Why is the world so full of trouble and +pain?" + +She burst into sudden tears. + +"Don't, don't! Oh! Margaret, you're an angel. You're too good for this +earth," said Awdrey. + +"Nonsense," she answered; "let me have my cry out; I'll be all right in +a minute." + +Her brief tears were quickly over. She dashed them aside and rose to her +feet. + +"I hear the children shouting to me," she said. "I'm in no humor to meet +them. Where shall we go?" + +"This way," said Awdrey quickly; "no one knows the way through this +copse but me." + +He gave her his hand, pushed aside the trees, and they soon found +themselves in a dim little world of soft green twilight. There was a +narrow path on which they could not walk abreast. Awdrey now took the +lead, Margaret following him. After walking for half a mile the wood +grew thinner, and they found themselves far away from their companions, +and on a part of the plain which was quite new ground to Margaret. + +"How lovely and enchanting it is here," she said, giving a low laugh of +pleasure. + +"I am glad you like it," said Awdrey. "I discovered that path to these +heights only a week ago. I never told a soul about it. For all you can +tell your feet may now be treading on virgin ground." + +As Awdrey spoke he panted slightly, and put his hand to his brow. + +"Is anything the matter with you?" asked Margaret. + +"Nothing; I was never better in my life." + +"You don't look well; you're changed." + +"Don't say that," he answered, a faint ring of anxiety in his voice. + +She gazed at him earnestly. + +"You are," she repeated. "I don't quite recognize the expression in your +eyes." + +"Oh, I'm all right," he replied, "only----" + +"Only what? Do tell me." + +"I don't want to revert to that terrible tragedy again," he said, after +a pause. "There is something, however, in connection with it which +surprises myself." + +"What is that?" + +"I don't seem to feel the horror of it. I feel everything else; your +sorrow, for instance--the beauty of the day--the gladness and fulness of +life, but I don't feel any special pang about that poor dead fellow. +It's queer, is it not?" + +"No," said Margaret tenderly. "I know--I quite understand your +sensation. You don't feel it simply because you feel it too much--you +are slightly stunned." + +"Yes, you're right--we'll not talk about it any more. Let us stay here +for a little while." + +"Tell me over again the preparations for your coming of age." + +Margaret seated herself on the grass as she spoke. Her white dress--her +slim young figure--a sort of spiritual light in her dark eyes, gave her +at that moment an unearthly radiance in the eyes of the man who loved +her. All of a sudden, with an impulse he could not withstand, he +resolved to put his fortunes to the test. + +"Forgive me," he said, emotion trembling in his voice--"I can only speak +of one thing at this moment." + +He dropped lightly on one knee beside her. She did not ask him what it +was. She looked down. + +"You know perfectly well what I am going to say," he continued; "you +know what I want most when I come of age--I want my wife--I want you. +Margaret, you must have guessed my secret long ago?" + +She did not answer him for nearly a minute--then she softly and timidly +stretched out one of her hands--he grasped it in his. + +"You have guessed--you do know--you're not astonished nor shocked at my +words?" + +"Your secret was mine, too," she answered in a whisper. + +"You will marry me, Margaret--you'll make me the happiest of men?" + +"I will be your wife if you wish it, Robert," she replied. + +She stood up as she spoke. She was tall, but he was a little taller--he +put his arms round her, drew her close to him, and kissed her +passionately. + +Half-an-hour afterward they left the woods side by side. + +"Don't tell anybody to-day," said Margaret. + +"Why not? I don't feel as if I could keep it to myself even for an hour +longer." + +"Still, humor me, Robert; remember I am superstitious." + +"What about?" + +"I am ashamed to confess it--I would rather that our engagement was not +known until the day of the murder has gone by." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Margaret Douglas lived with her cousins, the Cuthberts. Sir John +Cuthbert was the Squire of a parish at a little distance from +Grandcourt. He was a wealthy man and was much thought of in his +neighborhood. Margaret was the daughter of a sister who had died many +years ago--she was poor, but this fact did not prevent the county +assigning her a long time ago to Robert Awdrey as his future wife. The +attachment between the pair had been the growth of years. They had spent +their holidays together, and had grown up to a great extent in each +other's company--it had never entered into the thoughts of either to +love any one else. Awdrey, true to his promise to Margaret, said nothing +about his engagement, but the secret was after all an open one. When the +young couple appeared again among the rest of Sir John Cuthbert's +guests, they encountered more than one significant glance, and Lady +Cuthbert even went to the length of kissing Margaret with much fervor in +Awdrey's presence. + +"You must come back with us to Cuthbertstown to supper," she said to the +young Squire. + +"Yes, come, Robert," said Margaret, with a smile. + +He found it impossible to resist the invitation in her eyes. It was +late, therefore, night, in fact, when he started to walk back to +Grandcourt. He felt intensely happy as he walked. He had much reason for +this happiness--had he not just won the greatest desire of his life? +There was nothing to prevent the wedding taking place almost +immediately. As he strode quickly over the beautiful summer landscape he +was already planning the golden future which lay before him. He would +live in London, he would cultivate the considerable abilities which he +undoubtedly possessed. He would lead an active, energetic, and worthy +life. Margaret already shared all his ambitions. She would encourage him +to be a man in every sense of the word. How lucky he was--how kind fate +was to him! Why were the things of life so unevenly divided? Why was one +man lifted to a giddy pinnacle of joy and another hurled into an abyss +of despair? How happy he was that evening--whereas Everett--he paused in +his quick walk as the thought of Everett flashed before his mind's eye. +He didn't know the unfortunate man who was now awaiting the coroner's +inquest, charged with the terrible crime of murder, but he had seen him +twenty-four hours ago. Everett had looked jolly and good-tempered, +handsome and strong, as he stood in the porch of the pretty little inn, +and smoked his pipe and looked at Hetty when Awdrey brought her home. +Now a terrible and black doom was overshadowing him. Awdrey could not +help feeling deeply interested in the unfortunate man. He was young like +himself. Perhaps he, too, had dreamed dreams, and been full of ambition, +and perhaps he loved a girl, and thought of making her his wife. Perhaps +Hetty was the girl--if so--Awdrey stamped his foot with impatience. + +"What mischief some women do," he muttered; "what a difference there is +between one woman and another. Who would suppose that Margaret Douglas +and Hetty Armitage belonged to the same race? Poor Frere, how madly in +love he was with that handsome little creature! How little she cared for +the passion which she had evoked. I hope she won't come in my path; I +should like to give her a piece of my mind." + +This thought had scarcely rushed through Awdrey's brain before he was +attracted by a sound in the hedge close by, and Hetty herself stood +before him. + +"I thought you would come back this way, Mr. Robert," she said. "I've +waited here by the hedge for a long time on purpose to see you." + +The Squire choked down a sound of indignation--the hot color rushed to +his cheeks--it was with difficulty he could keep back his angry words. +One glance, however, at Hetty's face caused his anger to fade. The +lovely little face was so completely changed that he found some +difficulty in recognizing it. Hetty's pretty figure had always been the +perfection of trim neatness. No London belle could wear her expensive +dresses more neatly nor more becomingly. Her simple print frocks fitted +her rounded figure like a glove. The roses on her cheeks spoke the +perfection of perfect health; her clear dark eyes were wont to be as +open and untroubled as a child's. Her wealth of coal-black hair was +always neatly coiled round her shapely head. Now, all was changed, the +pretty eyes were scarcely visible between their swollen lids--the face +was ghastly pale in parts--blotched with ugly red marks in others; there +were great black shadows under the eyes, the lips were parched and dry, +they drooped wearily as if in utter despair. The hair was untidy, and +one great coil had altogether escaped its bondage, and hung recklessly +over the girl's neck and bosom. Her cotton dress was rumpled and +stained, and the belt with which she had hastily fastened it together, +was kept in its place by a large pin. + +Being a man, Awdrey did not notice all these details, but the _tout +ensemble_, the abject depression of intense grief, struck him with a +sudden pang. + +"After all, the little thing loved that poor fellow," he said to +himself; "she was a little fool to trifle with him, but the fact that +she loved him alters the complexion of affairs." + +"What can I do for you?" he said, speaking in a gentle and compassionate +voice. + +"I have waited to tell you something for nearly two hours, Mr. Robert." + +"Why did you do it? If you wanted to say anything to me, you could have +come to the Court, or I'd have called at the Inn. What is it you want to +say?" + +"I could not come to the Court, sir, and I could not send you a message, +because no one must know that we have met. I came out here unknown to +any one; I saw you go home from Cuthbertstown with Miss Douglas." Here +Hetty choked down a sob. "I waited by the hedge, for I knew you must +pass back this way. I wished to say, Mr. Robert, to tell you, sir, that +whatever happens, however matters turn out, I'll be true to you. No one +shall get a word out of me. They say it's awful to be cross-examined, +but I'll be true. I thought I'd let you know, Mr. Awdrey. To my dying +day I'll never let out a word--you need have no fear." + +"I need have no fear," said Awdrey, in absolute astonishment. "What in +the world do you mean? What are you talking about?" + +Hetty looked full up into the Squire's face. The unconscious and +unembarrassed gaze with which he returned her look evidently took her +breath away. + +"I made a mistake," she said in a whisper. "I see that I made a mistake. +I'd rather not say what I came to say." + +"But you must say it, Hetty; you have something more to tell me, or you +wouldn't have taken all this trouble to wait by the roadside on the +chance of my passing. What is it? Out with it now, like a good girl." + +"May I walk along a little bit with you, Mr. Robert?" + +"You may as far as the next corner. There our roads part, and you must +go home." + +Hetty shivered. She gave the Squire another furtive and undecided +glance. + +"Shall I tell him?" she whispered to herself. + +Awdrey glanced at her, and spoke impatiently. + +"Come, Hetty; remember I'm waiting to hear your story. Out with it now, +be quick about it." + +"I was out last night, sir." + +"You were out--when? Not after I saw you home?" + +"Yes, sir." Hetty choked again. "It was after ten o'clock." + +"You did very wrong. Were you out alone?" + +"Yes, sir. I--I followed Mr. Frere on to the Plain." + +"You did?" said Awdrey. "Is that fact known? Did you see anything?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then why in the name of Heaven didn't you come up to the Court this +morning and tell my father. Your testimony may be most important. Think +of the position of that poor unfortunate young Everett." + +"No, sir, I don't think of it." + +"What do you mean, girl?" + +"Let me tell you my story, Mr. Awdrey. If it is nothing to you--it is +nothing. You will soon know if it is nothing or not. I had a quarrel +with Mr. Frere last night. Nobody was by; Mr. Frere came into Aunt's +parlor and he spoke to me very angrily, and I--I told him something +which made him wild." + +"What was that?" + +Hetty gave a shy glance up at the young Squire; his face looked hard, +his lips were firmly set. He and she were walking on the same road, but +he kept as far from her side as possible. + +"I will not tell him--at least I will not tell him yet," she said to +herself. + +"I think I won't say, sir," she replied. "What we talked about was Mr. +Frere's business and mine. He asked me if I loved another man better +than him, and I--I said that I did, sir." + +"I thought as much," reflected Awdrey; "Everett is the favored one. If +this fact is known it will go against the poor fellow." + +"Well, Hetty," he interrupted, "it's my duty to tell you that you +behaved very badly, and are in a great measure responsible for the awful +tragedy that has occurred. There, poor child, don't cry. Heaven knows, I +don't wish to add to your trouble; but see, we have reached the +cross-roads where we are to part, and you have not yet told me what you +saw when you went out." + +"I crept out of my bedroom window," said Hetty. "Aunt and uncle had gone +to bed. I can easily get out of the window, it opens right on the +cow-house, and from there I can swing myself into the laburnum-tree, and +so reach the ground. I got out, and followed Mr. Frere. Presently I saw +that Mr. Everett was also out, and was following him. I knew every yard +of the Plain well, far better than Mr. Everett did. I went to it by a +short cut round by Sweetbriar Lane--you know the part there--not far +from the Court. I had no sooner got on the Plain than I saw Mr. +Frere--he was running--I thought he was running to meet me--he came +forward by leaps and bounds very fast--suddenly he stumbled and fell. I +wanted to call him, but my voice, sir, it wouldn't rise, it seemed to +catch in my throat. I couldn't manage to say his name. All of a sudden +the moon went down, and the plain was all gray with black shadows. I +felt frightened--awfully. I was determined to get to Mr. Frere. I +stumbled on--presently I fell over the trunk of a tree. My fall stunned +me a bit--when I rose again there were two men on the Plain. They were +standing facing each other. Oh, Mr. Awdrey, I don't think I'll say any +more." + +"Not say any more? You certainly must, girl," cried Awdrey, his face +blazing with excitement. "You saw two men facing each other--Frere and +Everett, no doubt." + +Hetty was silent. After a moment, during which her heart beat loudly, +she continued to speak in a very low voice. + +"It was so dark that the men looked like shadows. Presently I heard them +talking--they were quarrelling. All of a sudden they sprang together +like--like tigers, and they--fought. I heard the sound of blows--one of +them fell, the taller one--he got on to his feet in a minute: they +fought a second time, then one gave a cry, a very sharp, sudden cry, and +there was the sound of a body falling with a thud on the +ground--afterward, silence--not a sound. I crept behind the furze bush. +I was quite stunned. After a long time--at least it seemed a long time +to me--one of the men went away, and the other man lay on his back with +his face turned up to the sky. The man who had killed him turned in the +direction of----" + +"In what direction?" asked Awdrey. + +"In the direction of----" Hetty looked full up at the Squire; the +Squire's eyes met hers. "The town, sir." + +"Oh, the town," said Awdrey, giving vent to a short laugh. "From the way +you looked at me, I thought you were going to say The Court." + +"Sir, Mr. Robert, do you think it was Mr. Everett?" + +"Who else could it have been?" replied Awdrey. + +"Very well, sir, I'll hold to that. Who else could it have been? I +thought I'd tell you, Mr. Awdrey. I thought you'd like to know that I'd +hold to that. When the steps of the murderer died away, I stole back to +Mr. Frere, and I tried to bring him back to life, but he was as dead as +a stone. I left him and I went home. I got back to my room about four in +the morning. Not a soul knew I was out; no one knows it now but you, +sir. I thought I'd come and tell you, Mr. Robert, that I'd hold to the +story that it was Mr. Everett who committed the murder. Good-night, +sir." + +"Good-night, Hetty. You'll have to tell my father what you have told me, +in the morning." + +"Very well, sir, if you wish it." + +Hetty turned and walked slowly back toward the village, and Awdrey stood +where the four roads met and watched her. For a moment or two he was +lost in anxious thought--then he turned quickly and walked home. He +entered the house by the same side entrance by which he had come in on +the previous night. He walked down a long passage, crossed the wide +front hall, and entered the drawing-room where his sister Ann was +seated. + +"Is that you, Bob?" she said, jumping up when she saw him. "I'm so glad +to have you all to myself. Of course, you were too busy with Margaret to +take any notice of us all day, but I've been dying to hear your account +of that awful tragedy. Sit here like a dear old fellow and tell me the +story." + +"Talk of women and their tender hearts," said Awdrey, with irritation. + +Then the memory of Margaret came over him and his face softened. +Margaret, whose heart was quite the tenderest thing in all the world, +had also wished to hear of the tragedy. + +"To tell the truth, Ann," he said, sinking into a chair by his sister's +side, "you can scarcely ask me to discuss a more uncongenial theme. Of +course, the whole thing will be thoroughly investigated, and the local +papers will be filled with nothing else for weeks to come. Won't that +content you? Must I, too, go into this painful subject?" + +Ann was a very good-natured girl. + +"Certainly not, dear Bob, if it worries you," she replied; "but just +answer me one question. Is it true that you met the unfortunate man last +night?" + +"Quite true. I did. We had a sort of quarrel." + +"Good gracious! Why, Robert, if you had been out late last night they +might have suspected you of the murder." + +Awdrey's face reddened. + +"As it happens, I went to bed remarkably early," he said; "at least, +such is my recollection." As he spoke he looked at his sister with +knitted brows. + +"Why, of course, don't you remember, you said you were dead beat. +Dorothy and I wanted you to sing with us, but you declared you were as +hoarse as a raven, and went off to your bedroom immediately after +supper. For my part, I was so afraid of disturbing you that I wouldn't +even knock when I pushed that little note about Margaret under the +door." + +Ann gave her brother a roguish glance when she mentioned Margaret's +name. He did not notice it. He was thinking deeply. + +"I am tired to-night, too," he said. "I have an extraordinary feeling in +the back of my head, as if it were numbed. I believe I want more sleep. +This horrid affair has upset me. Well, goodnight, Ann, I'm off to bed at +once." + +"But supper is ready." + +"I had something at Cuthbertstown; I don't want anything more. +Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +Hetty dragged herself wearily home--she had waited to see the young +Squire in a state of intense and rapt excitement. He had received her +news with marvellous indifference. The excitement he had shown was the +ordinary excitement which an outsider might feel when he received +startling and unlooked for tidings. There was not a scrap of personal +emotion in his manner. Was it possible that he had forgotten all about +the murder which he himself had committed? Hetty was not a native of +Grandcourt without knowing something of the tragedy which hung over the +Court. Was it possible that the doom of the house had really overtaken +Robert Awdrey? Hetty with her own eyes had seen him kill Horace Frere. +Her own eyes could surely not deceive her. She rubbed them now in her +bewilderment. Yes, she had seen the murder committed. Without any doubt +Awdrey was the man who had struggled with Frere. Frere had thrown him to +the ground; he had risen quickly again. Once more the two men had rushed +at each other like tigers eager for blood--there had been a scuffle--a +fierce, awful wrestle. A wrestle which had been followed by a sudden +leap forward on the part of the young Squire--he had used his stick as +men use bayonets in battle--there had come a groan from Frere's lips--he +had staggered--his body had fallen to the ground with a heavy thud--then +had followed an awful silence. Yes, Hetty had seen the whole thing. She +had watched the terrible transaction from beginning to end. After he had +thrown his man to the ground the Squire had struck a match, and had +looked hard into the face of the dead. Hetty had seen the lurid light +flash up for an instant on the Squire's face--it had looked haggard and +gray--like the face of an old man. She had watched him as he examined +the slender stick with which he had killed his foe. She observed him +then creep across the Plain to a copse of young alders. She had seen him +push the stick out of sight into the middle of the alders--she had then +watched him as he went quickly home. Yes, Robert Awdrey was the guilty +man--Frank Everett was innocent, as innocent as a babe. All day long +Hetty's head had been in a mad whirl. She had kept her terrible +knowledge to herself. Knowing that a word from her could save him, she +had allowed Everett to be arrested. She had watched him from behind her +window when the police came to the house for the purpose, she had seen +Everett go away in the company of two policemen. He was a square-built +young fellow with broad shoulders--he had held himself sturdily as an +Englishman should, when he walked off, an innocent man, to meet an awful +doom. Hetty, as she watched, crushed down the cry in her heart--it had +clamored to save this man. There was a louder cry there--a fiercer +instinct. The Squire belonged to her own people--she was like a subject, +and he was her king--to the people of Grandcourt the king could do +nothing wrong. They were old-fashioned in the little village, and had +somewhat the feeling of serfs to their feudal lord. Hetty shared the +tradition of her race. But over and above these minor matters, the +unhappy girl loved Robert Awdrey with a fierce passion. She would rather +die herself than see him die. When she saw Everett arrested, she watched +the whole proceeding in dull amazement. She wondered why the Squire had +not acted a man's part. Why did he not deliver himself up to the course +of justice? He had killed Frere in a moment of mad passion. Hetty's +heart throbbed. Could that passion have been evoked on her account? Of +course, he would own to his sin. He had not done so; on the contrary, he +had gone to a picnic. He had been seen walking about with the young lady +whom he loved. Did Robert Awdrey really love Margaret Douglas? + +"If that is the case, why should not I give him up?" thought Hetty. "He +cares nothing for me. I am less than the thistle under his feet. Why +should I save him? Why should Mr. Everett die because of him? The Squire +cares nothing for me. Why should I sin on his account?" + +These thoughts, when they came to her, were quickly hurled aside by +others. + +"I'd die twenty times over rather than he should suffer," thought the +girl. "He shan't die, he's my king, and I'm his subject. It does not +matter whether he loves me or not, he shan't die. Yes, he loves that +beautiful Miss Douglas--she belongs to his set, and she'll be his wife. +Perhaps she thinks that she loves him. Oh, oh!" + +Hetty laughed wildly to herself. + +"After all, she doesn't know what real love is. She little guesses what +I feel; she little guesses that I hold his life in my hands. O God, keep +me from going mad!" + +It was dark when Hetty re-entered the Inn. The taproom was the scene of +noisy excitement. It was crowded with eager and interested villagers. +The murder was the one and only topic of conversation. Armitage was busy +attending to his numerous guests, and Mrs. Armitage kept going backward +and forward between the taproom and the little kitchen at the back. + +When she saw Hetty she called out to her in a sharp tone. + +"Where have you been, girl?" she cried. "Now just look here, your uncle +won't have you stealing out in this fashion any more. You are to stay at +home when it is dark. Why, it's all over the place, it's in every one's +mouth, that you have been the cause of the murder. You encouraged that +poor Mr. Frere with your idle, flighty, silly ways and looks, and then +you played fast and loose with him. Don't you know that this is just the +thing that will ruin us? Yes, you'll be the ruin of us Hetty, and times +so bad, too. When are we likely to have parlor lodgers again?" + +"Oh, Aunt, I wish you wouldn't scold me," answered Hetty. She sank down +on the nearest chair, pushed her hat from her brow, and pressed her hand +to it. + +"Sakes, child!" exclaimed her aunt, "you do look white and bad to be +sure." + +Mrs. Armitage stood in front of her niece, and eyed her with a critical +gaze. + +"It's my belief, after all, that you really cared for the poor young +man," she said. "For all your silly, flighty ways you gave him what +little heart you possess. If he meant honest by you, you couldn't have +done better--they say he had lots of money, and not a soul to think of +but himself. I don't know how your uncle is to provide for you. But +there, you've learned your lesson, and I hope you'll never forget it." + +"Aunt Fanny, may I go upstairs to my room?" + +"Hoity toity! nothing of the kind. You've got to work for your living +like the rest of us. Put on your apron and help me to wash up the +dishes." + +Hetty rose wearily from her chair. The body of the murdered man lay out +straight and still in the little front parlor. Many people had been in +and out during the afternoon; many people had gazed solemnly at the +white face. The doctor had examined the wound in the eye. The coroner +had come to view the dead. All was in readiness for the inquest, which +was to take place at an early hour on the following day. No one as yet +had wept a single tear over the dead man. Mrs. Armitage came to Hetty +now and asked her to go and fetch something out of the parlor. A paper +which had been left on the mantelpiece was wanted by Armitage in a +hurry. + +"Go, child, be quick!" said the aunt. "You'll find the paper by that +vase of flowers on the mantelpiece." + +Hetty obeyed, never thinking of what she was to see. There was no +artificial light in the room. On the centre-table, in a rude coffin +which had been hastily prepared, lay the body. It was covered by a white +sheet. The moon poured in a ghastly light through the window. The form +of the dead man was outlined distinctly under the sheet. Hetty almost +ran up against it when she entered the room. Her nerves were overstrung; +she was not prepared for the sight which met her startled eyes; uttering +a piercing shriek, she rushed from the room into her Aunt Fanny's arms. + +"Now, whatever is the matter?" said the elder woman. + +"You shouldn't have sent me in there," panted Hetty. "You should have +told me that it was there." + +"Well, well, I thought you knew. What a silly little good-for-nothing +you are! Stay quiet and I'll run and fetch the paper. Dear, dear, I'm +glad you are not my niece; it's Armitage you belong to." + +Mrs. Armitage entered the parlor, fetched the required paper, and shut +the door behind her. As she walked down the passage Hetty started +quickly forward and caught her arm. + +"If I don't tell somebody at once I'll go mad," she said. "Aunt Fanny, I +must speak to you at once. I can't keep it to myself another minute." + +"Good gracious me! whatever is to be done, Hetty? How am I to find time +to listen to your silly nonsense just now? There's your uncle nearly +wild with all the work being left on his hands." + +"It isn't silly nonsense, Aunt Fanny. I've got to say something. I know +something. I must tell it to you. I must tell it to you at once." + +"Why, girl," said Mrs. Armitage, staring hard at her niece, "you are not +making a fool of me, are you?" + +"No. I'll go up to my room. Come to me as soon as ever you can. Tell +Uncle that you are tired and must go to bed at once. Tell any lie, make +any excuse, only come to me quickly. I'm in such a state that if you +don't come I'll have to go right into the taproom and tell every one +what I know. Oh, Aunt Fanny! have mercy on me and come quickly." + +"You do seem in a way, Hetty," replied the aunt. "For goodness sake do +keep yourself calm. There, run upstairs and I'll be with you in a minute +or two." + +Mrs. Armitage went into the taproom to her husband. + +"Look here, John," she sad, "I've got a splitting headache, and Hetty is +fairly knocked up. Can't you manage to do without us for the rest of the +evening?" + +"Of course, wife, if you're really bad," replied Armitage. "There's work +here for three pairs of hands," he added, "but that can't be helped, if +you are really bad." + +"Yes, I am, and as to that child, she is fairly done." + +"I'm not surprised. I wonder she's alive when she knows the whole thing +is owing to her. Little hussy, I'd like to box her ears, that I would." + +"So would I for that matter," replied the wife, "but she's in an awful +state, poor child, and if I don't get her to bed, she'll be ill, and +there will be more money out of pocket." + +"Don't waste your strength sitting up with her, wife, she ain't worth +it," Armitage called out, as his wife left the room. + +A moment later, Mrs. Armitage crept softly upstairs. She entered Hetty's +little chamber, which was also flooded with moonlight. It was a tiny +room, with a sloping roof. Its little lattice window was wide open. +Hetty was kneeling by the window looking out into the night. The moment +she saw her aunt she rose to her feet, and ran to meet her. + +"Lock the door, Aunt Fanny," she said, in a hoarse whisper. + +"Oh, child, whatever has come to you?" + +"Lock the door, Aunt Fanny, or let me do it." + +"There, I'll humor you. Here's the key. I'll put it into my pocket. Why +don't you have a light, Hetty?" + +"I don't want it--the moon makes light enough for me. I have something +to say to you. If I don't tell it, I shall go mad. You must share it +with me, Aunt Fanny. You and I must both know it, and we must keep it to +ourselves forever and ever and ever." + +"Lor, child! what are you talking about?" + +"I'll soon tell you. Let me kneel close to you. Hold my hand. I never +felt so frightened in all my life before." + +"Out with it, Hetty, whatever it is." + +"Aunt, before I say a word, you've got to make me a promise." + +"What's that?" + +"You won't tell a soul what I am going to say to you." + +"I hate making promises of that sort, Hetty." + +"Never mind whether you hate it or not. Promise or I shall go mad." + +"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, "why should a poor woman be +bothered in this way, and you neither kith nor kin to me. Don't you +forget that it's Armitage you belong to. You've no blood of mine, thank +goodness, in your veins." + +"What does that matter. You're a woman, and I'm another. I'm just in the +most awful position a girl could be in. But whatever happens, I'll be +true to him. Yes, Aunt Fanny, I'll be true to him. I'm nothing to him, +no more than if I were a weed, but I love him madly, deeply, +desperately. He is all the world to me. He is my master, and I am his +slave. Of course I'm nothing to him, but he's everything to me, and he +shan't die. Aunt Fanny, you and I have got to be true to him. We must +share the thing together, for I can't keep the secret by myself. You +must share it with me, Aunt Fanny." + +Up to this point, Mrs. Armitage had regarded Hetty's words as merely +those of a hysterical and over-wrought girl. Now, however, she began to +perceive method in her madness. + +"Look here, child," she said, "if you've got anything to say, say it, +and have done with it. I'm not blessed with over much patience, and I +can't stand beating round the bush. If you have a secret, out with it, +you silly thing. Oh, yes, of course I won't betray you. I expect it's +just this, you've gone and done something you oughtn't to. Oh, what have +I done to be blessed with a niece-in-law like you? + +"It's nothing of that sort, Aunt Fanny. It is this--I don't mind telling +you now, now that you have promised not to betray me. Aunt Fanny, I was +out last night--I saw the murder committed." + +Mrs. Armitage suppressed a sharp scream. + +"Heaven preserve us!" she said, in a choking voice. "Were you not in +bed, you wicked girl?" + +"No, I was out. I had quarrelled with Mr. Frere in the parlor, and I +thought I'd follow him and make it up. I went straight on to the +Plain--I saw him running. I hid behind a furze bush and I saw the +quarrel, and I heard the words--I saw the awful struggle, and I heard +the blows. I heard the fall, too--and I saw the man who had killed Mr. +Frere run away." + +"I wonder you never told all this to-day, Hetty Armitage. Well, I'm +sorry for that poor Mr. Everett. Oh, dear, what will not our passions +lead us to; to think that two young gentlemen should come to this +respectable house, and that it should be the case of Cain and Abel over +again--one rising up and slaying the other." + +Hetty, who had been kneeling all this time, now rose. Her face was +ghastly--her words came out in strange pauses. + +"It wasn't Mr. Everett," she said. + +"Good Heavens! Hetty," exclaimed her aunt, springing also to her feet, +and catching the girl's two hands within her own--"It wasn't Mr. +Everett!--what in the world do you mean?" + +"What I say, Aunt Fanny--the man who killed Mr. Frere was Mr. Awdrey. +Our Mr. Awdrey, Aunt Fanny, and I could die for him--and no one must +ever know--and I saw him this evening, and--and he has forgotten all +about it. He doesn't know a bit about it--not a bit. Oh, Aunt Fanny, I +shall go quite mad, if you don't promise to help me to keep my secret." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +"Sit down, Hetty, and keep yourself quiet," said Mrs. Armitage. + +Her manner had completely changed. A stealthy, fearful look crept into +her face. She went on tiptoe to the door to assure herself over again +that it was locked. She then approached the window, shut it, fastened +it, and drew a heavy moreen curtain across it. + +"When one has secrets," she said, "it is best to be certain there are no +eavesdroppers anywhere." + +She then lit a candle and placed it on the centre of the little table. + +Having done this, she seated herself--she didn't care to look at Hetty. +She felt as if in a sort of way she had committed the murder herself. +The knowledge of the truth impressed her so deeply that she did not care +to encounter any eyes for a few minutes. + +"Aunt Fanny, why don't you speak to me?" asked the girl at last. + +"You are quite sure, child, that you have told me the truth?" said Mrs. +Armitage then. + +"Yes--it is the truth--is it likely that I could invent anything so +fearful?" + +"No, it ain't likely," replied the elder woman, "but I don't intend to +trust just to the mere word of a slip of a giddy girl like you. You must +swear it--is there a Bible in the room?" + +"Oh, don't, Aunt, I wish you wouldn't." + +"Stop that silly whining of yours, Hetty; what do your wishes matter one +way or the other? If you've told me the truth an awful thing has +happened, but I won't stir in the matter until I know it's gospel truth. +Yes, there's your Testament--the Testament will do. Now, Hetty Armitage, +hold this book in your hand, and say before God in heaven that you saw +Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. Horace Frere. Kiss the book, and tell the +truth if you don't want to lose your soul." + +Hetty trembled from head to foot. Her nature was impressionable--the +hour--the terrible excitement she had just lived through--the solemn, +frightened expression of her aunt's face, irritated her nerves to the +last extent. She had the utmost difficulty in keeping herself from +screaming aloud. + +"What do you want me to do?" she said, holding the Testament between her +limp fingers. + +"Say these words: 'I, Hetty Armitage, saw Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. +Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain last night. This is the truth, so help +me God.'" + +"I, Hetty Armitage, saw Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. Horace Frere on +Salisbury Plain last night. This is the truth, so help me God," repeated +Hetty, in a mechanical voice. + +"Kiss the Book now, child," said the aunt + +Hetty raised it to her lips. + +"Give me the Testament." + +Mrs. Armitage took it in her hands. + +"Aunt Fanny, what in the world do you mean to do now?" said the girl. + +"You are witness, Hetty; you are witness to what I mean to do. It is all +for the sake of the Family. What are poor folks like us and our +consciences, and our secrets, compared to the Family? This book has not +done its work yet. Now I am going to take an oath on the Testament. I, +Frances Armitage, swear by the God above, and the Bible He has given us, +that I will never tell to mortal man the truth about this murder." + +Mrs. Armitage finished her words by pressing the Testament to her lips. + +"Now you swear," she said, giving the book back again to her niece. + +Hetty did so. Her voice came out in broken sobs. Mrs. Armitage replaced +the Testament on the top shelf of Hetty's little bookcase. + +"There," she said, wiping her brow, "that's done. You saw the murder +committed; you and I have sworn that we'll never tell what we know. We +needn't talk of it any more. Another man will swing for it. Let him +swing. He is a nice fellow, too. He showed me the photograph of his +mother one day. She had white hair and eyes like his; she looked like a +lady every inch of her. Mr. Everett said, 'I am her only child, Mrs. +Armitage; I'm all she has got.' He had a pleasant smile--wonderful, and +a good face. Poor lad, if it wasn't the Family I had to be true to I +wouldn't let him swing. They say downstairs that the circumstantial +evidence is black against him." + +"Perhaps, after all, they cannot convict him, Aunt." + +"What do you know about it? I say they can and will, but don't let us +talk of it any more. The one thing you and I have to do is to be true to +the Family. There's not a second thought to be given to the matter. Sit +down, Hetty; don't keep hovering about like that. I think I had better +send you away from home; only I forgot, you are sure to be called upon +as a witness. You must see that your face doesn't betray you when you're +cross-examined." + +"No, it won't," said the girl. "I've got you to help me now. I can talk +about it sometimes, and it won't lie so heavily on my heart. Aunt Fanny, +do you really think Mr. Awdrey forgets?" + +"Do I think it? I know it. I don't trouble to think about what I know. +It's in their blood, I tell you. The things they ought to remember are +wiped out of their brains as clean as if you washed a slate after using +it. My mother was cook in the Family, and her mother and her mother +before her again. We are Perrys, and the Perrys had always a turn for +cooking. We've cooked the dinner up at the Court for close on a hundred +years. Don't you suppose I know their ways by this time? Oh, I could +tell you of fearful things. There have been dark deeds done before now, +and the men who did them had no more memory of their own sin than if +they were babies of a month old. There was a Squire--two generations +back he was--my grandmother knew him--and he had a son. The mother +was--! but there! where's the use of going into that. The mother died +raving mad, and the Squire knew no more what he had done than the babe +unborn. Folks call it the curse of God. It's an awful doom, and it +always comes on just as it has fallen on the young Squire. There comes a +fit of passion--a desperate deed is done or a desperate sorrow is met, +and all is blank. They wither up afterward just as if the drought was in +them. He'll die young, the young Squire will, just like his forefathers. +What's the good of crying, Hetty? Crying won't save him--he'll die +young. Blood for blood. God will require that young man's blood at his +hands. He can't escape--it's in his race; but at least he shan't hang +for it--if you and I can keep him from the gallows. Hetty, put your hand +in mine and tell me all over again what you saw." + +"I can't bear to go over it again, Aunt Fanny--it seems burnt into me +like fire. I can think of nothing else--I can think of no face but Mr. +Awdrey's--I can only remember the look on his face when he bent over the +man he had killed. I saw his face just for a minute by the light of the +match, and I never could have believed that human face could have looked +like that before. It was old--like the face of an old man. But I met him +this evening, Aunt Fanny, and he had forgotten all about it, and he was +jolly and happy, and they say he was seen with Miss Douglas to-day. The +family had a picnic on the Plain, and Miss Douglas was there, with her +uncle, Sir John Cuthbert, and there were a lot of other young ladies. +Mr. Awdrey went back to Cuthbertstown with Miss Douglas. It was when he +was returning to the Court I met him. All the world knows he worships +the ground she walks on. I suppose he'll marry her by and by, Aunt--he +seemed so happy and contented to-night." + +"I suppose he will marry her, child--that is the best thing that could +happen to him, and she's a nice young lady and his equal in other ways. +He's happy, did you say? Maybe he is for a bit, but he's a gone man for +all that--nothing, nor no one can keep the doom of his house from him. +What are you squeezing my hand for, Hetty?" + +"I can't bear to think of the Squire marrying Miss Douglas." + +"Stuff and nonsense! What is the Squire to you, except as one of the +Family. You'd better mind your station, Hetty, and leave your betters to +themselves. If you don't you'll get into awful trouble some day. But now +the night is going on, and we've got something to do. Tell me again how +that murder was done." + +"The Squire ran at Mr. Frere, and the point of his stick ran into Mr. +Frere's eye." + +"What did he do with the stick?" + +"He went to a copse of young alders and thrust it into the middle. Oh, +it's safe enough." + +"Nothing of the kind--it isn't safe at all. How do you know they won't +cut those alders down and find the stick? Mr. Robert's walking-stick is +well known--it has a silver plate upon it with his name. Years hence +people may come across that stick, and all the county will know at once +who it belonged to. Come along, Hetty--you and I have our work to do." + +"What is that, Aunt Fanny?" + +"Before the morning dawns we must bury that stick where no one will find +it." + +"Oh, Aunt, don't ask me--I can't go back to the Plain again." + +"You can and must--I wouldn't ask you, but I couldn't find the exact +spot myself. I'll go down first and have a word with Armitage, and then +return to you." + +Mrs. Armitage softly unlocked the door of her niece's room, and going +first to her own bedroom, washed her ashen face with cold water; she +then rubbed it hard with a rough towel to take some of the tell-tale +expression out of it. Afterward she stole softly downstairs. Her husband +was busy in the taproom. She opened the door, and called his name. + +"Armitage, I want you a minute." + +"Mercy on us, I thought you were in bed an hour ago, wife," he said. +"Why, you do look bad, what's the matter?" + +"It isn't me, it's the child--she's hysterical. I've been having no end +of a time with her; I came down to say that I'd sleep with Hetty +to-night. Good-night, Armitage." + +"Good-night," said the man. "I say, wife, though," he called after her, +"see that you are up in good time to-morrow." + +"Never fear," exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, as she ascended the creaking +stairs, "I'll be down and about at six." + +She re-entered her niece's bedroom and locked the door. + +"How did you get out last night?" she asked. + +"Through the window." + +"Well, you're a nice one. This is not the time to scold you, however, +and you and I have got to go out the same way now. They'll think we are +in our bed--let them think it. Come, be quick--show me the way out. It's +a goodish step from here to the Plain; we've not a minute to lose, and +not a soul must see us going or returning." + +Mrs. Armitage was nearly as slender and active as her niece. She +accomplished the descent from the window without the least difficulty, +and soon she and Hetty were walking quickly in the direction of the +Plain--they kept well in the shadow of the road and did not meet a soul +the entire way. During that walk neither woman spoke a word to the +other. Presently they reached the Plain. Hetty trembled as she stood by +the alder copse. + +"Keep your courage up," whispered Mrs. Armitage, "we must bury that +stick where no one can find it." + +"Don't bury it, Aunt Fanny," whispered Hetty. "I have thought of +something--there's the pond half a mile away. Let us weight the stick +with stones and throw it into the pond." + +"That's a good thought, child, we'll do it." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The village never forgot the week when the young Squire came of age. +During that week many important things happened. The usual festivities +were arranged to take place on Monday, for on that day the Squire +completed his twenty-first year. On the following Thursday Robert Awdrey +was to marry Margaret Douglas, and between these two days, namely, on +Tuesday and Wednesday, Frank Everett was to be tried for the murder of +Horace Frere at Salisbury. It will be easily believed, therefore, that +the excitement of the good folks all over the country reached high-water +mark. Quite apart from his position, the young Squire was much loved for +himself. His was an interesting personality. Even if this had not been +so, the fact of his coming of age, and the almost more interesting fact +of his marriage, would fill all who knew him with a lively sense of +pleasure. The public gaze would be naturally turned full upon this young +man. But great as was the interest which all who knew him took in +Awdrey, it was nothing to that which was felt with regard to a man who +was a stranger in the county, but whose awful fate now filled all hearts +and minds. The strongest circumstantial evidence was against Frank +Everett, but beyond circumstantial evidence there was nothing but good +to be known of this young man. He had lived in the past, as far as all +could tell, an immaculate life. He was the only son of a widowed mother. +Mrs. Everett had taken lodgings in Salisbury, and was awaiting the issue +of the trial with feelings which none could fathom. + +As the week of her wedding approached, Margaret Douglas showed none of +the happy expectancy of a bride. Her face began to assume a worn and +anxious expression. She could hardly think of anything except the coming +trial. A few days before the wedding she earnestly begged her lover to +postpone the ceremony for a short time. + +"I cannot account for my sensations, Robert," she said. "The shadow of +this awful tragedy seems to shut away the sunshine from me. You cannot, +of course, help coming of age on Monday, but surely there is nothing +unreasonable in my asking to have the wedding postponed for a week. I +will own that I am superstitious--I come of a superstitious race--my +grandmother had the gift of second sight--perhaps I inherit it also, I +cannot say. Do yield to me in the matter, Robert. Do postpone the +wedding." + +Awdrey stood close to Margaret. She looked anxiously into his eyes; they +met hers with a curious expression of irritation in them. The young +squire was pale; there were fretful lines round his mouth. + +"I told you before," he said, "that I am affected with a strange and +unaccountable apathy with regard to this terrible murder. I try with all +my might to get up sympathy for that poor unfortunate Everett. Try as I +may, however, I utterly fail to feel even pity for him. Margaret, I +would confess this to no one in the world but yourself. Everett is +nothing to me--you are everything. Why should I postpone my happiness on +Everett's account?" + +"You are not well, dearest," said Margaret, looking at him anxiously. + +"Yes, I am, Maggie," he replied. "You must not make me fanciful. I never +felt better in my life, except----" Here he pressed his hand to his +brow. + +"Except?" she repeated. + +"Nothing really--I have a curious sensation of numbness in the back of +my head. I should think nothing at all about it but for the fact----" + +Here he paused, and looked ahead of him steadily. + +"But for what fact, Robert?" + +"You must have heard--it must have been whispered to you--every one all +over the county knows that sometimes--sometimes, Maggie, queer things +happen to men of our house." + +"Of course, I have heard of what you allude to," she answered brightly. +"Do you think I mind? Do you think I believe in the thing? Not I. I am +not superstitious in that way. So you, dear old fellow, are imagining +that you are to be one of the victims of that dreadful old curse. Rest +assured that you will be nothing of the kind. I have a cousin--he is in +the medical profession--you shall know him when we go to London. I spoke +to Dr. Rumsey once about this curious phase in your family history. He +said it was caused by an extraordinary state of nerves, and that the +resolute power of will was needed to overcome it. Dr. Rumsey is a very +interesting man, Robert. He believed in heredity; who does not? but he +also firmly believes that the power of will, rightly exercised, can be +more powerful than heredity. Now, I don't mean you to be a victim to +that old family failing, so please banish the thought from your mind +once and for ever." + +Awdrey smiled at her. + +"You cheer me," he said. "I am a lucky man to have found such a woman as +you to be my wife. You will help to bring forward all that is best in +me. Margaret, I feel that through you I shall conquer the curse which +lies in my blood." + +"There is no curse, Robert. When your grandfather married a +strong-minded Scotch wife the curse was completely arrested--the spell +removed." + +"Yes," said Awdrey, "of course you are perfectly right. My father has +never suffered from a trace of the family malady, and as for me, I +didn't know what nervousness meant until within the last month. I +certainly have suffered from a stupid lapse of memory during the last +month." + +"We all forget things at times," said Margaret. "What is it that worries +you?" + +"Something so trifling that you will laugh when I tell you. You know my +favorite stick?" + +"Of course. By the way, you have not used it lately." + +"I have not. It is lost. I have looked for it high and low, and racked +my memory in vain to know where I could have put it. When last I +remember using it, I was talking to that unfortunate young Frere in the +underwood. I wish I could find it--not for the sake of the stick, but +because, under my circumstances, I don't want to forget things." + +"Well, every one forgets things at times--you will remember where you +have put the stick when you are not thinking of it." + +"Quite true; I wish it didn't worry me, however. You know that poor +Frere met his death in the most extraordinary manner. The man who killed +him ran his walking-stick into his eye. The doctors say that the ferrule +of the stick entered the brain, causing instantaneous death. Everett +carried a stick, but the ferrule was a little large for the size of the +wound made. Now my stick----" + +"Really, Robert, I won't listen to you for another moment," exclaimed +Margaret. "The next thing you will do is to assure me that your stick +was the weapon which caused the murder." + +"No," he replied, with a spasm of queer pain. "Of course, Maggie, there +is nothing wrong, only with our peculiar idiosyncrasies, small lapses of +memory make one anxious. I should be happy if I could find the stick, +and happier still if this numbness would leave the back of my head. But +your sweet society will soon put me right." + +"I mean it to," she replied, in her firm way. + +"You will marry me, dearest, on the twenty-fourth?" + +"Yes," she answered, "you are first, first of all. I will put aside my +superstition--the wedding shall not be postponed." + +"Thank you a thousand times--how happy you make me!" + +Awdrey went home in the highest spirits. + +The auspicious week dawned. The young Squire's coming of age went off +without a flaw. The day was a perfect one in August. All the tenants +assembled at the Court to welcome Awdrey to his majority. His modest and +graceful speech was applauded on all sides. He never looked better than +when he stood on a raised platform and addressed the tenants who had +known him from his babyhood. Some day he was to be their landlord. In +Wiltshire the tie between landlord and tenant is very strong. The spirit +of the feudal times still in a measure pervades this part of the +country. The cheers which followed Awdrey's speech rose high on the +evening air. Immediately afterward there was supper on the lawn, +followed by a dance. Among those assembled, however, might have been +seen two anxious faces--one of them belonged to Mrs. Armitage. She had +been a young-looking woman for her years, until after the night of the +murder--now she looked old, her hair was sprinkled with gray, her face +had deep lines in it, there was a touch of irritation also in her +manner. She and Hetty kept close together. Sometimes her hand clutched +hold of the hand of her niece and gave it a hard pressure. Hetty's +little hand trembled, and her whole frame quivered with almost +uncontrollable agony when Mrs. Armitage did this. All the gay scene was +ghastly mockery to poor Hetty. Her distress, her wasted appearance, +could not but draw general attention to her. The little girl, however, +had never looked more beautiful nor lovely. She was observed by many +people; strangers pointed her out to one another. + +"Do you see that little girl with the beautiful face?" they said. "It +was on her account that the tragedy took place." + +Presently the young Squire came down and asked Mrs. Armitage to open the +ball with him. + +"You do me great honor, sir," she said. She hesitated, then placed her +hand on his arm. + +As he led her away, his eyes met those of Hetty. + +"I'll give you a dance later on," he said, nodding carelessly to the +young girl. + +She blushed and pressed her hand to her heart. + +There wasn't a village lad in the entire assembly who would not have +given a year of his life to dance even once with beautiful little Hetty, +but she declined all the village boys' attentions that evening. + +"She wasn't in the humor to dance," she said. "Oh, yes, of course, she +would dance with the Squire if he asked her, but she would not bestow +her favors upon any one else." She sat down presently in a secluded +corner. Her eyes followed Awdrey wherever he went. By and by Margaret +Douglas noticed her. There was something about the childish sad face +which drew out the compassion of Margaret's large heart. She went +quickly across the lawn to speak to her. + +"Good-evening, Hetty," she said, "I hope you are well?" + +Hetty stood up; she began to tremble. + +"Yes, Miss Douglas, I am quite well," she answered. + +"You don't look well," said Margaret. "Why are you not dancing?" + +"I haven't the heart to dance," said Hetty, turning suddenly away. Her +eyes brimmed with sudden tears. + +"Poor little girl! how could I be so thoughtless as to suppose she would +care to dance," thought Margaret. "All her thoughts must be occupied +with this terrible trial--Robert told me that she would be the principal +witness. Poor little thing." + +Margaret stretched out her hand impulsively and grasped Hetty's. + +"I feel for you--I quite understand you," she said. Her voice trembled +with deep and full sympathy. "I see that you are suffering a great deal, +but you will be better afterward--you ought to go away afterward--you +will want change." + +"I would rather stay at home, please, Miss Douglas." + +"Well, I won't worry you. Here is Mr. Awdrey. You have not danced once, +Hetty. Would you not like to have a dance with the Squire, just for +luck? Yes, I see you would. Robert, come here." + +"What is it?" asked Awdrey. "Oh, is that you, Hetty? I have not +forgotten our dance." + +"Dance with her now, Robert," said Margaret. "There is a waltz just +striking up--I will meet you presently on the terrace." + +Margaret crossed the lawn, and Awdrey gave his arm to Hetty. She turned +her large gaze upon him for a moment, her lips trembled, she placed her +hand on his arm. "Yes, I will dance with him once," she said to herself. +"It will please me--I am doing a great deal for him, and it will +strengthen me--to have this pleasure. Oh, I hope, I do hope I'll be +brave and silent, and not let the awful pain at my heart get the better +of me. Please, God, help me to be true to Mr. Robert." + +"Come, Hetty, why won't you talk?" said the Squire; he gave her a kindly +yet careless glance. + +They began to waltz, but Hetty had soon to pause for want of breath. + +"You are not well," said Awdrey; "let me lead you out of the crowd. +Here, let us sit the dance out under this tree; now you are better, are +you not?" + +"Yes, sir; oh, yes, Mr. Robert, I am much better now." She panted as she +spoke. + +"How pale you are," said Awdrey, "and you used to be such a blooming, +rosy little thing. Well, never mind," he added hastily, "I ought not to +forget that you have a good deal to worry you just now. You must try to +keep up your courage. All you have to do to-morrow when you go into +court is to tell the entire and exact truth." + +"You don't mean me to do that, you can't," said Hetty. She opened her +eyes and gave a wild startled glance. The next moment her whole face was +covered with confusion. "Oh, what have I said?" she cried, in +consternation. "Of course, I will tell the exact and perfect truth." + +"Of course," said Awdrey, surprised at her manner. "You will be under +oath, remember." He stood up as he spoke. "Now let me take you to your +aunt." + +"One moment first, Mr. Robert; I'd like to ask you a question." + +"Well, Hetty, what is it?" said the young man, kindly. + +Hetty raised her eyes for a moment, then she lowered them. + +"It's a very awful thing, the kind of thing that God doesn't forgive," +she said in a whisper, "for--for a girl to tell a lie when she's under +oath?" + +"It is perjury," said Awdrey, in a sharp, short voice. "Why should you +worry your head about such a matter?" + +"Of course not, sir, only I'd like to know. I hope you'll be very happy +with your good lady, Mr. Awdrey, when you're married. I think I'll go +home now, sir. I'm not quite well, and it makes me giddy to dance. I +wish you a happy life, sir, and--and Miss Douglas the same. If you see +Aunt Fanny, Mr. Robert, will you tell her that I've gone home?" + +"Yes, to be sure I will. Good-by, Hetty. Here, shake hands, won't you? +God bless you, little girl. I hope you will soon be all right." + +Hetty crept slowly away; she looked like a little gray shadow as she +returned to the village, passing silently through the lovely gardens and +all the sweet summer world. Beautiful as she was, she was out of keeping +with the summer and the time of gayety. + +Against Awdrey's wish Margaret insisted on being present during the +first day of the trial. Everett's trial would in all probability occupy +the whole of two days. Awdrey was to appear in court as witness. His +evidence and that of Hetty Armitage and the laborer who had seen Frere +running across the plain would probably sum up the case against the +prisoner. Hetty's evidence, however, was the most important of all. Some +of the neighbors said that Hetty would never have strength to go through +the trial. But when the little creature stepped into the witness-box, +there was no perceptible want of energy about her--her cheeks were pink +with the color of excitement, her lovely eyes shone brightly. She gave +her testimony in a clear, penetrating, slightly defiant voice. That +voice of hers never once faltered. Her eyes full of desperate courage +were fixed firmly on the face of the solicitor who examined her. Even +the terrible ordeal of cross-examination was borne without flinching; +nor did Hetty once commit herself, or contradict her own evidence. At +the end of the cross-examination, however, she fainted off. It was +noticed afterward by eye-witnesses that Hetty's whole evidence had been +given with her face slightly turned away from that of the accused man. +It was after she had inadvertently met his eyes that she turned white to +the very lips, and fell down fainting in the witness-box. She was +carried away immediately, and murmurs of sympathy followed her as she +was taken out of the court. Hetty was undoubtedly the heroine of the +occasion. Her remarkable beauty, her modesty, the ring of truth which +seemed to pervade all her unwilling words, told fatally against poor +Everett. + +She was obliged to return to court on the second day, but Margaret did +not go to Salisbury on that occasion. After the first day of the trial +Margaret spent a sleepless night. She was on the eve of her own wedding, +but she could think of nothing but Everett and Everett's mother. Mrs. +Everett was present at the trial. She wore a widow's dress and her veil +was down, but once or twice she raised it and looked at her son; the son +also glanced at his mother. Margaret had seen these glances, and they +wrung her heart to its depths. She felt that she could not be in court +when the verdict was given. She was so excited with regard to the issue +of the trial that she gave no attention to those minor matters which +usually occupy the minds of young brides. + +"It doesn't matter," she said to her maid; "pack anything you fancy into +my travelling trunk. Oh, yes, that dress will do; any dress will do. +What hats did you say? Any hats, I don't care. I'm going to Grandcourt +now, there may be news from Salisbury." + +"They say, Miss Douglas, that the Court won't rise until late to-night. +The jury are sure to take a long time to consider the case." + +"Well, I'm going to Grandcourt now. Mr. Awdrey may have returned. I +shall hear the latest news." + +Margaret arrived at the Court just before dinner. Her future +sisters-in-law, Anne and Dorothy, ran out on the lawn to meet her. + +"Oh, how white and tired you look!" + +"I am not a bit tired; you know I am always pale. Dorothy, has any news +come yet from Salisbury?" + +"Nothing special," replied Dorothy. "The groom has come back to tell us +that we are not to wait dinner for either father or Robert. You will +come into the house now, won't you, Margaret?" + +"No, I'd rather stay out here. I don't want any dinner." + +"Nor do I. I will stay with you," said Dorothy. "Isn't there a lovely +view from here? I love this part of the grounds better than any other +spot. You can just get a peep of the Cathedral to the right and the +Plain to the left." + +"I hate the Plain," said Margaret, with a shiver. "I wish Grandcourt +didn't lie so near it." + +Dorothy Awdrey raised her delicate brows in surprise. + +"Why, the Plain is the charm of Grandcourt," she exclaimed. "Surely, +Margaret, you are not going to get nervous and fanciful, just because a +murder was committed on the Plain." + +"Oh, no!" Margaret started to her feet. "Excuse me, Dorothy, I see +Robert coming up the avenue." + +"So he is. Stay where you are, and I'll run and get the news." + +"No, please let me go." + +"Margaret, you are ill." + +"I am all right," replied Margaret. + +She ran swiftly down the avenue. + +Awdrey saw her, and stopped until she came up to him. + +"Well?" she asked breathlessly. + +He put both his hands on her shoulders, and looked steadily into her +eyes. + +"The verdict," she said. "Quick, the verdict." + +"Guilty, Maggie; but they have strongly recommended him to mercy. +Maggie, Maggie, my darling, what is it?" + +She flung her arms round his neck, and hid her trembling face against +his breast. + +"I can't help it," she said. "It is the eve of our wedding-day. Oh, I +feel sick with terror--sick with sorrow." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +Arthur Rumsey, M.D., F.R.C.S., was one of the most remarkable men of his +time. He was unmarried, and lived in a large house in Harley Street, +where he saw many patients daily. He was on the staff of more than one +of the big London hospitals, and one or two mornings in each week had to +be devoted to this public service, which occupies so much of the life of +a busy and popular doctor. Rumsey was not only a clever, all-round man, +but he was also a specialist. The word nerve--that queer complex word, +with its many hidden meanings, its daily and hourly fresh +renderings--that word, which belongs especially to the end of our +century, he seized with a grip of psychological intensity, and made it +his principal study. By slow degrees and years of patient toil he began +to understand the nerve power in man. From the study of the nerves to +the study of the source of all nerves, aches and pains, joys and +delights, the human brain, was an easy step. Rumsey was a brain +specialist. It began to be reported of him, not only in the profession, +but among that class of patients who must flock to such a man, when he +had performed wonderful and extraordinary cures, that to him was given +insight almost superhuman. It was said of Rumsey that he could read +motives and could also unravel the most complex problems of the +psychological world. + +Five years had passed since Margaret Douglas found herself the bride of +Robert Awdrey. These five years had been mostly spent by the pair in +London. Being well off, Awdrey had taken a good house in a fashionable +quarter. He and Margaret began to entertain, and were popular from the +very first, in their own somewhat large circle. They were now the +parents of one beautiful child, a boy, and the outside world invariably +spoke of them as a prosperous and a very happy couple. + +Everett did not expiate his supposed crime by death. The plea of the +jury for mercy resulted in fourteen years' penal servitude. Such a +sentence meant, of course, a living death; he had quite sunk out of +ken--almost out of memory. Except in the heart of his mother and in the +tender heart of Margaret Awdrey, this young man, whose career had +promised to be so bright, so satisfactory, such a blessing to all who +knew him, was completely forgotten. + +In his mother's heart, of course, he was safely enshrined, and Margaret +also, although she had never spoken to him, and never saw his face until +the day of the trial, still vividly remembered him. + +When her honeymoon was over and she found herself settled in London, one +of her first acts was to seek out Mrs. Everett, and to make a special +friend of the forlorn and unhappy widow. + +Both Margaret and Mrs. Everett soon found that they had a strong bond of +sympathy between them. They both absolutely believed in Frank Everett's +innocence. The subject, however, was too painful to the elder woman to +be often alluded to, but knowing what was in Margaret's heart she took a +great fancy to her, always spoke to her with affection, took a real +interest in her concerns, and was often a visitor at her home. + +Four years after the wedding the elder Squire died. He was found one +morning dead in his bed, having passed peacefully and painlessly away. +Awdrey was now the owner of Grandcourt, but for some reason which he +could not explain, even to himself, he did not care to spend much time +at the old place--Margaret was often there for months at a time, but +Awdrey preferred London to the Court, and a week at a time was the +longest period he would ever spend under the old roof. Both his sisters +were now married and had homes of their own--the place in consequence +began to grow a little into disuse, although Margaret did what she could +for the tenantry, and whenever she was at the Court was extremely +popular with her neighbors. But she did not think it right to leave her +husband long alone--he clung to her a good deal, seeking her opinion +more and more as the months and years went by, and leaning upon her to +an extraordinary extent for a young and clever man. + +Awdrey had grown exceptionally old for his age in the five years since +his marriage. He was only twenty-six, but some white streaks were +already to be found in his thick hair, and several wrinkles were +perceptible round his dark gray eyes. He had not gone into +Parliament--he had not distinguished himself by any literary work. His +own ambitious dreams and his wife's longings for him faded one by one +out of sight. He was a gentle, kindly mannered man--generous with his +money, sympathetic up to a certain point over every tale of woe, but +there was a curious want of energy about him, and as the days and months +flew by, Margaret's sense of trouble, which always lay near her heart, +unaccountably deepened. + +The great specialist, Arthur Rumsey, was about to give a dinner. It was +his custom to give one once a fortnight during the London season. To +these dinners he not only invited his own friends and the more favored +among his patients, but many celebrated men of science and literature; a +few also of the better sort of the smart people of society were to be +met on these occasions. Although there was no hostess, Rumsey's dinners +were popular, his invitations were always eagerly accepted, and the +people who met each other at his house often spoke afterward of these +occasions as specially delightful. + +In short, the dinners partook of that intellectual quality which makes, +to quote an old-world phrase, "the feast of reason and the flow of +soul." On Rumsey's evenings, the forgotten art of conversation seemed +once again to struggle to re-assert itself. + +Robert Awdrey and his wife were often among the favored guests, and were +to be present at this special dinner. Margaret was a distant cousin of +the great physician, and shortly after her arrival in London had +consulted him about her husband. She had told him all about the family +history, and the curious hereditary taint which had shown itself from +generation to generation in certain members of the men of the house. He +had listened gravely, and with much interest, saying very little at the +time, and endeavoring by every means in his power to soothe the +anxieties of the young wife. + +"The doom you dread may never fall upon your husband," he said finally. +"The slight inertia of mind which he complains of is probably more due +to nervous fear than to anything else. It is a pity he is so well off. +If he had to work for his living, he would soon use his brain to good +and healthy purpose. That fiat which fell upon Adam is in reality a +blessing in disguise. There is no surer cure for most of the fads and +fancies of the present day than the command which ordains to man that +'In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.'" + +Margaret's anxious eyes were fixed upon the great doctor while he was +speaking. + +"Your husband must make the best of his circumstances," he continued, in +a cheerful tone. "Crowd occupation upon him; get him to take up any good +intellectual work with strength and vigor. If you see he is really tired +out, do not over-worry him. Get him to travel with you; get him to read +books with real stuff in them; occupy his mind at any risk. When he +begins to forget serious matters it will be time enough to come to the +conclusion that the hereditary curse has descended upon him. Up to the +present he has never forgotten anything of consequence, has he?" + +"Nothing that I know of," answered Margaret. Then she added, with a +half-smile, "The small lapse of memory which I am about to mention, you +will probably consider beneath your notice, nevertheless it has +irritated my husband to a strange degree. You have doubtless heard of +the tragic murder of Horace Frere, which took place on Salisbury Plain a +few weeks before our wedding?" + +Rumsey nodded. + +"On the night of the murder my husband lost his favorite walking-stick. +He has worried ceaselessly over that small fact, referring to it +constantly and always complaining of a certain numbness in the back of +his head when he does so. The fact is he met the unfortunate man who was +murdered early in the afternoon. At that time he had his stick with him. +He can never recall anything about it from that moment, nor has he seen +it from then to now." + +The doctor laughed good-humoredly. + +"There is little doubt," he said, "that the fear that the doom of his +house may fasten upon him has affected your husband's nerves. The lapse +of memory to which you refer means nothing at all. Keep him occupied, +Mrs. Awdrey, keep him occupied. That is my best advice to you." + +Margaret went away feeling reassured and almost happy, but since the +date of that conversation Rumsey never forgot Awdrey's queer case. He +possessed that extraordinary and perfect memory himself, which does not +allow the smallest detail, however apparently unimportant, to escape +observation, and often as he talked to his guest across his dinner +table, he observed him with a keenness of interest which he could +himself scarcely account for. + +On this particular evening more guests than usual were assembled at the +doctor's house. Sixteen people had sat down to dinner and several fresh +arrivals were expected in the evening. Among the dining guests was Mrs. +Everett. She was a tall, handsome woman of about forty-five years of +age. Her hair was snow-white and was piled high up over her head--her +face was of a pale olive hue, with regular features, and very large, +piercing, dark eyes. The eyebrows were well arched and somewhat thickly +marked--they were still raven black, and afforded a striking contrast to +the lovely thick hair which shone like a mass of silver above her brow. + +Everett's mother always wore black, but, curious to relate, she had +discarded widow's weeds soon after her son's incarceration. Before that +date she had been in character, and had also lived the life of an +ordinary, affectionate, and thoroughly amiable woman. Keen as her sorrow +in parting with the husband of her youth was, she contrived to weave a +happy nest in which her heart could take shelter, in the passionate love +which she gave to her only son. But from the date of his trial and +verdict, the woman's whole character, the very expression on her face, +had altered. Her eyes had now a watchful and intent look. She seemed +like some one who had set a mission before herself. She had the look of +one who lived for a hidden purpose. She no longer eschewed society, but +went into it even more frequently than her somewhat slender means +afforded. She made many new acquaintances and was always eager to win +the confidence of those who cared to confide in her. Her own story she +never touched upon, but she gave a curious kind of watchful sympathy to +others which was not without its charm. + +On this particular night, the widow's eyes were brighter and more +restless than usual. Dr. Rumsey knew all about her story, and had often +counselled her with regard to her present attitude toward society at +large. + +"My boy is innocent," she had said many times to the doctor. "The object +of my life is to prove this. I will quietly wait, I will do nothing +rash, but it is my firm conviction that I shall yet be permitted to find +and expose the man who killed Horace Frere." + +Rumsey had warned her as to the peril which she ran in fostering too +keenly a fixed idea--he had taken pains to give her psychological +reasons for the danger which she incurred--but nothing he could say or +do could alter the bias of her mind. Her fixed and unwavering assurance +that her boy was absolutely innocent could not be imperilled by any +words which man could speak. + +"If I had even seen my boy do the murder I should still believe it to be +a vision of my own brain," she had said once, and after that Rumsey had +ceased to try to guide her thoughts into a healthier channel. + +On this particular night when the doctor came upstairs after wine, +accompanied by the rest of the men of the party, Mrs. Everett seemed to +draw him to her side by her watchful and excited glances. + +There was something about the man which could never withstand an appeal +of human need--he went straight now to the widow's side as a needle is +attracted to a magnet. + +"Well," he said, drawing a chair forward, and seating himself so as +almost to face her. + +"You guessed that I wanted to see you?" she said eagerly. + +"I looked at you and that was sufficient," he said. + +"When can you give me an interview?" she replied. + +"Do you want to visit me as a patient?" + +"I do not--that is, not in the ordinary sense. I want to tell you +something. I have a story to relate, and when it is told I should like +to get your verdict on a certain peculiar case--in short, I believe I +have got a clue, if only a slight one, to the unravelling of the mystery +of my life--you quite understand?" + +"Yes, I understand," replied Dr. Rumsey in a gentle voice, "but, my dear +lady, I am not a detective." + +"Not in the ordinary sense, but surely as far as the complex heart is +concerned." + +Dr. Rumsey held up his hand. + +"We need not go into that," he said. + +"No, we will not. May I see you to-morrow for a few minutes?" + +The doctor consulted his note-book. + +"I cannot see you as a patient," he said, "but as a friend it is +possible. Can you be here at eight o'clock to-morrow morning? I +breakfast at eight--my breakfast generally occupies ten minutes--that +time is at your disposal." + +"I will be with you. Thank you a thousand times," she replied. + +Her eyes grew bright with exultation. The doctor favored her with a keen +glance and moved aside. A few minutes later he found himself in Margaret +Awdrey's vicinity. Margaret was now a very beautiful woman. As a girl +she had been lovely, but her early matronhood had developed her charms, +had added to her stateliness, and had brought out many new and fresh +expressions in her mobile and lovely face. + +As Rumsey approached her side, she was in the act of taking leave of an +old friend of her husband's, who was going away early. The Doctor was +therefore able to watch her for a minute without her observing him--then +she turned slightly, saw him, flushed vividly, and went eagerly and +swiftly to his side. + +"Dr. Rumsey," said Margaret, "I know this is not the place to make +appointments, but I am anxious to see you on the subject of my husband's +health. How soon can you manage----" + +"I can make an appointment for to-morrow," he interrupted. "Be with me +at half-past one. I can give you half an hour quite undisturbed then." + +She did not smile, but her eyes were raised fully to his face. Those +dark, deep eyes so full of the noblest emotions which can stir the human +soul, looked at him now with a pathos that touched his heart. He moved +away to talk to other friends, but the thought of Margaret Awdrey +returned to him many times during the ensuing night. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +At the appointed hour on the following morning Mrs. Everett was shown +into Dr. Rumsey's presence. She found him in his cosy breakfast-room, in +the act of helping himself to coffee. + +"Ah!" he said, as he placed a chair for her, "what an excellent thing +this punctuality is in a woman. Sit down, pray. You shall have your full +ten minutes--the clock is only on the stroke of eight." + +Mrs. Everett looked too disturbed and anxious even to smile. She untied +her bonnet-strings, threw back her mantle, and stared straight at Dr. +Rumsey. + +"No coffee, thank you," she said. "I breakfasted long ago. Dr. Rumsey, I +am nearly wild with excitement and anxiety. I told you long ago, did I +not, that a day would come when I should get a clue which might lead to +establishing my boy's"--she wet her lips--"my only boy's innocence? +Nothing that can happen now will ever, of course, repair what he has +lost--his lost youth, his lost healthy outlook on life--but to set him +free, even now! To give him his liberty once again! To feel the clasp of +his hand on mine! Ah, I nearly go mad at times with longing, but thank +God, thank the Providence which is above us all, I do believe I have +found a clue at last." + +"Tell me what it is," said the doctor, in a kind voice. "I know," he +added, "you will make your story as brief as possible." + +"I will, my good friend," she replied. She stood up now, her somewhat +long arms hung at her sides, she turned her face in all its intense +purpose full upon the doctor. + +"You know my restless nature," she continued. "I can seldom or never sit +still--even my sleep is broken by terrible dreams. All the energy which +I possess is fixed upon one thought, and one only--I want to find the +real murderer of Horace Frere." + +"Yes," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"A fortnight ago I made up my mind to do a queer thing. I determined to +visit Grandcourt--I mean the village of that name." + +The doctor started. + +"You are surprised?" said Mrs. Everett; "nevertheless I can account for +my longings." + +"You need not explain. I quite understand." + +"I believe you do. I felt drawn to the place--to the Inn where my son +stayed, to the neighborhood. I travelled down to Grandcourt without +announcing my intention to any one, and arrived at the Inn just as the +dusk was setting in. The landlord, Armitage by name, came out to +interview me. I told him who I was. He looked much disturbed, and by no +means pleased. I asked him if he would take me in. He went away to +consult his wife. She followed him after a moment into the porch with a +scared face. + +"'I wonder, ma'am, that you like to come here,' she said. + +"'I come for one purpose,' I replied. 'I want to see the spot where +Horace Frere met his death. I am drawn to this place by the greatest +agony which has ever torn a mother's heart. Will you take me in, and +will you give me the room in which my son slept?' + +"The landlady looked at me in anything but a friendly manner. Her +husband whispered something to her--after a time her brow cleared--she +nodded to him, and the next moment I was given to understand that my +son's old room would be at my disposal. I took possession of it that +evening, and my meals were served to me in the little parlor where my +boy and the unfortunate Horace Frere had lived together. + +"The next day I went out alone at an early hour to visit the Plain. I +had never ventured on Salisbury Plain before. The day was a gloomy and +stormy one. There were constant showers of rain, and I was almost wet +through by the time I reached my destination. I had just got upon the +borders of the Plain when I saw a young woman walking a little ahead of +me. There was something in the gait which I seemed to recognize, +although at first I had only a dim idea that I had ever seen her before. +Hurrying my footsteps I came up to her, passed her, and as I did so +looked her full in the face. I started then and stopped short. She was +the girl who had seen the murder committed, and who had given evidence +of the most damnatory kind against my son on the day of the trial. In +that one swift glance I saw that she was much altered. She had been a +remarkably pretty girl. She had now nearly lost all her comeliness of +appearance. Her face was thin, her dress negligent and untidy, on her +brow there was a sullen frown. When she saw me she also stood still, her +eyes dilated with a curious expression of fear. + +"'Who are you?' she said, with a pant. + +"'I am Mrs. Everett,' I replied, slowly. 'I am the mother of the man who +once lodged in your uncle's house, and who is now expiating the crime of +another at Portland prison.' + +"She had turned red at first, now she became white. + +"'And your name,' I continued, 'is Hetty Armitage.' + +"'Why do you say that your son is expatiating the crime of another?' she +asked. + +"'Because I am his mother. I have looked into his heart, and there is no +murder there. But tell me, is not your name Hetty Armitage?' + +"'It is not Armitage now,' she answered. 'I am married. I live about +three miles from Grandcourt, over in that direction. I am going home +now. My husband's name is Vincent. He is a farmer.' + +"'You don't look too well off,' I said, for I noticed her shabby dress +and run-to-seed appearance. + +"'These are hard times for farmers,' she answered. + +"'Have you children?' I asked. + +"'No,' she replied fiercely, 'I am glad to say I have not.' + +"'Why are you glad?' I asked. 'Surely a child is the crown of a married +woman's bliss.' + +"'It would not be to me,' she cried. 'My heart is full to the brim. I +have no room for a child in it.' + +"'A full heart generally means happiness,' I said. 'Are you happy?' + +"She gave me a queer glance. + +"'No, ma'am,' she answered, 'my heart is full of bitterness, of sorrow.' +Her eyes looked quite wild. She pressed one of her hands to her +forehead,--then stepping out, she half turned round to me. + +"'I wish you good-morning, Mrs. Everett,' she said. 'My way lies across +here.' + +"'Stay a moment before you leave me,' I said. 'I am coming to this plain +on a mission which you perhaps can guess. If you are poor you will not +despise half a sovereign. I'll give you half a sovereign if you'll show +me the exact spot where the murder was committed.' + +"She turned from white to red, and from red to white again. + +"'I don't like that spot,' she said. 'That night was a terrible night to +me; my nerves ain't what they were--I sleep bad, and sometimes I dream. +Many and many a time I've seen that murder committed over again. I have +seen the look on the face of the murdered man, and the look on the face +of the man who did it--Oh, my God, I have seen----' + +"She pressed her two hands hard against her eyes. + +"I waited quietly until she had recovered her emotion; then I held out +the little gold coin. + +"'You will take me to the spot?' I asked. + +"She clutched the coin suddenly in her hand. + +"'This will buy what I live for,' she cried, with passion. 'I can drown +thought with this. Come along, ma'am, we are not very far from the place +here. I'll take you, and then go on home.' + +"She started off, walking in front of me, and keeping well ahead. She +went quickly, and yet with a sort of tremulous movement, as though she +were not quite certain of herself. We crossed the Plain not far from the +Court. I saw the house in the distance, and the curling smoke which rose +up out of the trees. + +"'Don't walk so fast,' I said. 'I am an old woman, and you take my +breath away.' She slackened her steps, but very unwillingly. + +"'The family are not often at the Court?' I queried. + +"'No,' she answered with a start--'since the old Squire died the place +has been most shut up.' + +"'I happen to know the present Squire and his wife,' I said. + +"She flushed when I said this, gave me a furtive glance, and then +pressing one hand to her left side, said abruptly: + +"'If you know you can tell me summ'at--he is well, is he?' + +"'They are both well,' I answered, surprised at the tone of her voice. +'I should judge them to be a happy couple.' + +"'I thank the good God that Mr. Robert is happy,' she said, in a hoarse +whisper. + +"Once again she hurried her footsteps; at last she stood still on a +rising knoll of ground. + +"'Do you see this clump of alders?' she said. 'It was here I stood, just +on this spot--I was sheltered by the alders, and even if the night had +not been so dark they would never have noticed me. Over there to your +right it was done. You don't want me to stay any longer now, ma'am, do +you?' + +"'You can go when I have asked you one or two questions. You stood here, +you say--just here?' + +"'Just here, ma'am,' she answered. + +"'And the murder was committed there?' + +"'Yes, where the grass seems to grow a bit greener--you notice it, don't +you, just there, to your right.' + +"'I see,' I replied with a shudder, which I could not repress. 'Do you +mind telling me how it was that you happened to be out of your bed at +such a late hour at night?' + +"She looked very sullen, and set her lips tightly. I gazed full at her, +waiting for her to speak. + +"'The man whose blood was shed was my lover--we had just had a quarrel,' +she said, at last. + +"'What about?' + +"'That's my secret,' she replied. + +"'How is it you did not mention the fact of the quarrel at the trial?' I +asked. + +"She looked full up at me. + +"'I was not asked,' she answered; 'that's my secret, and I don't tell it +to anybody. It was here I stood, just where your feet are planted, and I +saw it done--the moon came out for a minute, and I saw everything--even +to the look on the dead man's face and the look on the face of the man +who took his life. I saw it all. I ain't been the same woman since.' + +"'I am not surprised,' I replied. 'You may leave me when I have said one +thing.' + +"'What is that, ma'am?' + +"She raised her dark eyes. I saw fear in their depths. + +"'You saw two men that night, Hetty Vincent,' I said--'one, the man who +was murdered, was Horace Frere, but the other man, as there is a God +above, was not Frank Everett. I am speaking the truth--you can go now.' + +"My words seemed forced from me, Dr. Rumsey, but the effect was +terrifying. The wretched creature fell on her knees--she clung to my +dress, covering her face with a portion of the mantle which I was +wearing. + +"'Good God, why do you say that?' she gasped. 'How do you know? Who has +told you? Why do you say awful words of that sort?' + +"Her excitement made me calm. I stood perfectly silent, but with my +heart beating with the queerest sense of exultation and victory. + +"'Get up,' I said. She rose trembling to her feet. I laid my hand on her +shoulder. + +"'You have something to confess,' I said. + +"She looked at me again and burst out laughing. + +"'What a fool I made of myself just now!' she said. 'I have nothing to +confess; what could I have? You spoke so solemn and the place is +queer--it always upsets me. I'll go now.' She backed a few steps away. + +"'I saw two men on the Plain,' she said then, raising her voice, 'one +was Horace Frere--the other was your son, Frank Everett.' Before I could +add another word she took to her heels and was quickly out of sight. + +"I returned to the Inn and questioned Armitage and his wife. I did not +dare to tell them what Hetty had said in her excitement, but I asked for +her address and drove out early the following morning to Vincent's farm +to visit her. I was told on my arrival that she had left home that +morning; that she often did so to visit a relation at a distance. I +asked for the address, which was given me somewhat unwillingly. That +night I went there, but Hetty had not arrived and nothing was known +about her. Since then I have tried in vain to get any clue to her +present whereabouts. That is my story, Dr. Rumsey. What do you think of +it? Are the wild stories of an excited and over-wrought woman worthy of +careful consideration? Is her sudden flight suspicious, or the reverse? +I anxiously await your verdict." + +Dr. Rumsey remained silent for a moment. + +"I am inclined to believe," he said, then very slowly, "that the words +uttered by this young woman were merely the result of overstrung nerves; +remember, she was in all probability in love with the man who met his +death in so tragic a manner. From the remarkable change which you speak +of in her appearance, I should say that her nerves had been considerably +shattered by the sight she witnessed, and also by the prominent place +she was obliged to take in the trial. She has probably dreamt of this +thing, and dwelt upon it year in and year out, since it happened. Then, +remember, you spoke in a very startling manner and practically accused +her of having committed perjury at the time of the trial. Under such +circumstances and in the surroundings she was in at the time, she would +be very likely to lose her head. As to her sudden disappearance, I +confess I cannot quite understand it, unless her nervous system is even +more shattered than you incline me to believe; but, stay,--from words +she inadvertently let drop, she has evidently become addicted to drink, +to opium eating, or some such form of self-indulgence. If that is the +case she would be scarcely responsible for her actions. I do not think, +Mrs. Everett, unless you can obtain further evidence, that there is +anything to go upon in this." + +"That is your carefully considered opinion?" + +"It is--I am sorry if it disappoints you." + +"It does not do that, for I cannot agree with you." Mrs. Everett rose as +she spoke, fastened her cloak, and tied her bonnet-strings. + +"Your opinion is the cool one of an acute reasoner, but also of a person +who is outside the circumstances," she continued. + +Rumsey smiled. + +"Surely in such a case mine ought to be the one to be relied upon?" he +queried. + +"No, for there is such a thing as mother's instinct. I will not detain +you longer, Dr. Rumsey. You have said what I expected you would say." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Rumsey began the severe routine of his daily work. He was particularly +busy that day, and had many anxious cases to consider; it was also one +of his hospital mornings, and his hospital cases were, he considered, +some of the most important in his practice. Nevertheless Mrs. Everett's +face and her words of excitement kept flashing again and again before +his memory. + +"There is a possibility of that woman losing her senses if her mind is +not diverted into another channel, and soon too," he thought to himself. +"If she allows her thoughts to dwell much longer on this fixed idea, she +will see her son's murderer in the face of each man and woman with whom +she comes in contact. Still there is something queer in her story--the +young woman whom she addressed on Salisbury Plain was evidently the +victim of nervous terror to a remarkable extent--can it be possible that +she is concealing something?" + +Rumsey thought for a moment over his last idea. Then he dismissed it +from his mind. + +"No," he said to himself, "a village girl could not stand +cross-examination without betraying herself. I shall get as fanciful as +Mrs. Everett if I dwell any longer upon this problem. After all there is +no problem to consider. Why not accept the obvious fact? Poor Everett +killed his friend in a moment of strong irritation--it was a very plain +case of manslaughter." + +At the appointed hour Margaret Awdrey appeared on the scene. She was +immediately admitted into Dr. Rumsey's presence. He asked her to seat +herself, and took a chair facing her. It was Margaret's way to be always +very direct. She was direct now, knowing that her auditor's time was of +extreme value. + +"I have not troubled you about my husband for some years," she began. + +"You have not," he replied. + +"Do you remember what I last told you about him?" + +"Perfectly. But excuse me one moment; to satisfy you I will look up his +case in my casebook. Do you remember the year when you last spoke to me +about him?" + +Margaret instantly named the date, not only of year, but of month. Dr. +Rumsey quickly looked up the case. He laid his finger on the open page +in which he had entered all particulars, ran his eyes rapidly over the +notes he had made at the time, and then turned to Mrs. Awdrey. + +"I find, as I expected, that I have forgotten nothing," he said. "I was +right in my conjectures, was I not? Your husband's symptoms were due to +nervous distress?" + +"I wish I could say so," replied Margaret. + +Dr. Rumsey slightly raised his brows. + +"Are there fresh symptoms?" he asked. + +"He is not well. I must tell you exactly how he is affected." + +The doctor bent forward to listen. Margaret began her story. + +"Since the date of our marriage there has been a very gradual, but also +a marked deterioration in my husband's character," she said. "But until +lately he has been in possession of excellent physical health, his +appetite has been good, he has been inclined for exercise, and has slept +well. In short, his bodily health has been without a flaw. Accompanying +this state of physical well-being there has been a very remarkable +mental torpor." + +"Are you not fanciful on that point?" asked Dr. Rumsey. + +"I am not. Please remember that I have known him since he was a boy. As +a boy he was particularly ambitious, full of all sorts of schemes for +the future--many of these schemes were really daring and original. He +did well at school, and better than well at Balliol. When we became +engaged his strong sense of ambition was quite one of the most +remarkable traits of his character. He always spoke of doing much with +his life. The idea was that as soon as possible he was to enter the +House, and he earnestly hoped that when that happy event took place he +would make his mark there. One by one all these thoughts, all these +hopes and aims, have dropped away from his mind; each year has robbed +him of something, until at last he has come to that pass when even books +fail to arouse any interest in him. He sits for many hours absolutely +doing nothing, not even sleeping, but gazing straight before him into +vacancy. Our little son is almost the only person who has any power to +rouse him. He is devoted to the child, but his love even for little +Arthur is tempered by that remarkable torpor--he never plays with the +boy, who is a particularly strong-willed, spirited child, but likes to +sit with him on his knee, the child's arms clasped round his neck. He +has trained the little fellow to sit perfectly still. The child is +devoted to his father, and would do anything for him. As the years have +gone on, my husband has become more and more a man of few words--I now +believe him to be a man of few thoughts--of late he has been subject to +moods of deep depression, and although he is my husband, I often feel, +truly as I love him, that he is more like a log than a man." + +Tears dimmed Margaret's eyes; she hastily wiped them away. + +"I would not trouble you about all this," she continued, "but for a +change which has taken place within the last few months. That change +directly affects my husband's physical health, and as such is the case I +feel it right to consult you about it." + +"Yes, speak--take your own time--I am much interested," said the doctor. + +"The change in my husband's health of body has also begun gradually," +continued Mrs. Awdrey. "You know, of course, that he is now the owner of +Grandcourt. He has taken a great dislike to the place--in my opinion, an +unaccountable dislike. He absolutely refuses to live there. Now I am +fond of Grandcourt, and our little boy always seems in better health and +spirits there than anywhere else. I take my child down to the old family +place whenever I can spare a week from my husband. Last autumn I +persuaded Mr. Awdrey with great difficulty to accompany me to Grandcourt +for a week. I have never ceased to regret that visit." + +"Indeed, what occurred?" asked the doctor. + +"Apparently nothing, and yet evidently a great deal. When we got into +the country Robert's apathy seemed to change; he roused himself and +became talkative and even excitable. He took long walks, and was +particularly fond of visiting Salisbury Plain, that part which lies to +the left of the Court. He invariably took these rambles alone, and often +went out quite late in the evening, not returning until midnight. + +"On the last of these occasions I asked him why he was so fond of +walking by himself. He said with a forced laugh, and a very queer look +in his eyes, that he was engaged trying to find a favorite walking-stick +which he had lost years ago. He laid such stress upon what appeared such +a trivial subject that I could scarcely refrain from smiling. When I did +so he swore a terrific oath, and said, with blazing eyes, that life or +death depended upon the matter which I thought so trivial. Immediately +after his brief blaze of passion he became moody, dull, and more inert +than ever. The next day we left the Court. It was immediately after that +visit that his physical health began to give way. He lost his appetite, +and for the last few months he has been the victim of a very peculiar +form of sleeplessness." + +"Ah, insomnia would be bad in a case like his," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"It has had a very irritating effect upon him. His sleeplessness, like +all other symptoms, came on gradually. At the same time he became +intensely sensitive to the slightest noise. Against my will he tried +taking small doses of chloral, but they had the reverse of a beneficial +effect upon him. During the last month he has, toward morning, dropped +off into uneasy slumber, from which he awakens bathed in perspiration +and in a most curious state of terror. Night after night the same sort +of thing occurs. He seizes my hand and asks me in a voice choking with +emotion if I see anything in the room. 'Nothing,' I answer. + +"'Am I awake or asleep?' he asks next. + +"'Wide awake,' I say to him. + +"'Then it is as I fear,' he replies. 'I see it, I see it distinctly. +Can't you? Look, you must see it too. It is just over there, in the +direction of the window. Don't you see that sphere of perfect light? +Don't you see the picture in the middle?' He shivers; the drops of +perspiration fall from his forehead. + +"'Margaret,' he says, 'for God's sake look. Tell me that you see it +too.' + +"'I see nothing,' I answer him. + +"'Then the vision is for me alone. It haunts me. What have I done to +deserve it? Margaret, there is a circle of light over there--in the +centre a picture--it is the picture of a murder. Two men are in it--yes, +I know now--I am looking at the Plain near the Court--the moon is hidden +behind the clouds--there are two men--they fight. God in heaven, one man +falls--the other bends over him. I see the face of the fallen man, but I +cannot see the face of the other. I should rest content if I could only +see his face. Who is he, Margaret, who is he?' + +"He falls back on his pillow half-fainting. + +"This sort of thing goes on night after night, Dr. Rumsey. Toward +morning the vision which tortures my unhappy husband begins to fade, he +sinks into heavy slumber, and awakens late in the morning with no memory +whatever of the horrible thing which has haunted him during the hours of +darkness. + +"The days which follow are more full than ever of that terrible inertia, +and now he begins to look what he really is, a man stricken with an +awful doom. + +"The symptoms you speak of are certainly alarming," said Dr. Rumsey, +after a pause. "They point to a highly unsatisfactory state of the nerve +centres. These symptoms, joined to what you have already told me of the +peculiar malady which Awdrey inherits, make his case a grave one. Of +course, I by no means give up hope, but the recurrence of this vision +nightly is a singular symptom. Does Awdrey invariably speak of not being +able to see the face of the man who committed the murder?" + +"Yes, he always makes a remark to that effect. He seems every night to +see the murdered man lying on the ground with his face upward, but the +man who commits the murder has his back to him. Last night he shrieked +out in absolute terror on the subject: + +"'Who is the man? That man on the ground is Horace Frere--he has been +hewn down in the first strength of his youth--he is a dead man. There +stands the murderer, with his back to me, but who is he? Oh, my God!' he +cried out with great passion, 'who is the one who has done this deed? +Who has murdered Horace Frere? I would give all I possess, all that this +wide world contains, only to catch one glimpse of his face.' + +"He sprang out of bed as he spoke, and went a step or two in the +direction where he saw the peculiar vision, clasping his hands, and +staring straight before him like a person distraught, and almost out of +his mind. I followed him and tried to take his hand. + +"'Robert!' I said, 'you know, don't you, quite well, who murdered Horace +Frere? Poor fellow, it was not murder in the ordinary sense. Frank +Everett is the name of the man whose face you cannot see. But it is an +old story now, and you have nothing to do with it, nothing +whatever--don't let it dwell any longer on your mind.' + +"'Ha, but he carries my stick,' he shrieked out, and then he fell back +in a state of unconsciousness against the bed." + +"And do you mean to tell me that he remembered nothing of this agony in +the morning?" queried Dr. Rumsey. + +"Nothing whatever. At breakfast he complained of a slight headache and +was particularly dull and moody. When I came off to you he had just +started for a walk in the Park with our little boy." + +"I should like to see your husband, and to talk to him," said Dr. +Rumsey, rising abruptly. "Can you manage to bring him here?" + +"I fear I cannot, for he does not consider himself ill." + +"Shall you be at home this evening?" + +"Yes, we are not going out to-night." + +"Then I'll drop in between eight and nine on a friendly visit. You must +not be alarmed if I try to lead up to the subject of these nightly +visions, for I would infinitely rather your husband remembered them than +that they should quite slip from his memory." + +"Thank you," answered Margaret. "I will leave you alone with him when +you call to-night." + +"It may be best for me to see him without anyone else being present." + +Margaret Awdrey soon afterward took her leave. + +That night, true to his appointment, Dr. Rumsey made his appearance at +the Awdreys' house in Seymour Street. He was shown at once into the +drawing-room, where Awdrey was lying back in a deep chair on one side of +the hearth, and Margaret was softly playing a sonata of Beethoven's in +the distance. She played with great feeling and power, and did not use +any notes. The part of the room where she sat was almost in shadow, but +the part round the fire where Awdrey had placed himself was full of +bright light. + +Margaret's dark eyes looked full of painful thought when the great +doctor was ushered into the room. She did not see him at first, then she +noticed him and faltered in her playing. She took her fingers from the +piano, and rose to meet him. + +"Pray go on, Margaret. What are you stopping for?" cried her husband. +"Nothing soothes me like your music. Go on, go on. I see the moonlight +on the trees, I feel the infinite peace, the waves are beating on the +shore, there is rest." He broke off abruptly, starting to his feet. "I +beg your pardon, Dr. Rumsey, I assure you I did not see you until this +moment." + +"I happened to have half-an-hour at my disposal, and thought I would +drop in for a chat," said Dr. Rumsey in his pleasant voice. + +Awdrey's somewhat fretful brow relaxed. + +"You are heartily welcome," he said. "Have you dined? Will you take +anything?" + +"I have dined, and I only want one thing," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"Pray name it; I'll ring for it immediately." + +"You need not do that, for the person to give it to me is already in the +room." + +The doctor bowed to Margaret as he spoke. + +"I love the 'Moonlight Sonata' beyond all other music," he said. "Will +you continue playing it, Mrs. Awdrey? Will you rest a tired physician as +well as your husband with your music?" + +"With all the pleasure in the world," she replied. She returned at once +to her shady corner, and the soothing effects of the sonata once more +filled the room. For a short time Awdrey sat upright, forced into +attention of others by the fact of Dr. Rumsey's presence, but he soon +relaxed the slight effort after self-control, and lay back in his chair +once again with his eyes half shut. + +Rumsey listened to the music and watched his strange patient at the same +time. + +Margaret suddenly stopped, almost as abruptly as if she had had a +signal. She walked up the room, and stood in the bright circle of light. +She looked very lovely, and almost spiritual--her face was pale--her +eyes luminous as if lit from within--her pathetic and perfect lips were +slightly apart. Rumsey thought her something like an angel who was about +to utter a benediction. + +"I am going up now to see little Arthur," she said. She glanced at her +husband, and left the room. + +Rumsey had not failed to observe that Awdrey did not even glance at his +wife when she stood on the hearth. There was a full moment's pause after +she left the room. Awdrey's eyes were half closed, they were turned in +the direction of the bright blaze. Rumsey looked full at him. + +"Strange case, strange man," he muttered under his breath. "There is +something for me to unravel here. The man who is insensate enough not to +see the beauty in that woman's face, not to revel in the love she +bestows on him--he is a log, not a man--and yet----" + +"Are you well?" cried the doctor abruptly. He spoke on purpose with +great distinctness, and his words had something the effect of a +pistol-shot. + +Awdrey sat bolt upright and stared full at him. + +"Why do you ask me that question?" he replied, irritation in his tone. + +"Because I wish to question you with regard to your health," said Dr. +Rumsey. "Whether you feel it or not, you are by no means well." + +"Indeed! What do I look like?" + +"Like a man who sees more than he ought," replied the doctor with +deliberation. "But before we come to that may I ask you a question?" + +Awdrey looked disturbed--he got up and stood with his back to the fire. + +"Ask what you please," he said, rubbing up his hair as he spoke. "As +there is a heaven above, Dr. Rumsey, you see a wretched man before you +to-night." + +"My dear fellow, what strong words! Surely, you of all people----" + +Awdrey interrupted with a hollow laugh. + +"Ah," he said, "it looks like it, does it not? In any circle, among any +concourse of people, I should be pointed out as the fortunate man. I +have money--I have a very good and beautiful wife--I am the father of as +fine a boy as the heart of man could desire. I belong to one of the old +and established families of our country, and I also, I suppose, may +claim the inestimable privilege to youth, for I am only twenty-six years +of age--nevertheless----" He shuddered, looked down the long room, and +then closed his eyes. + +"I am glad I came here," said Dr. Rumsey. "Believe me, my dear sir, the +symptoms you have just described are by no means uncommon in the cases +of singularly fortunate individuals like yourself. The fact is, you have +got too much. You want to empty yourself of some of your abundance in +order that contentment and health of mind may flow in." + +Awdrey stared at the doctor with lack-lustre eyes. Then he shook his +head. + +"I am past all that," he said. "I might at the first have managed to +make a superhuman effort; but now I have no energy for anything. I have +not even energy sufficient to take away my own life, which is the only +thing on all God's earth that I crave to do." + +"Come, come, Awdrey, you must not allow yourself to speak like that. Now +sit down. Tell me, if you possibly can, exactly what you feel." + +"Why should I tell you? I am not your patient." + +"But I want you to be." + +"Is that why you came here this evening?" + +Dr. Rumsey paused before he replied; he had not expected this question. + +"I will answer you frankly," he said, with a pause. "Your wife came to +see me about you. She did not wish me to mention the fact of her visit, +but I believe I am wise in keeping nothing back from you. You love your +wife, don't you?" + +"I suppose I do; that is, if I love anybody." + +"Of course, you love her. Don't sentimentalize over a fact. She came to +see me because her love for you is over-abundant. It makes her anxious; +you have given her, Awdrey, a great deal of anxiety lately. + +"I cannot imagine how. I have done nothing." + +"That is just it. You have done too little. She is naturally terribly +anxious. She told me one or two things about your state which I do not +consider quite satisfactory. I said it would be necessary for me to have +an interview with you, and asked her to beg of you to call at my house. +She said you did not consider yourself ill, and might not be willing to +come to me. I then resolved to come to you, and here I am." + +"It is good of you, Rumsey, but you can do nothing; I am not really ill. +It is simply that something--I have not the faintest idea what--has +killed my soul. I believe, before heaven, that I have stated the case in +a nutshell. You may be, and doubtless are, a great doctor, but you have +not come across living men with dead souls before." + +"I have not Awdrey; nor is your soul dead. You state an impossibility." + +Awdrey started excitedly. His face, which had been deadly pale, now +blazed with animation and color. + +"Learned as you are," he cried, "you will gain some fresh and valuable +experience from me to-night. I am the strangest patient you ever +attempted to cure. You have roused me, and it is good to be roused. +Perhaps my soul is not dead after all--perhaps it is struggling with a +demon which crushes it down." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +Dr. Rumsey did not reply to this for a moment, then he spoke quietly. + +"Tell me everything," he said. "Nothing you can say will startle me, but +if there is any possibility of my helping you I must know the case as +far as you can give it me." + +"I have but little to say," replied Awdrey. "I am paralyzed day after +day simply by want of feeling. Even a sense of pain, of irritation, is a +relief--the deadness of my life is so overpowering. Do you know the +history of my house?" + +"Your wife has told me. It is a queer story." + +"It is a damnable story," said Awdrey. "With such a fate hanging over +me, why was I born? Why did my father marry? Why did my mother bring a +man-child into the world? Men with dooms like mine ought never to have +descendants. I curse the thought that I have a child myself. It is all +cruel, monstrous." + +"But the thing you fear has not fallen upon you," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"Has it not? I believe it has." + +"How can you possibly imagine what is not the case?" + +"Dr. Rumsey," said Awdrey, advancing a step or two to meet him, "I don't +imagine what I know. Look at me. I am six-and-twenty. Do I look that +age?" + +"I must confess that you look older than your years." + +"Aye, I should think so. See my hair already mingled with gray. Feel +this nerveless hand. Is this the hand of the English youth of +six-and-twenty? Look at my eyes--how dull they are; are they the eyes of +a man in his prime? No, no, I am going down to the grave as the other +men of my house have gone, simply because I cannot help it. Like those +who have gone before me I slip, and slip, and slip, and cannot get a +grip of life anywhere, and so I go out, or go over the precipice into +God knows what--anyhow I go." + +"Poor fellow, he is far worse than I had any idea of," thought the +doctor. He took his patient's hand, and led him to a seat. + +"You are quite ill enough to see a doctor," he said, "and ought to have +had advice long ago. I mean to take you up, Awdrey. From this moment you +must consider yourself my patient." + +"If you can do anything for me I shall be glad--that is, no, I shall not +be glad, for I am incapable of the sensation, but I am aware it is the +right thing to put myself into your hands. What do you advise?" + +"I cannot tell you until I know more. My present impression is that you +are simply the victim of nerve terrors. You have dwelt upon the doom of +your house for so long a time that you are now fully convinced that you +are one of the victims. But you must please remember that the special +feature of the tragedy, for tragedy it is, has not occurred in your +case, for you have never forgotten anything of consequence." + +"Only one thing--it sounds stupid even to speak of it, but it worries me +inconceivably. There was a murder committed on Salisbury Plain the night +before I got engaged to Margaret. On that night I lost a walking-stick +which I was particularly fond of." + +"Your wife mentioned to me that you were troubled on that point," broke +in Dr. Rumsey. "Pray dismiss it at once and forever from your mind. The +fact of your having forgotten such a trifle is not of the slightest +consequence." + +"Do you think so? The fret about it has fastened itself very deeply into +my mind." + +"Well, don't think of it again--the next time it occurs to torment you, +just remember that I, who have made brain troubles like yours my special +study, think nothing at all about it." + +"Thank you, I'll try to remember." + +"Do so. Now, I wish to talk to you about another matter. You sleep +badly." + +"Do I?" Awdrey raised his brows. "I cannot recall that fact." + +"Nevertheless you do. Your wife speaks of it. Now in your state of +health it is most essential that you should have good nights." + +"I always feel an added sense of depression when I am going to bed," +said Awdrey, "but I am unconscious that I have bad nights--what can +Margaret mean?" + +"I trust that your wife's natural nervousness with regard to you makes +her inclined to exaggerate your symptoms, but I may as well say frankly +that some of the things she has mentioned, as occurring night after +night, have given me uneasiness. Now I should like to be with you during +one of your bad nights." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Come home with me to-night, my good fellow," said the doctor, laying +his hand on Awdrey's shoulder--"we will pass this night together. What +do you say?" + +"Your request surprises me very much, but it would be a relief--I will +go," said Awdrey. + +He turned and rang the bell as he spoke--a servant appeared, who was +sent with a message to Mrs. Awdrey. She came to the drawing-room in a +few minutes. Her face of animation, wakefulness of soul and feeling, +made a strong contrast to Awdrey's haggard, lifeless expression. + +He went up to his wife and put his hand on her shoulder. + +"You have been telling tales of me, Maggie," he said. "You complain of +something I know nothing about--my bad nights." + +"They are very bad, Robert, very terrible," she replied. + +"I cannot recall a single thing about them." + +"I wish you could remember," she said. + +"I have made a suggestion to your husband," interrupted Dr. Rumsey, +"which I am happy to say he approves of. He returns with me to my house +to-night. I will promise to look after him. If he does happen to have a +bad night I shall be witness to it. Now pray go to bed yourself and +enjoy the rest you sorely need." + +Margaret tried to smile in reply, but her eyes filled with tears. Rumsey +saw them, but Awdrey took no notice--he was staring straight into +vacancy, after his habitual fashion. + +A moment later he and Rumsey left the house together. Ten minutes +afterward Rumsey opened his own door with a latchkey. + +"It is late," he said to his guest. He glanced at the clock as he spoke. +"At this hour I always indulge in supper--it is waiting for me now. Will +you come and have a glass of port with me?" + +Awdrey murmured something in reply--the two men went into the +dining-room, where Rumsey, without apparently making any fuss, saw that +his guest ate and drank heartily. During the meal the doctor talked, and +Awdrey replied in monosyllables--sometimes, indeed, not replying at all. +Dr. Rumsey took no notice of this. When the meal, which really only took +a few minutes, was over, he rose. + +"I am going to take you to your bedroom now," he said. + +"Thanks," answered Awdrey. "The whole thing seems extraordinary," he +added. "I cannot make out why I am to sleep in your house." + +"You sleep here as my patient. I am going to sit up with you." + +"You! I cannot allow it, doctor!" + +"Not a word, my dear sir. Pray don't overwhelm me with thanks. Your case +is one of great interest to me. I shall certainly not regret the few +hours I steal from sleep to watch it." + +Awdrey made a dull reply. The two men went upstairs. Rumsey had already +given orders, and a bedroom had been prepared. A bright fire burned in +the grate, and electric light made the room cheerful as day. The bed was +placed in an alcove by itself. In front of the fire was drawn up a deep, +easy chair, a small table, a reading-lamp ready to be lighted, and +several books. + +"For me?" said Awdrey, glancing at these. "Excuse me, Dr. Rumsey, but I +do not appreciate books. Of late months I have had a difficulty in +centring my thoughts on what I read. Even the most exciting story fails +to arouse my attention." + +"These books are for me," said the doctor. "You are to go straight to +bed. You will find everything you require for the night in that part of +the room. Pray undress as quickly as possible--I shall return at the end +of a quarter of an hour." + +"Will you give me a sleeping draught? I generally take chloral." + +"My dear sir, I will give you nothing. It is my impression you will have +a good night without having recourse to sedatives. Get into bed now--you +look sleepy already." + +The doctor left the room. When he came back at the end of the allotted +time, Awdrey was in bed--he was lying on his back, with his eyes already +closed. His face looked very cadaverous and ghastly pale; but for the +gentle breathing which came from his partly opened lips he might almost +have been a dead man. + +"Six-and-twenty," muttered the doctor, as he glanced at him, +"six-and-forty, six-and-fifty, rather. This is a very queer case. There +is something at the root of it. I can no longer make light of Mrs. +Awdrey's fears--something is killing that man inch by inch. He has +described his own condition very accurately. He is slipping out of life +because he has not got grip enough to hold it. Nevertheless, at the +present moment, no child could sleep more tranquilly." + +The doctor turned off the electric light, and returned to his own bright +part of the room. The bed in which Awdrey lay was now in complete +shadow. Dr. Rumsey opened a medical treatise, but he did not read. On +the contrary, the book lay unnoticed on his knee, while he himself +stared into the blaze of the fire--his brows were contracted in anxious +thought. He was thinking of the sleeper and his story--of the tragedy +which all this meant to Margaret. Then, by a queer chain of connection, +his memory reverted to Mrs. Everett--her passionate life quest--her +determination to consider her son innocent. The queer scene she had +described as taking place between Hetty and herself returned vividly +once more to the doctor's retentive memory. + +"Is it possible that Awdrey can in any way be connected with that +tragedy?" he thought. "It looks almost like it. According to his own +showing, and according to his wife's showing, the strange symptoms which +have brought him to his present pass began about the date of that +somewhat mysterious murder. I have thought it best to make light of that +lapse of memory which worries the poor fellow so much in connection with +his walking-stick, but is there not something in it after all? Can he +possibly have witnessed the murder? Would it be possible for him to +throw any light upon it and save Everett? If I really thought so? But +no, the hypothesis is too wild." + +Dr. Rumsey turned again to his book. He was preparing a lecture of some +importance. As he read he made many notes. The sleeper in the distant +part of the room slept on calmly--the night gradually wore itself +away--the fire smouldered in the grate. + +"If this night passes without any peculiar manifestation on Awdrey's +part, I shall begin to feel assured that the wife has overstated the +case," thought the doctor. He bent forward as this thought came to him +to replenish the fire. In the act of doing so he made a slight noise. +Whether this noise disturbed the sleeper or not no one can say--Awdrey +abruptly turned in bed, opened his eyes, uttered a heavy groan, and then +sat up. + +"There it is again," he cried. "Margaret, are you there?--Margaret, come +here." + +Dr. Rumsey immediately approached the bed. + +"Your wife is not in the room, Awdrey," he said--"you remember, don't +you, that you are passing the night with me." + +Awdrey rubbed his eyes--he took no notice of Dr. Rumsey's words. He +stared straight before him in the direction of one of the windows. + +"There it is," he said, "the usual thing--the globe of light and the +picture in the middle. There lies the murdered man on his back. Yes, +that is the bit of the Plain that I know so well--the moon drifts behind +the clouds--now it shines out, and I see the face of the murdered +man--but the murderer, who is he? Why will he keep his back to me? Good +God! why can't I see his face? Look, can't you see for yourself? +Margaret, can't you see?--do you notice the stick in his hand?--it is my +stick--and--the scoundrel, he wears my clothes. Yes, those clothes are +mine. My God, what does this mean?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +"Come, Awdrey, wake up, you don't know what you are talking about," said +the doctor. He grasped his patient firmly by one arm, and shook him +slightly. The dazed and stricken man gazed at the doctor in +astonishment. + +"Where am I, and what is the matter?" he asked. + +"You are spending the night in my house, and have just had a bad dream," +said Dr. Rumsey. "Don't go back to bed just yet. Come and sit by the +fire for a few minutes." + +As the doctor spoke, he put a warm padded dressing-gown of his own over +his shivering and cowed-looking patient. + +Awdrey wrapped himself in it, and approached the fire. Dr. Rumsey drew a +chair forward. He noticed the shaking hands, thin almost to emaciation, +the sunken cheeks, the glazed expression of the eyes, the look of age +and mental irritation which characterized the face. + +"Poor fellow? no wonder that he should be simply slipping out of life if +this kind of thing continues night after night," thought the doctor. +"What is to be done with him? His is one of the cases which baffle +Science. Well, at least, he wants heaps of nourishment to enable him to +bear up. I'll go downstairs and prepare a meal for him." + +He spoke aloud. + +"You shiver, Awdrey, are you cold?" + +"Not very," replied Awdrey, trying to smile, although his lips +chattered. He looked into the fire, and held out one hand to the +grateful blaze. + +"You'll feel much better after you have taken a prescription which I +mean to make up for you. I'll go and prepare it now. Do you mind being +left alone?" + +"Certainly not. Why should I?" + +"He has already forgotten his terrors," thought Dr. Rumsey. "Queer case, +incomprehensible. I never met one like it before. In these days, it is +true, one comes across all forms of psychological distress. Nothing now +ought to be new or startling to medical science, but this certainly is +marvellous." + +The doctor speedily returned with a plate of cold meat, some bread and +butter, and a bottle of champagne. + +"As we are both spending the night other than it should be spent," he +said, "we must have nourishment. I am going to eat, will you join me?" + +"I feel hungry," answered Awdrey. "I should be glad of something." + +The doctor fed him as though he were an infant. He drank off two glasses +of champagne, and then the color returned to his cheeks, and some +animation to his sunken eyes. + +"You look better," said the doctor. "Now, you will get back to bed, +won't you? After that champagne a good sleep will put some mettle into +you. It is not yet four o'clock. You have several hours to devote to +slumber." + +The moment Rumsey began to speak, Awdrey's eyes dilated. + +"I remember something," he said. + +"I dare say you do--many things--what are you specially alluding to?" + +"I saw something a short time ago in this room. The memory of it comes +dimly back to me. I struggle to grasp it fully. Is your house said to be +haunted, Dr. Rumsey?" + +Dr. Rumsey laughed. + +"Not that I am aware of," he replied. + +"Well, haunted or not, I saw something." Awdrey rose slowly as he +spoke--he pointed in the direction of the farthest window. + +"I was sleeping soundly but suddenly found myself broad awake," he +began--"I saw over there"--he pointed with his hand to the farthest +window, "what looked like a perfect sphere or globe of light--in the +centre of this light was a picture. I see the whole thing now in +imagination, but the picture is dim--it worries me, I want to see it +better. No, I will not get back to bed." + +"You had a bad dream and are beginning to remember it," said Rumsey. + +"It was not a dream at all. I was wide awake. Stay--don't question +me--my memory becomes more vivid instant by instant. I was wide awake as +I said--I got up--I approached the thing. It never swerved from the one +position--it was there by the window--a sphere of light and the picture +in the middle. There were two men in the picture." + +"A nightmare, a nightmare," said the doctor. "What did you eat for +dinner last night?" + +"It was not an ordinary nightmare--my memory is now quite vivid. I +recall the whole vision. I saw a picture of something that happened. +Years ago, Dr. Rumsey--over five years ago now--there was a murder +committed on the Plain near my place. Two men, undergraduates of Oxford, +were staying at our village inn--they fought about a girl with whom they +were both in love. One man killed the other. The murder was committed in +a moment of strong provocation and the murderer only got penal +servitude. He is serving his time now. It seems strange, does it not, +that I should have seen a complete picture of the murder! The whole +thing was very vivid and distinct--it has, in short, burnt itself into +my brain." + +Awdrey raised his hand as he spoke and pressed it to his forehead. "My +pulse is bounding just here," he said--he touched his temple. "I have +only to shut my eyes to see in imagination what I saw in reality half an +hour ago. Why should I be worried with a picture of a murder committed +five years ago?" + +"It probably made a deep impression on you at the time," said Dr. +Rumsey. "You are now weak and your nerves much out of order--your brain +has simply reverted back to it. If I were you I would only think of it +as an ordinary nightmare. Pray let me persuade you to go back to bed." + +"I could not--I am stricken by the most indescribable terror." + +"Nonsense! You a man!" + +"You may heap what opprobrium you like on me, but I cannot deny the +fact. I am full of cowardly terror. I cannot account for my sensations. +The essence of my torture lies in the fact that I am unable to see the +face of the man who committed the murder." + +"Oh, come, why should you see his face--you know who he was?" + +"That's just it, doctor. I wish to God I did know." Awdrey approached +close to Dr. Rumsey, and stared into his eyes. His own eyes were queer +and glittering. He seemed instinctively to feel that he had said too +much, for he drew back a step, putting his hand again to his forehead +and staring fixedly out into vacancy. + +"You believe that I am talking nonsense," he said, after a pause. + +"I believe that you are a sad victim to your own nervous fears. You need +not go to bed unless you like. Dress yourself and sit here by the fire. +You will very likely fall asleep in this arm-chair. I shall remain close +to you." + +"You are really good to me, and I would thank you if I were capable of +gratitude. Yes, I'll get into my clothes." + +Rumsey turned on the electric light, and Awdrey with trembling fingers +dressed himself. When he came back to his easy-chair by the warm fire he +said suddenly: + +"Give me a sheet of paper and a pencil, will you?" + +The doctor handed him a blank sheet from his own note-paper, and +furnished him with a pencil. + +"Now I will sketch what I saw for you," he said. + +He drew with bold touches a broad sphere of light. In the centre was a +picture, minute but faithful. + +At one time Awdrey had been fond of dabbling in art. He sketched a night +scene now, with broad effects--a single bar of moonlight lit up +everything with vivid distinctness. A man lay on the ground stretched +out flat and motionless--another man bent over him in a queer +attitude--he held a stick in his hand--he was tall and slender--there +was a certain look about his figure! Awdrey dropped his pencil and +stared furtively with eyes dilated with horror at his own production. +Then he put his sketch face downward on the table, and turned a white +and indescribably perplexed countenance to Dr. Rumsey. + +"What I have drawn is not worth looking at," he said, simulating a yawn +as he spoke. "After all I cannot quite reproduce what I saw. I believe I +shall doze off in this chair." + +"Do so," said the doctor. + +A few minutes later, when the patient was sound asleep, Dr. Rumsey +lifted the paper on which Awdrey had made his sketch. He looked fixedly +at the vividly worked-up picture. + +"The man whose back is alone visible has an unmistakable likeness to +Awdrey," he muttered. "Poor fellow, what does this mean!--diseased +nerves of course. The next thing he will say is that he committed the +murder himself. He certainly needs immediate treatment. But what to do +is the puzzle." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +When he awoke Awdrey felt much better. He expressed surprise at finding +himself sitting up instead of in bed, and Rumsey saw that he had once +more completely forgotten the occurrence of the night. The doctor +resolved that he should not see the sketch he had made--he put it +carefully away therefore in one of his own private drawers, for he knew +that it might possibly be useful later on. At the present moment the +patient was better without it. + +The two men breakfasted together, and then Rumsey spoke. + +"Now," he said, "I won't conceal the truth from you. I watched you last +night with great anxiety--I am glad I sat up with you, for I am now able +to make a fairly correct diagnosis of your case. You are certainly very +far from well--you are in a sort of condition when a very little more +might overbalance your mind. I tell you this because I think it best for +you to know the exact truth--at the same time pray do not be seriously +alarmed, there is nothing as yet in your case to prevent you from +completely recovering your mental equilibrium, but, in my opinion, to do +so you must have complete change of air and absolutely fresh +surroundings. I recommend therefore that you go away from home +immediately. Do not take your child nor yet your wife with you. If you +commission me to do so, I can get you a companion in the shape of a +clever young doctor who will never intrude his medical knowledge on you, +but yet will be at hand to advise you in case the state of your nerves +requires such interference. I shall put him in possession of one or two +facts with regard to your nervous condition, but will not tell him too +much. Make up your mind to go away at once, Awdrey, within the week if +possible. Start with a sea voyage--I should recommend to the Cape. The +soothing influence of the sea on nerves like yours could not but be +highly beneficial. Take a sea voyage--to the Cape by preference, but +anywhere. It does not greatly matter where you go. The winter is on us, +don't spend it in England. Keep moving about from one place to another. +Don't over-fatigue yourself in any way, but at the same time allow heaps +of fresh impressions to filter slowly through your brain. They will have +a healthy and salutary effect. It is my opinion that by slow but sure +degrees, if you fully take my advice in this matter, you will forget +what now assumes the aspect of monomania. In short, you will forget +yourself, and other lives and other interests mingling with yours will +give you the necessary health and cure. I must ask you to leave me now, +for it is the hour when my patients arrive for consultation, but I will +call round at your house late this evening. Do you consent to my scheme? + +"I must take a day to think it over--this kind of thing cannot be +planned in a hurry." + +"In your case it can and ought to be. You have heaps of money, which is, +as a rule, the main difficulty. Go home to your wife, tell her at once +what I recommend. This is Wednesday, you ought to be out of London on +Saturday. Well, my dear fellow, if you have not sufficient energy to +carry out what I consider essential to your recovery, some one else must +have energy in your behalf and simply take you away. Good-by--good-by." + +Awdrey shook hands with the doctor and slowly left the house. When he +had gone a dozen yards down the street he had almost forgotten the +prescription which had been given to him. He had a dull sort of wish, +which scarcely amounted to a wish in his mind, to reach home in time to +take little Arthur for his morning walk. Beyond that faint desire he had +no longing of any sort. + +He had nearly reached his own house when he was conscious of footsteps +hurrying after him. Presently they reached his side, and he heard the +hurried panting of quickened breath. He turned round with a vague sort +of wonder to see who had dared to come up and accost him in this way. To +his surprise he saw that the intruder was a woman. She was dressed in +the plain ungarnished style of the country. She wore an old-fashioned +and somewhat seedy jacket which reached down to her knees, her dress +below was of a faded summer tint, and thin in quality. Her hat was +trimmed with rusty velvet, she wore a veil which only reached half way +down her face. Her whole appearance was odd, and out of keeping with her +surroundings. + +"Mr. Awdrey, you don't know me?" she cried, in a panting voice. + +"Yes, I do," said Awdrey. He stopped in his walk and stared at her. + +"Is it possible," he continued, "that you are little Hetty Armitage?" + +"I was, sir, I ain't now; I'm Hetty Vincent now. I ventured up to town +unbeknown to any one to see you, Mr. Awdrey. It is of the greatest +importance that I should have a word with you, sir. Can you give me a +few minutes all alone?" + +"Certainly I can, Hetty," replied Awdrey, in a kind voice. A good deal +of his old gentleness and graciousness of manner returned at sight of +Hetty. He overlooked her ugly attire--in short, he did not see it. She +recalled old times to him--gay old times before he had known sorrow or +trouble. She belonged to his own village, to his own people. He was +conscious of a grateful sense of refreshment at meeting her again. + +"You shall come home with me," he said. "My wife will be glad to welcome +you. How are all the old folks at Grandcourt?" + +"I believe they are well, sir, but I have not been to Grandcourt lately. +My husband's farm is three miles from the village. Mr. Robert," dropping +her voice, "I cannot go home with you. It would be dangerous if I were +to be seen at your house." + +"Dangerous!" said Awdrey in surprise. "What do you mean?" + +"What I say, sir; I must not be seen talking to you. On no account must +we two be seen together. I have come up to London unbeknown to anybody, +because it is necessary for me to tell you something, and to ask you--to +ask you--Oh, my God!" continued Hetty, raising her eyes skyward as she +spoke, "how am I to tell him?" + +She turned white to her lips now; she trembled from head to foot. + +"Sir," she continued, "there's some one who suspects." + +"Suspects?" said Awdrey, knitting his brows, "Suspects what? What have +suspicious people to do with me? You puzzle me very much by this +extraordinary talk. Are you quite well yourself? I recall now that you +always were a mysterious little thing; but you are greatly changed, +Hetty." He turned and gave her a long look. + +"I know I am, sir, but that don't matter now. I did not run this risk to +talk about myself. Mr. Robert, there's one living who suspects." + +"Come home with me and tell me there," said Awdrey--he was conscious of +a feeling of irritation, otherwise Hetty's queer words aroused no +emotion of any sort within him. + +"I cannot go home with you, sir--I came up to London at risk to myself +in order to warn you." + +"Of what--of whom?" + +"Of Mrs. Everett, sir." + +"Mrs. Everett! my wife's friend!--you must have taken leave of your +sense. See, we are close to the Green Park; if you won't come to my +house, let us go there. Then you can tell me quickly what you want to +say." + +Awdrey motioned to Hetty to follow him. They crossed the road near Hyde +Park Corner, and soon afterward were in the shelter of the Green Park. + +"Now, speak out," said the Squire. "I cannot stay long with you, as I +want to take my little son for his customary walk. What extraordinary +thing have you to tell me about Mrs. Everett?" + +"Mr. Robert, you may choose to make light of, but in your heart ... +there, I'll tell you everything. Mrs. Everett was down at Grandcourt +lately--she was stopping at uncle's inn in the village. She walked out +one day to the Plain--by ill-luck she met me on her road. She got me to +show her the place where the murder was committed. I stood just by the +clump of elders where--but of course you have forgotten, sir. Mrs. +Everett stood with me, and I showed her the very spot. I described the +scene to her, and showed her just where the two men fought together." + +The memory of his dream came back to Awdrey. He was very quiet now--his +brain was quite alert. + +"Go on, Hetty," he said. "Do you know this interests me vastly. I have +been troubled lately with visions of that queer murder. Only last night +I had one. Now why should such visions come to one who knows nothing +whatever about it?" + +"Well, sir, they do say----" + +"What?" + +"It is the old proverb," muttered Hetty. "'Murder will out.'" + +"I know the proverb, but I don't understand your application," replied +Awdrey, but he looked thoughtful. "If you were troubled with these bad +visions or dreams I should not be surprised," he continued, "for you +really witnessed the thing. By the way, as you are here, perhaps you can +help me. I lost my stick at the time of the murder, and never found it +since. I would give a good deal to find it. What is that you say?" + +"You'll never find it, sir. Thank the good God above, you'll never find +it." + +"I am glad that you recognize the loss not to be a trifle. Most people +laugh when I speak of anything so trivial as a stick. You say I shall +never find it again--perhaps so. The forgetting it so completely +troubles me, however. Hetty, I had a bad dream last night--no, it was +not really a dream, it was a vision. I saw that murder--I witnessed the +whole thing. I saw the dead man, and I saw the back of the man who +committed the murder. I tried hard, but I could not get a glimpse of his +face. I wanted to see his face badly. What is the matter, girl? How +white you look." + +"Don't say another word, sir. I have borne much for you and for your +people, but there are limits, and if you say another word, I shall lose +my self-control." + +"I am sorry my talk has such an effect upon you, Hetty. You don't look +too happy, my little girl. Your face is old--I hope your husband is good +to you." + +"He is as good as I deserve, Mr. Awdrey. I never had any love to give +him--he knew that from the first. He married me five years ago because I +was pretty, and Aunt Fanny thought I'd best be married--she thought it +would make things safer--but it is a mistake to marry when your heart is +given to another." + +"Ah yes, poor Frere--you were in love with him, were you not?" + +"No, sir, that I was not." + +"I forgot--it was with Everett--poor girl, no wonder you look old." + +Awdrey gave Hetty a weary glance--his attention was already beginning to +flag. + +"It was not with Mr. Everett," whispered Hetty in a low tone which +thrilled with passion. + +Awdrey took no notice. His apathy calmed her, and saved her from making +a terrible avowal. + +"I'll just tell you what I came to say and then leave you, sir," she +said in a broken voice. "It is all about Mrs. Everett. She stood with me +close to the alders, and I described the scene of the murder and how it +took place, and all of a sudden she looked me in the eyes and said +something. She said that Mr. Horace Frere was the man who was +murdered--but the man who committed the murder was not her son, Mr. +Everett. She spoke in an awful sort of voice, and said she knew the +truth--she knew that her son was innocent. Oh, sir, I got so awfully +frightened--I nearly let the truth out." + +"You nearly let the truth out--the truth? What do you mean?" + +"Mr. Robert, is it possible that you do not know?" + +"I only know what all the rest of the world knows--that Everett is +guilty." + +"I see, sir, that you still hold to that, and I am glad of it, but Mrs. +Everett is the sort of woman to frighten a body. Her eyes seem to pierce +right down to your very heart--they seem to read your secret. Mr. +Awdrey, will you do what I ask you? Will you leave England for a bit? It +would be dreadful for me to have done all that I have done and to find +it useless in the end." + +Whatever reply Awdrey might have made to this appeal was never uttered. +His attention was at this moment effectually turned into another +channel. He saw Mrs. Everett, his wife, and boy coming to meet him. The +boy, a splendid little fellow with rosy cheeks and vigorous limbs, ran +down the path with a glad cry to fling himself into his father's arms. +He was a princely looking boy, a worthy scion of the old race. Awdrey, +absorbed with his son, took no notice of Hetty. Unperceived by him she +slipped down a side path and was lost to view. + +"Dad," cried the child, in a voice of rapture. + +Margaret and Mrs. Everett came up to the pair. + +"I hope you are better, Robert," said his wife. + +"I suppose I am," he answered. "I had a fairly good night. How well +Arthur looks this morning." + +"Poor little boy, he was fretting to come to meet you," said Mrs. +Awdrey. + +Awdrey turned to speak to Mrs. Everett. There was a good deal of color +in her cheeks, and her dark eyes looked brighter and more piercing than +ever. + +"Forgive me," she said, "for interrupting this conversation. I want to +ask you a question. Mr. Awdrey, I saw you walking just now with a woman. +Who was she?" + +Awdrey laughed. + +"Why, she has gone," he said, glancing round. "Who do you think my +companion was?" he continued, glancing at Margaret. "None other than an +old acquaintance--pretty little Hetty Armitage. She has some other name +now, but I forget what it is. She said she came up to town on purpose to +see me, but I could not induce her to come to the house. What is the +matter, Mrs. Everett?" + +"I should like to see Hetty Armitage. Did she give you her address?" + +"No, I did not ask her. I wonder why she hurried off so quickly; but she +seemed in a queer, excitable state. I don't believe she is well." + +"I want to see her again," continued Mrs. Everett. "I may as well say +frankly that I am fully convinced there is something queer about that +woman--a very little more and I should put a detective on her track. I +suspect her. If ever a woman carried a guilty secret she does." + +"Oh, come," said Margaret, "you must not allow your prejudices to run +away with you. Please remember that Hetty grew up at Grandcourt. My +husband and I have known her almost from her birth." + +"A giddy little thing, but wonderfully pretty," said Awdrey. + +"Well, never mind about her now," interrupted Margaret, a slight touch +of impatience in her manner. "Please, Robert, tell me exactly what Dr. +Rumsey ordered for you." + +"Nothing very alarming," he replied; "the doctor thinks my nerves want +tone. No doubt they do, although I feel wonderfully better this morning. +He said something about my leaving England for a time and taking a sea +voyage. I believe he intends to call round this evening to talk over the +scheme. Now, little man, are you ready for your walk?" + +"Yes," said the child. He stamped his sturdy feet with impatience. +Awdrey took his hand and the two went off in the direction of the +Serpentine. Mrs. Everett and Margaret followed slowly in the background. + +Awdrey remained out for some time with the boy. The day, which had begun +by being mild and spring-like, suddenly changed its character. The wind +blew strongly from the north--soon it rose to a gale. Piles of black +clouds came up over the horizon and covered the sky, then heavy sleet +showers poured down with biting intensity. Awdrey and the child were +quite in the open when they were caught by one of these, and before they +could reach any shelter they were wet through. They hurried into the +first hansom they met, but not before the mischief was done. Awdrey took +a chill, and before the evening was over he was shivering violently, +huddled up close to the fire. The boy, whose lungs were his weak point, +seemed, however, to have escaped without any serious result--he went to +bed in his usual high spirits, but his mother thought his pretty baby +voice sounded a little hoarse. Early the next morning the nurse called +her up; the child had been disturbed in the night by the hoarseness and +a croupy sensation in his throat; his eyes were now very bright and he +was feverish. The nurse said she did not like the look of the little +fellow; he seemed to find it difficult to breathe, and he was altogether +very unlike himself. + +"I'll send a messenger immediately for Dr. Rumsey," said Margaret. + +She returned to her bedroom and awoke her husband, who was in a heavy +sleep. At Margaret's first words he started up keen and interested. + +"What are you saying, Maggie? The boy--little Arthur--ill?" + +"Yes, he seems very ill; I do not like his look at all," she replied. +"It is I know, very early, but I think I'll send a messenger round at +once to ask Dr. Rumsey to call." + +"We ought not to lose a minute," said Awdrey. "I'll go for him myself." + +"You!" she exclaimed in surprise. "But do you feel well enough?" + +"Of course I do, there's nothing the matter with me." + +He sprang out of bed, and rushed off to his dressing-room, hastily put +on his clothes, and then went out. As he ran quickly downstairs Margaret +detected an almost forgotten quality in his steps. + +"Why, he is awake again," she cried. "How strange that this trouble +about the child should have power to give him back his old vigorous +health!" + +Rumsey quickly obeyed Awdrey's summons, and before eight o'clock that +morning he was bending over the sick child's cot. + +It needed but a keen glance and an application of the stethoscope to +tell the doctor that there was grave mischief at work. + +"It is a pity I was not sent for last night," he said. Then he moved +away from the cot, where the bright eyes of the sick baby were fixing +him with a too penetrating stare. + +He walked across the large nursery. Awdrey followed him. + +"The child is very ill," said the doctor. + +"What do you mean?" replied Awdrey. "Very ill--do you infer that the +child is in danger?" + +"Yes, Awdrey, he is undoubtedly in danger. Double pneumonia has set in. +Such a complaint at his tender age cannot but mean very grave danger. I +only hope we may pull him through." + +"We must pull him through, doctor. Margaret," continued her husband, his +face was white as death, "Dr. Rumsey says that the child is in danger." + +"Yes," answered Margaret. She was as quiet in her manner as he was +excited and troubled. She laid her hand now with great tenderness on his +arm. The touch was meant to soothe him, and to assure him of her +sympathy. Then she turned her eyes to fix them on the doctor. + +"I know you will do what you can," she said. There was suppressed +passion in her words. + +"Rest assured I will," he answered. + +"Of course," cried Awdrey. "Listen to me, Dr. Rumsey, not a stone must +be left unturned to pull the child through. You know what his life means +to us--to his mother and me. We cannot possibly spare him--he must be +saved. Had we not better get other advice immediately?" + +"It is not necessary, but you must please yourselves," answered Rumsey. +"I am not a specialist as regards lung affections, although this case is +perfectly straightforward. If you wish to have a specialist I shall be +very glad to consult with Edward Cowley." + +"What is his address? I'll go for him at once," said Awdrey. + +Dr. Rumsey sat down, wrote a short note and gave it to Awdrey, who +hurried off with it. + +Dr. Rumsey looked at Mrs. Awdrey after her husband had left the room. + +"It is marvellous," he said, "what a change for the better this illness +has made in your husband's condition." + +Her eyes filled slowly with tears. + +"Is his health to be won back at such a price?" she asked--she turned +once again to the sick child's bed. + +"God grant not," said the doctor--"rest satisfied that what man can do +to save him I will do." + +"I know that," she replied. + +In an hour's time the specialist arrived and the two doctors had their +consultation. Certain remedies were prescribed, and Dr. Rumsey hurried +away promising to send in two trained nurses immediately. He came back +again himself at noon to find the boy, as he expected, much worse. The +child was now delirious. All during that long dreadful day the fever +rose and rose. The whole aspect of the house in Seymour Street was +altered. There were hushed steps, anxious faces, whispered +consultations. As the hours flew by the prognostications of the medical +men became graver and graver. Margaret gave up hope as the evening +approached. She knew that the little life could not long stand the +strain of that all-consuming fever. Awdrey alone was full of bustle, +excitement, and confidence. + +"The child will and must recover," he said to his wife several times. +When the night began Dr. Rumsey resolved not to leave the child. + +"A man like Rumsey must save him," cried the father. He forgot all about +his own nervous symptoms--he refused even to listen to his wife's words +of anxiety. + +"Pooh!" he said, "when children are ill they are always very bad. I was +at death's door once or twice myself as a child. Children are bad one +moment and almost themselves the next. Is not that so, doctor?" + +"In some cases," replied the doctor. + +"Well, in this case? You think the boy will be all right in the +morning--come now, your honest opinion." + +"My honest opinion is a grave one, Mr. Awdrey." + +Awdrey laughed. There was a wild note in his merriment. + +"You and Cowley can't be up to much if between you you can't manage to +keep the life in a little mite like that," he said. + +"The issues of life and death belong to higher than us," answered the +doctor slowly. + +Awdrey looked at him again, gave an incredulous smile, and went into the +sick-room. + +During the entire night the father sat up with the boy. The sick child +did not know either parent. His voice grew weaker and weaker--the +struggle to breathe became greater. When he had strength to speak, he +babbled continually of his playthings, of his walk by the Serpentine the +previous day, and the little ships as they sailed on the water. +Presently he took a fancy into his head that he was in one of the tiny +ships, and that he was sailing away from shore. He laughed with feeble +pleasure, and tried to clap his burning hands. Toward morning his baby +notes were scarcely distinguishable. He dozed off for a little, then +woke again, and began to talk--he talked now all the time of his father. + +"'Ittle boy 'ove dad," he said. "'Ittle Arthur 'oves dad best of +anybody--best of all." + +Awdrey managed to retain one of the small hands in his. The child +quieted down then, gave him a look of long, unutterable love, and about +six in the morning, twenty-four hours after the seizure had declared +itself, the little spirit passed away. Awdrey, who was kneeling by the +child's cot, still holding his hand, did not know when this happened. +There was a sudden bustle round the bed, he raised his head with a +start, and looked around him. + +"What is the matter? Is he better?" he asked. He looked anxiously at the +sunken face of the dead child. He noticed that the hurried breathing had +ceased. + +"Come away with, me, Robert," said his wife. + +"Why so?" he asked. "Do you think I will leave the child?" + +"Darling, the child is dead." + +Awdrey tottered to his feet. + +"Dead!" he cried. "You don't mean it--impossible." He bent over the +little body, pulled down the bedclothes, and put his hand to the heart, +then bending low he listened intently for any breath to come from the +parted lips. + +"Dead--no, no," he said again. + +"My poor fellow, it is too true," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"Then before God," began Awdrey--he stepped back, the words were +arrested on his lips, and he fell fainting to the floor. + +Dr. Rumsey had him removed to his own room, and with some difficulty the +unhappy man was brought back to consciousness. He was now lying on his +bed. + +"Where am I?" he asked. + +"In your room, on your bed. You are better now, dearest," said Margaret. +She bent over him, trying valiantly to conceal her own anguish in order +to comfort him. + +"But what has happened?" he asked. He suddenly sat up. "Why are you +here, Rumsey? Margaret, why are your eyes so red?" + +Margaret Awdrey tried to speak, but the words would not come to her +lips. + +Rumsey bent forward and took Awdrey's hand. + +"It has pleased Providence to afflict you very sorely, my poor fellow," +he said, "but I know for your wife's sake you will be man enough to +endure this fearful blow with fortitude." + +"What blow, doctor?" + +"Your child," began the doctor. + +"My child?" said Awdrey. He put his feet on the floor, and stood up. +There was a strange note of query in his tone. + +"My child?" he repeated. "What child?" + +"Your child is dead, Awdrey. We did what we could to save him." + +Awdrey uttered a wild laugh. + +"Come, this is too much," he exclaimed. "You talk of a child of mine--I, +who never had a child. What are you dreaming about?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +On the evening of that same day Awdrey entered the room where his wife +was silently giving way to her bitter anguish. She was quite overcome by +her grief--her eyelids were swollen by much weeping, her dress was +disarranged, the traces of a sleepless night, and the fearful anguish +through which she was passing, were visible on her beautiful face. +Awdrey, who had come into the room almost cheerfully, started and +stepped back a pace or two when he saw her--he then knit his brows with +marked irritation. + +"What can be the matter with you, Margaret?" he cried. "I cannot imagine +why you are crying in that silly way." + +"I'll try not to cry any more, Robert," she answered. + +"Yes, but you look in such dreadful distress; I assure you, it affects +me most disagreeably, and in my state of nerves!--you know, don't you, +that nothing ever annoys me more than weak, womanish tears." + +"It is impossible for me to be cheerful to-night," said the wife. "The +pain is too great. He was our only child, and such--such a darling." + +Awdrey laughed. + +"Forgive me, my dear," he said, "I really would not hurt your feelings +for the world, but you must know, if you allow your common sense to +speak, that we never had a child. It has surely been one of our great +trials that no child has been given to us to carry on the old line. My +poor Maggie," he went up to her quite tenderly, put his arm round her +neck, and kissed her, "you must be very unwell to imagine these sort of +things." + +She suddenly took the hand which lay on her shoulder between both her +own. + +"Come with me, Robert," she said, an expression of the most intense +despair on all her features, "come, I cannot believe that this blight +which has passed over you can be final. I'll take you to the room where +the little body of our beautiful child is lying. When you see that sweet +face, surely you will remember." + +He frowned when she began to speak; now he disengaged his hand from her +clasp. + +"It would not be right for me to humor you," he said. "You ought to see +a doctor, Maggie, for you are really suffering from a strong delusion. +If you encourage it it may become fixed, and even assume the proportions +of a sort of insanity. Now, my dear wife, try and restrain yourself and +listen to me." + +She gazed at him with wide-open eyes. As he spoke she had difficulty in +believing her own ears. A case like his was indeed new to her. She had +never really believed in the tragedy of his house--but now at last the +suspected and dreaded blow had truly fallen. Awdrey, like his ancestors +before him, was forgetting the grave events of life. Was it possible +that he could forget the child, whose life had been the joy of his +existence, whose last looks of love had been directed to him, whose last +faltering words had breathed his name? Yes, he absolutely forgot all +about the child. The stern fact stared her in the face, she could not +shut her eyes to it. + +"You look at me strangely, Margaret," said Awdrey. "I cannot account for +your looks, nor indeed for your actions during the whole of to-day. Now +I wish to tell you that I have resolved to carry out Rumsey's advice--he +wants me to leave home at once. I spent a night with him--was it last +night? I really forget--but anyhow, during that time he had an +opportunity of watching my symptoms. You know, don't you, how nervous I +am, how full of myself? You know how this inertia steals over me, and +envelops me in a sort of cloud. The state of the case is something like +this, Maggie; I feel as if a dead hand were pressed against my heart; +sometimes I have even a difficulty in breathing, at least in taking a +deep breath. It seems to me as if the stupor of death were creeping up +my body, gradually day by day, enfeebling all my powers more and more. +Rumsey, who quite understands these symptoms, says that they are grave, +but not incurable. He suggests that I should leave London and at once. I +propose to take the eight o'clock Continental train. Will you come with +me?" + +"I?" she cried. "I cannot; our child's little body lies upstairs." + +"Why will you annoy me by referring to that delusion of yours? You must +know how painful it is to listen to you. Will you come, Maggie?" + +"I cannot. Under any other circumstances I would gladly, but to-night, +no, it is impossible." + +"Very well then, I'll go alone. I have just been up in my room packing +some things. I cannot possibly say how long I shall be absent--perhaps a +few weeks, perhaps a day or two--I must be guided in this matter by my +sensations." + +"If you come back in a day or two, Robert, I'll try and go abroad with +you, if you really think it would do you good," said Margaret. + +"I'll see about that," he replied. "I cannot quite tell you what my +plans are to-night. Meanwhile I find I shall want more money than I have +in the house. Have you any by you?" + +"I have twenty-five pounds." + +"Give it to me; it will be quite sufficient. I have about fifteen pounds +here." He touched his breast-pocket. "If I don't return soon I'll write +to you. Now good-by, Maggie. Try and conquer that queer delusion, my +dear wife. Remember, the more you think of it, the more it will feed +upon itself, until you will find it too strong for you. Good-by, +darling." + +She threw her arms round his neck. + +"I cannot describe what my feelings are at this awful moment," she said. +"Is it right for me to let you go alone?" + +"Perfectly right, dearest. What possible harm can come to me?" he said +with tenderness. He pushed back the rich black hair from her brow as he +spoke. + +"You love me, Robert?" she cried suddenly--"at least your love for me +remains?" + +He knit his brows. + +"If there is any one I love, it is you," he said, "but I do not know +that I love any one--it is this inertia, dearest"--he touched his +breast--"it buries love beneath it, it buries all emotion. You are not +to blame. If I could conquer it my love for you would be as full, as +fresh, and strong as ever. Good-by now. Take care of yourself. If those +strange symptoms continue pray consult Dr. Rumsey." + +He went out of the room. + +Margaret was too stricken and stunned to follow him. + +A few days later a child's funeral left the house in Seymour Street. +Margaret followed her child to the grave. She then returned home, +wondering if she could possibly endure the load which had fallen upon +her. The house seemed empty--she did not think anything could ever fill +it again. Her own heart was truly empty--she felt as if there were a gap +within it which could never by any possibility be closed up again. Since +the night after her child's death she had heard nothing from her +husband--sometimes she wondered if he were still alive. + +Dr. Rumsey tried to reassure her on this point--he did not consider +Awdrey the sort of man to commit suicide. + +Mrs. Everett came to see Margaret every day during this time of terrible +grief, but her excited face, her watchful attitude, proved the reverse +of soothing. She was sorry for Margaret, but even in the midst of +Margaret's darkest grief she never forgot the mission she had set before +herself. + +On the morning of the funeral she followed the procession at a little +distance. She stood behind the more immediate group of mourners as the +body of the beautiful child was laid in his long home. Had his father +been like other men, Margaret would never have consented to the child's +being buried anywhere except at Grandcourt. Under existing +circumstances, however, she had no energy to arrange this. + +About an hour after Mrs. Awdrey's return, Mrs. Everett was admitted into +her presence. + +Margaret was seated listlessly by one of the tables in the drawing-room. +A pile of black-edged paper was lying near her--a letter was begun. +Heaps of letters of condolence which had poured in lay near. She was +endeavoring to answer one, but found the task beyond her strength. + +"My poor dear!" said Mrs. Everett. She walked up the long room, and +stooping down by Margaret, kissed her. + +Margaret mechanically returned her embrace. Mrs. Everett untied her +bonnet-strings and sat by her side. + +"Don't try to answer those letters yet," she said. "You are really not +fit for it. Why don't you have a composing draught and go to bed?" + +"I would rather not; the awakening would be too terrible," said +Margaret. + +"You will knock yourself up and get really ill if you go on like this." + +"It does not matter, Mrs. Everett, whether I am ill or well. Nothing +matters," said Margaret, in a voice of despair. + +"Oh, my poor love, I understand you," said the widow. "I do not know in +what words to approach your terribly grieved heart--there is only one +thing which I feel impelled to say, and which may possibly at some time +comfort you. Your beautiful boy's fate is less tragical than the fate +which has fallen upon my only son. When Frank was a little child, +Margaret, he had a dreadful illness--I thought he would die. I was +frantic, for his father had died not long before. I prayed earnestly to +God. I vowed a vow to train the boy in the paths of righteousness, as +never boy had been trained before. I vowed to do for Frank what no other +mother had ever done, if only God would leave him to me. My prayer was +answered, and my child was saved. Think of him now, Margaret. Margaret, +think of him now." + +"I do," answered Margaret. "I have always felt for you--my heart has +always been bitter with grief for you--don't you know it?" + +"I do, I do--you have been the soul of all that could be sweet and dear +to me. Except Frank himself, I love no one as I love you. Ah!"--Mrs. +Everett suddenly started to her feet--the room door had been slowly +opened and Awdrey walked in. His face was very pale and more emaciated +looking than ever--his eyes were bright, and had sunk into his head. + +"Well," he said, with a sort of queer assumption of cheerfulness, "here +I am. I came back sooner than I expected. How are you Maggie?" He went +up to his wife and kissed her. "How do you do, Mrs. Everett?" + +"I am well," said Mrs. Everett. "How are you, are you better?" + +"Yes, I am much better--in fact, there is little or nothing the matter +with me." + +He sat down on a sofa as he spoke and stared at his wife with a puzzled +expression between his brows. + +"What in the world are you in that heavy black for?" he said suddenly. + +"I must wear it," she said. "You cannot ask me to take it off." + +"Why should I ask you?" he replied. "Do not excite yourself in that way, +Maggie. If you like to look hideous, do so. Black, heavy black, of that +sort, does not suit you--and you are absolutely in crêpe--what does all +this mean? It irritates me immensely." + +"People wear crêpe when those they love die," said Margaret. + +"Have you lost a relation?--Who?" + +She did not answer. A moment later she left the room. + +When she did so Awdrey got up restlessly, walked to the fire and poked +it, then he approached the window and looked out. After a time he +returned to his seat. Mrs. Everett sat facing him. It was her wont to +sit very still--often nothing seemed to move about her except her +watchful eyes. To-day she had more than ever the expression of a person +who is quietly watching and waiting. Awdrey, inert as he doubtlessly +was, seemed to feel her gaze--he looked at her. + +"Where have you been, Mr. Awdrey?" she asked gently. "Did you visit the +Continent?" + +He favored her with a keen, half-suspicious glance. + +"No," he said. "I changed my mind about that. I did not wish the water +to divide me from my quest. I have been engaged on a most important +search." + +"And what was that?" she asked gently. + +"I have been looking for a stick which I missed some years ago." + +"I have heard you mention that before," said Mrs. Everett--the color +flushed hotly into her face. "You seem to attribute a great deal of +importance to that trifle." + +"To me it is no trifle," he replied. "I regard it as a link," he +continued slowly, "between me and a past which I have forgotten. When I +find that stick I shall remember the past." + +As he spoke he rose again and going to the hearth-rug stood with his +back to the fire. + +At that moment Margaret re-entered the room in white--she was in a soft, +flowing, white robe, which covered her from top to toe--it swept about +her in graceful folds, and exposed some of the lovely contour of her +arms. Her face was nearly as colorless as her dress; only the wealth of +thick dark hair, only the sombre eyes, relieved the monotony of her +appearance. Awdrey gave her a smile and a look of approval. + +"Come here," he said: "now you are good--how sweet you look. Your +appearance makes me recall, recall----" He pressed his hand to his +forehead. "I remember now," he said; "I recall the day we were +engaged--don't you remember it?--the picnic on Salisbury Plain; you were +all in white then, too, and you wore somewhat the same intense +expression in your eyes. Margaret, you are a beautiful woman." + +She stood close to him--he did not offer to kiss her, but he laid one +emaciated hand on her shoulder and looked earnestly into her face. + +"You are very beautiful," he said; "I wonder I do not love you." He +sighed heavily, and removed his gaze to look intently into the fire. + +Mrs. Everett rose. + +"I'll come again soon," she said to Margaret. Margaret took no notice of +her, nor did Awdrey see when she left the room. + +After a moment Margaret went up to her husband and touched him. + +"You must have something to eat," she said. "It is probably a long time +since you had a proper meal." + +"I don't remember," he replied, "but I am not hungry. By the way, +Maggie, I recall now what I came back for." His eyes, which seemed to be +lit from within, became suddenly full of excitement. + +"Yes," she said as gently as she could. + +"I came back because I wanted you." + +Her eyes brightened. + +"I wanted you to come with me. I do not care to be alone, and I am +anxious to leave London again to-night." + +Before Margaret could reply the butler threw open the door and announced +Dr. Rumsey. The doctor came quickly forward. + +"I am glad you have returned, Awdrey," he said, holding out his hand as +he spoke. "I called to inquire for your wife, and the man told me you +were upstairs." + +"Yes, and I am better," said Awdrey. "I came back because I thought +perhaps Margaret--but by the way, why should I speak so much about +myself? My wife was not well when I left her. I hope, doctor, that she +consulted you, and that she is now much better." + +"Considering all things, Mrs. Awdrey is fairly well," said Rumsey. + +"And she has quite got over that delusion?" + +"Quite." The doctor's voice was full of decision. + +Margaret shuddered and turned away. + +Rumsey seated himself at a little distance from the fire, but Awdrey +remained standing. He stood in such a position that the doctor could get +a perfect view of him. Rumsey did not fail to avail himself of so +excellent a moment for studying this queer case. He observed the wasted +face of his patient; the unnaturally large and bright eyes; the lips +which used to be firm as a line, and which gave considerable character +to the face, but which had now become loose and had a habit of drooping +slightly open; the brows, too, worked at times spasmodically, and the +really noble forehead, which in old times betokened intelligence to a +marked degree, was now furrowed with many lines. While Rumsey watched he +also made up his mind. + +"I must tear the veil from that man's eyes at any cost," he said to +himself. He gave Margaret a glance and she left the room. The moment she +did so the doctor stood up. + +"I am glad you have returned," he said. + +"How strange of you to say that," answered Awdrey. "Do you not remember +you were the man who ordered me away?" + +"I do remember that fact perfectly, but since I gave you that +prescription a very marked change has taken place in your condition." + +"Do you think me worse?" + +"In one sense you are." + +Awdrey laughed. + +"How queer that you should say that," he said, "for to tell you the +truth, I really feel better; I am not quite so troubled by inertia." + +"I must be frank with you, Awdrey. I consider you very ill." + +Awdrey started when Rumsey said this. + +"Pray speak out, doctor, I dislike riddles," he replied. + +"I mean to speak out very plainly. Awdrey, my poor fellow, I am obliged +to remind you of the strange history of your house." + +"What do you mean?" said Awdrey--"the history of my house?" he +continued; "there is a psychological history, which I dislike to think +of; is it to that you refer?" + +"Yes, I refer to the queer condition of brain which men of your house +have inherited for several generations. It is a queer doom; I am forced +to say it is an awful doom. Robert Awdrey, it has fallen upon you." + +"I thought as much," said Awdrey, "but you never would believe it +before." + +"I had not cause to believe it before. Now I fully believe it. That +lapse of memory, which is one of its remarkable symptoms, has taken +place in your case. You have forgotten a very important fact in your +life." + +"Ah, you are wrong there," said Awdrey. "I certainly have forgotten my +walking-stick. I know well that I am a queer fellow. I know too that at +times my condition is the reverse of satisfactory, but with this one +exception I have never forgotten anything of the least consequence. +Don't you remember telling me that the lapse of memory was not of any +moment?" + +"It was not, but you have forgotten something else, Awdrey, and it is my +duty now to remind you of it." + +"I have forgotten?" began Awdrey. "Well, speak." + +"You had a child--a beautiful child." + +Awdrey interrupted with a laugh. + +"I do declare you have got that delusion, too," he said. "I tell you, +Dr. Rumsey, I never had a child." + +"Your child is no longer with you, but you had a child. He lived for +four years but is now dead. This very afternoon he was laid in his +grave. He was a beautiful child--more lovely than most. He died after +twenty-four hours' illness. His mother is broken-hearted over his loss, +but you, his father, have forgotten all about it. Here is the picture of +your child--come to the light and look at it." + +Rumsey strode up to a table as he spoke, lifted a large photograph from +a stand, and held it before Awdrey's eyes. + +Awdrey favoured it with a careless glance. + +"I do not know that face," he said. "How did the photograph get here? Is +Margaret's delusion really so bad? Does she imagine for a moment that +the little boy represented in that picture has ever had anything to do +with us?" + +"The photograph is a photograph of your son," repeated Rumsey, in a +slow, emphatic voice. As he spoke he laid the picture back again on its +ebony stand. "Awdrey," he continued, "I cannot expect impossibilities--I +cannot expect you to remember what you have absolutely forgotten, but it +is my duty to tell you frankly that this condition of things, if not +immediately arrested, will lead to complete atrophy of your mental +system, and you, in short, will not long survive it. You told me once +very graphically that you were a man who carried about with you a dead +soul. I did not believe you then. Now I believe that nothing in your own +description of your case has been exaggerated. In some way, Awdrey, you +must get back your memory." + +"How?" asked Awdrey. He was impressed in spite of himself. + +"Whether you remember or not, you must act as though you remembered. You +now think that you never had a child. It is your duty to act as if you +had one." + +Awdrey shrugged his shoulders. + +"That is impossible," he said. + +"It is not. Weak as your will now is, it is not yet so inert that you +cannot bring it to bear upon the matter. I observe that Mrs. Awdrey has +taken off her mourning. She must put it on again. It would be the height +of all that is heartless for her to go about now without showing proper +respect to your beautiful child. You also, Awdrey, must wear mourning. +You must allow your wife to speak of the child. In short, even though +you have no belief, you must allow those who are in a healthy mental +condition to act for you in this matter. By doing so you may possibly +arrest the malady." + +"I see what you mean," said Awdrey, "but I do not know how it is +possible for me to act on your suggestions." + +"For your wife's sake you must try, and also because it is necessary that +you should show respect to the dead heir of your house." + +"Then I am to put a band on my hat and all that sort of thing?" + +"Yes." + +"It is a trifle, doctor. If you and Margaret wish it, I cannot +reasonably refuse. To come back to myself, however, you consider that I +am quite doomed?" + +"Not quite yet, although your case is a bad one. I believe you can be +saved if only you will exert yourself." + +"Do wishes go for anything in a case like mine?" + +"Assuredly. To hear you express a wish is a capital sign. What do you +want to do?" + +"I have a strange wish to go down to the Court. I feel as if something +or some one, whether angel or demon I do not know, were drawing me +there. I have wished to be at the Court for some days. I thought at +first of taking Margaret with me." + +"Do so. She would be glad to accompany you. She is a wife in a +thousand." + +"But on second thoughts," continued Awdrey, "if I am obliged to listen +to her bitter distress over the death of a child who never, as far as I +can recall, existed, I should prefer not having her." + +"Very well then, go alone." + +"I cannot go alone. In the condition which I am now in, a complete +vacuum in all my thoughts may occur, and long before I reach the Court I +may forget where I am going." + +"That is possible." + +"Then, Rumsey, will you come with me?" + +The doctor thought a moment. "I'll go with you this evening," he said, +"but I must return to town early to-morrow." + +"Thanks," said Awdrey. "I'll ring the bell. We shall be in time, if we +start at once, to catch the five o'clock train." + +"Remember, Awdrey, that I shall treat you as the child's father. You +will find all your tenantry in a state of poignant grief. That dear +little fellow was much loved." + +Awdrey pursed up his lips as if he would whistle. A smile dawned in his +eyes and vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +At a late hour that evening Rumsey and his patient arrived at +Grandcourt. A telegram had been sent to announce their visit, and all +was in readiness for their reception. The old butler, Hawkins, who had +lived in the family for nearly fifty years, came slowly down the steps +to greet his master. Hawkins' face was pale, and his eyes dim, as if he +had been indulging in silent tears. He was very much attached to little +Arthur. Awdrey gave him a careless nod. + +"I hope all is in readiness, Hawkins," he said, "I have brought my +friend, Dr. Rumsey, with me; we should like supper--has it been +prepared?" + +"Yes, Mr. Robert--I beg your pardon, Squire--all is in readiness in the +library." + +"We'll go there after we have washed our hands," said Awdrey. "What room +have you got ready for Dr. Rumsey?" + +"The yellow room, Squire, in the west wing." + +"That will do nicely. Rumsey, you and I will inhabit the same wing +to-night. I suppose I am to sleep in the room I always occupy, eh, +Hawkins?" + +"Yes, sir; Mrs. Burnett, the housekeeper, thought you would wish that." + +"It does not matter in the least where I sleep; now order up supper, we +shall be down directly. Follow me, doctor, will you?" + +Dr. Rumsey followed Awdrey to the west wing. A few moments later the two +men were seated before a cheerful meal in the library--a large fire +burned in the huge grate, logs had been piled on, and the friendly blaze +and the fragrance of the wood filled the room. The supper table was +drawn into the neighborhood of the fire, and Awdrey lifted the cover +from the dish which was placed before him with a look of appetite on his +face. + +"I am really hungry," he said--"we will have some champagne--Hawkins, +take some from"--he named a certain bin. The man retired, coming back +presently with some dusty-looking bottles. The cork was quickly removed +from one, and the butler began to fill the glasses. + +Supper came to an end. Hawkins brought in pipes and tobacco, and the two +men sat before the fire. Awdrey, who had taken from two to three glasses +of champagne, was beginning to feel a little drowsy, but Rumsey talked +in his usual pleasant fashion. Awdrey replied by fits and starts; once +he nodded and half fell asleep in his chair. + +"You are sleepy," said Rumsey suddenly; "if you go to bed now you may +have a really good night, which will do wonders for you--what do you +say?" + +"That I am quite agreeable," said Awdrey, rising as he spoke--"but is it +not too early for you, doctor?" + +"Not at all--an undisturbed night will be a treat to me." + +"Well, then, I'll take you to your room." + +They went upstairs together, and a moment later Rumsey found himself in +the palatial chamber which had been prepared for him. He was not really +sleepy and decided to sit up for a little. A fire burned in the grate, +some books lay about--he drew his easy-chair forward and taking up a +volume of light literature prepared to dip into it--he found that it was +Stevenson's "Treasure Island," a book which he had not yet happened to +read; the story interested him, and he read on for some time. Presently +he closed the book, and laying his head against the cushion of the chair +dropped fast asleep. + +The events of the day made him dream; all his dreams were about his +queer patient. He thought that he had followed Awdrey on to the +Plain--that Awdrey's excitement grew worse and worse, until the last +lingering doubt was solved, and the man was in very truth absolutely +insane. + +In the midst of his dream the doctor was awakened by a hand being laid +on his shoulder--he started up suddenly--Awdrey, half-dressed and +looking ghastly pale, stood before him. + +"What is it?" said Rumsey. "Do you want anything?" + +"I want you," said Awdrey. "Will you come with me?" + +"Certainly--where am I to go? Why are you not in bed?" + +Awdrey uttered a hollow laugh. There was a ring of horror in it. + +"You could not sleep if you were me," he said. "Will you come with me +now, at once?" + +"In a moment or two when you are better--sit down, won't you--here, take +my chair--where do you want me to go?" + +"Out with me, doctor--out of doors. I want you to accompany me on to the +Plain." + +"All right, my dear fellow--but just allow me to get on my boots." + +The doctor retired to a back part of the room to change his house shoes. +While he was doing so, Awdrey sank down on a chair and laid his hands on +his knees, took no notice of Rumsey, but stared straight before him into +the centre of the room. + +"I wish you'd be quick, doctor," he said at last. "I don't want to go +alone, but I must follow it." + +"Follow what?" said Rumsey. + +"It--the queer vision--I have told you of it before." + +"Oh, yes, that bad dream you are subject to. Well, I am at your service +now." + +Awdrey rose slowly. He pointed with one of his hands. + +"Do you see that?" he said suddenly. + +Rumsey following the direction of his eyes perceived that he was staring +into the part of the room which was in deepest shadow. + +"I see nothing, Awdrey," he replied in a kind and soothing voice, "but I +perceive by your manner that you do. What is it?" + +"I wonder you cannot see it," replied Awdrey; "it is plain, too +plain--it seems to fill all that part of the room." + +"The old thing?" asked the doctor. + +"Yes, the old thing but with a certain difference. There is the immense +globe of light and the picture in the middle." + +"The old picture, Awdrey?" + +"Yes, yes, but with a difference. The two men are fighting. As a rule +they stand motionless in the picture, but to-night they seem to have +come alive--they struggle, they struggle hard; one stands with his back +to me. The face of the other I can recognize distinctly. It is the face +of that young fellow who stayed a few years ago at the inn in our +village. Ah! yes, of course, I know his name, Frere--Horace Frere. He +has met some one on Salisbury Plain. It is night; the moon is hidden +behind clouds. Ha! now it comes out. Now I can see them distinctly. Dr. +Rumsey, don't you hear the blows? I do. They seem to beat on my brain. +That man who stands with his back to us carries my stick in his hand. I +know it is mine, for the whole thing is so intensely plain that I can +even see the silver tablet on which my name is engraved. My God! the man +also wears my clothes. I would give all that I possess to see his face. +Let us get on the Plain as fast as we can. I may be able to see the +reverse side of the picture from there. Come with me, come at once." + +"Poor fellow! matters get worse and worse," thought the doctor. "Well, I +must see this thing out." + +Aloud he said: + +"How soon did this vision come to torment you to-night?" + +Awdrey rubbed his eyes. + +"At first when I went to my room I was sleepy," he said. "I began to +take off my things. Then I saw a globe of light in the further end of +the room. At first it was merely light with no picture in the centre. +Then faint shadows began to appear, and by slow degrees the perfect and +intensely clear picture which I am now looking at became visible. I +stared at it quite motionless for a time. I was absorbed by the deepest +interest. Then a mad longing to see the face of the man who stands with +his back to us, came over me. I walked about the room trying hard to get +even a side view of him, but wherever I went he turned so as to keep his +face away; wherever I went the face of Frere was the only one I could +see. Then in a sort of despair, almost maddened in fact, I rushed from +the room. + +"Did you not leave the vision behind you?" + +"Not I--it went straight in front of me. When I reached your room and +opened the door it came in before me. I know now what I must do. I have +been always standing more or less to the right of the picture. I must +get to the left. I am going to follow it on to the Plain--I am going to +trace it to the exact spot where that murder was committed. Will you +come with me?" + +"Yes, only first you must return to your room, and get into the rest of +your clothes. At present you are without a coat." + +"Am I? And yet I burn with heat. Well, I'll do what you want. I will do +anything which gives me a chance of seeing that man's face." + +A few moments later Rumsey and his patient found themselves in the white +moonlight of the outer world. Awdrey was now quite silent, but Rumsey +noticed that his footsteps faltered once or twice, and that he often +paused as if to get his breath. He appeared to be like a man in a +frantic hurry; he gazed straight before him, as if he were looking +intently at one fixed object. + +"It goes before me, and guides me to the spot," he said at last, in a +choking voice. He panted more violently than ever. Heavy sighs came from +him--these seemed to be wrung from his very heart. + +In about ten minutes the men got upon the borders of the Plain. Awdrey +then turned abruptly to his left; each moment he walked faster and +faster; the doctor had now almost to run to keep up with him. At last +they reached the rise of ground. A great clump of alder-trees stood to +the left; at the right, a little way off, was a dense belt of +undergrowth. On the rising ground itself was short grass and no other +vegetation. A little way off, nearly one hundred feet lower down, was a +pond. The light of the moon was fully reflected here; across the smooth +surface of the pond was a clear path as if of silver. When they reached +the brow of this slight elevation, Awdrey stood still. + +"There--it was done there," he said, pointing with his finger. "See, the +picture does not move any more, but settles down upon the ground. Now we +shall see the whole thing. Good God, Rumsey, fancy looking at a murder +which was committed five years ago! It is going on there now all over +again. There stand the two men life-size. Can't we stop them? Can we do +nothing?" + +"No, it is only a vision," said the doctor; "but tell me exactly what +you see." + +"It is too marvellous," said Awdrey. "The men move, and I hear the sound +of the blows. It is extraordinary how that fellow keeps his back to me. +I can't see his face if I stand here. Come, let us go downhill--if we +get near the pond we can look up, and I shall get a view of him in +another position." + +"Come," said Rumsey. He took Awdrey's arm, and they went down the slope +of ground until they almost reached the borders of the pond. + +"Now is it any better?" asked the doctor. "Can you see the man's face +now?" + +"No, he has turned; he still keeps his back to me, the scoundrel. But +oh, for God's sake see--he fights harder than ever. Ha! He has thrown +Horace Frere to the ground. Now Frere is up--what a strong chap he is! +Now the other man is down. No, he has risen again. Now they both stand +and fight, and--Dr. Rumsey, did you see that? The man with his back to +us uses his stick, straight in front of him like a bayonet, and--oh, my +God!" + +Awdrey covered his face with his shaking hands. In a moment he looked up +again. + +"Can't you see for yourself?" he cried. "Frere is on his back--in my +opinion he is dead. What has happened?" + +Awdrey swayed from side to side. His excitement was so intense that he +would have fallen if Dr. Rumsey had not caught him. The night was a +chilly one, but the terrified and stricken man was bathed in +perspiration. + +"Come, Awdrey, you have told me everything, and it is fully time to +return home," said the doctor. + +"I vow I won't go back until I see that man's face, Dr. Rumsey. What +name did they give him at the trial? Frank--Frank Everett--was he the +man convicted of the murder?" + +"Yes, of course, you must remember that--he is serving his time now in +Portland." + +Awdrey faced round suddenly, and looked into the doctor's eyes. + +"It is all a mistake then," he said, in a queer sort of whisper. "I +swear that before God. I saw Everett once--he was a thickly made +man--that fellow is slighter, taller, younger. He carries my stick and +wears my clothes. Why in the name of Heaven can't I see his face? What +are you saying, doctor?" + +"Only that I must take you home, my good fellow. You are my patient, and +I cannot permit this excitement any longer." + +"But the murder is still going on. Can't you see the whole thing for +yourself? That fellow with his back to us is the murderer. He uses his +stick as a bayonet. What did I once hear about that? Oh that I could +remember! There is a cloud before my mind--oh, God in Heaven, that I +could rend it! Do not speak to me for a moment, doctor, I am struggling +with a memory." + +Awdrey flung himself on the ground--he pressed his hands before his +eyes--he looked like a demented man. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. + +"I have it," he said with a laugh, which sounded hollow. "If I look in +the pond I shall see the man's face. His face must be reflected in it. +Stay where you are, doctor, I'll be back with you in a minute. I am +getting at it--light is coming--it is all returning to me. He uses his +stick as a bayonet, prodding him in the mouth. Old, old--what am I +saying?--who told me that long ago? Yes I shall see his face in the +pond." + +Awdrey ran wildly to the edge of the water. He paused just where the +silver light fell full across the dark pond. Rumsey followed him in hot +haste. He knew that his patient was in the condition when he might leap +into the pond at any moment. + +Catching on to an alder-tree, Awdrey now bent forward until he caught +the reflection in the water--he slid down on his knees to examine it +more carefully. + +"Take care, Awdrey, you'll slip in if you are not careful," cried +Rumsey. + +Awdrey was silent for a moment--his own reflection greeted him--he +looked straight down at his own face and figure. Suddenly he rose to his +feet: a long shiver ran through his frame. He went up to Rumsey with a +queer unsteady laugh. + +"I have seen the man's face," he said. + +"It was your own face, my dear fellow," said the doctor. "I saw it +reflected distinctly in the water." + +"I am satisfied," said Awdrey, in a changed and yet steady voice. "We +can go home now." + +"Well, have you really seen what you wanted to see? Who was the +murderer?" + +"Frank Everett, who is serving his time in Portland prison. Dr. Rumsey, +I believe I have been the victim of the most horrible form of nightmare +which ever visited living man. Anyhow it has vanished--the vision has +completely disappeared." + +"I am glad to hear you say so, Awdrey." + +"I do not see it any longer--I know what I wanted to know. Let us go +back to the Court." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +"Well, Het, what do you say to a bit o' news that'll wake you up?" said +Farmer Vincent one fine morning in the month of May to his young wife. + +Hetty was in her dairy with her sleeves turned up busily skimming cream. +She turned as her husband spoke and looked up into his face. He was a +roughly built man on a huge scale. He chucked her playfully under the +chin. + +"There are to be all kinds of doings," he said. "I've just been down to +the village and the whole place is agog. What do you say to an election, +and who do you think is to be put up for the vacant seat?" + +"I don't know much about elections, George," said Hetty, turning again +to her cream. "If that's all it won't interest me." + +"Ay, but 'tain't all--there's more behind it." + +"Well, do speak out and tell the news. I'm going down to see aunt +presently." + +"I wonder how many days you let pass without being off to see that aunt +of yours," said the farmer, frowning perceptibly. "Well, then, the news +is this. Squire and Mrs. Awdrey and a lot of company with them came back +to the Court this evening. Squire and Madam have been in foreign parts +all the winter, and they say that Squire's as well as ever a man was, +and he and madam mean to live at the Court in future. Why, you have +turned white, lass! What a lot you think of those grand folks!" + +"No, I don't, George, not more than anybody ought. Of course I'm fond of +Squire, seeing I know him since he was a little kid--and we was always +great, me and mine, for holding on to the Family." + +"I've nothing to say agin' the Fam'ly," said farmer Vincent, "and for my +part," he continued, "I'm glad Squire is coming to live here. I don't +hold with absentee landlords, that I don't. There are many things I'll +get him to do for me on the farm. I can't move Johnson, the bailiff, one +bit, but when Squire's to home 'twill be another matter. Then he's going +to stand for Grandcourt. He's quite safe to be returned. So, Het, what +with an election and the Fam'ly back again at the Court, there'll be gay +doings this summer, or I'm much mistook." + +"To be sure there will," said Hetty. She pulled a handkerchief out of +her pocket as she spoke and wiped some moisture from her brow. + +"You don't look too well, my girl. Now don't you go and overdo things +this morning--the weather is powerful hot for the time o' year, and you +never can stand heat. I thought it 'ud cheer you up to tell you about +Squire, for any one can see with half an eye that you are as proud of +him and the Fam'ly as woman can be." + +"I'm very glad to hear your news, George," replied Hetty. "Now if you +won't keep me any longer I'll make you some plum duff for dinner." + +"That's a good girl--you know my weakness." + +The man went up to her where she stood, and put one of his great arms +round her neck. + +"Look at me, Hetty," he said. + +"What is it, George?" She raised her full, dark eyes. + +He gazed down into their depths, anxiously. + +"Are you a bit better, lass?" he asked, a tender intonation in his gruff +voice. "Pain in the side any less bad?" + +"Yes, George, I feel much better." + +"Well, I'm glad of that," he said slowly. "Now you look well at me. +Don't you take your eyes off me while I'm a-speaking. I've been counting +the days. I mark 'em down on the back of the fowl-house door with a bit +of chalk; and it's forty days and more since you gave me the least +little peck of a kiss, even. Do you think you could give me one now?" + +She raised her lips, slowly. He could not but perceive her +unwillingness, and a wave of crimson swept up over his face. + +"I don't want that sort," he said, flinging his arm away and moving a +step or two back from her. "There, I ain't angry; I ain't no call to be +angry; you were honest with me afore we wed. You said plain as girl +could speak, 'I ain't got the least bit of love for you, George,' and I +took you at your word; but sometimes, Het, it seems as if it 'ud half +kill me, for I love you better every day and every hour." + +"I know you're as good a fellow as ever breathed," said Hetty; "and I +like you even though I don't love you. I'll try hard to be a good wife +to you, George, I will truly." + +"You're main pleased about Squire, I take it?" + +"I am main pleased." + +"'Tw'ere a pity the little chap were took so sudden-like." + +"I s'pose so," said Hetty. + +"You are a queer girl, Hetty. I never seed a woman less fond o' children +than you." + +"Well, I ain't got any of my own, you understand," said Hetty. + +"I understand." The farmer uttered a huge laugh. "I guess I do," he +said. "I wish to God you had a child, Hetty; maybe you'd love it, and +love its father for its sake." + +With a heavy sigh the man turned and left the dairy. + +The moment she found herself alone, Hetty flew to the door and locked +it. Then standing in the middle of the spotless room she pressed her two +hands wildly to her brow. + +"He's coming back," she said aloud; "back to live here; he'll be within +a mile of me to-night. Any day or any hour I may see him. He's coming +back to live. What do folks mean by saying he is well? If he is well, +does he remember? And if he remembers--oh, my God, I shall go mad if I +think much of that any longer! Squire back again at the Court and me +here, and I knowing what I know, and Aunt Fanny knowing what she knows! +I must go and speak to aunt to-day. To-night, too, so soon; he'll be +back to-night. My head is giddy with the thought. What does it all mean? +Is he really well, and does he remember? Oh, this awful pain in my side! +I vowed I'd not take another drop of the black medicine; but there's +nothing else keeps me steady." + +Glancing furtively behind her, although there was not a soul in sight, +Hetty opened a cupboard in the wall. From a back recess she produced a +small bottle; it was half full of a dark liquid. Taking up a spoon which +lay near she poured some drops into it, and adding a little water, drank +it off. She then put the bottle carefully back into its place, locked +the cupboard, and slipped the key into her pocket. + +"In a minute, dreams will come, and I'll be much better," she said to +herself. "It seems as if I could bear anything a'most after I'd taken a +little of that black stuff; it's a sight better than gin, and I know +what I'm doing all the time. I'll go and see aunt the minute I've +swallowed my dinner; but now I must hurry to make the plum duff for +George." + +She ran briskly off to attend to her numerous duties. She was now bright +and merry; the look of gloom and depression had completely left her +face; her eyes shone with a contented and happy light. As she bustled +about her kitchen opening and shutting her oven, and filling up the +different pots, which were necessary for cooking the dinner, with hot +water, her white teeth gleamed, and smiles came and went over her face. + +"To think of Aunt Fanny's toothache mixture doing this for me," she said +to herself. "Aunt Fanny 'ud put a bit on cotton wool and put it into the +hole of her tooth, and the pain 'ud be gone in a jiffy; and now I +swallow a few drops, and somehow it touches my heart, and my pain goes. +Aunt Fanny wonders where her toothache cure is; she ain't likely to hear +from me. Oh, it's quite wonderful how contented it makes me feel!" + +Hetty was a good housewife, and there was nothing slatternly nor +disorderly about her kitchen. + +The dinner, smoking hot and comfortable, was upon the table when Vincent +came in at twelve o'clock to partake of it. There was a great piece of +bacon and some boiled beans. These were immediately followed by the plum +duff. The farmer ate heartily, and Hetty piled up his plate whenever it +was empty. + +"You scarcely take a pick yourself, little girl," he said, seizing one +of her hands as she passed and squeezing it affectionately. + +"I ain't hungry, George." + +"Excited 'bout Squire, I guess." + +"Well, p'raps I am a bit; you don't mind if I go and talk it all over +with aunt?" + +"That I don't; when you smile at me so cheerful like that there's nought +I wouldn't give yer. Now you look here, Griffiths, the steward, is going +to get up a sort of display at the Court, and the villagers are going; +there is talk of a supper afterward in the barns, but that may or may +not be. What do you say to you and me going into the avenue and seeing +Squire and Madam drive in. What do you say, Het?" + +"Oh, George, I'd like it." + +"You would not think of giving a body a kiss for it, eh?" + +"Yes, that I would." + +She ran behind him, flung her soft arms round his neck, and pressed a +kiss against his cheek just above his whiskers. + +"That won't do," he said. "I won't take yer for that--I must have it on +my lips." + +She gave him a shy peck something like a robin. He caught her suddenly +in his arms, squeezed her to his heart, and kissed her over and over +again. + +"I love thee more than words can say," he cried. "I am mad to get your +love in return. Will the day ever come, Het?" + +"I don't know, George; I'd like to say so to please you, but I can't +tell a lie about a thing like that." + +"To be sure, you can't," he said, rising as he spoke. "You'd soon be +found out." + +"I'd like well to love you," she continued, "for you're good to me; but +now I must be off to see Aunt Fanny." + +Vincent left the kitchen, and Hetty hurried to her room to dress herself +trimly. Ten minutes later she was on her way to the village. + +The pretty little place already wore a festive air. Bunting had been +hung across the streets, flags were flying gayly from many upper +windows. The shop-keepers stood at their doors chatting to one another; +several of them nodded to Hetty as she passed by. + +"That you, Hetty Vincent?" called out one woman. "You've heard the news, +I guess." + +"Yes, about Squire and Madam," said Hetty. + +"It has come unexpected," said the woman. "We didn't know until this +morning that Squire was to be back to-night. Mr. Griffiths got the +letter by the first post, and he's been nearly off his head since; there +ain't a man in the village though that hasn't turned to help him with a +will, and there are to be bonfires and all the rest. They say Squire and +Madam are to live at the Court now. Pity the poor child went off so +sudden. He were a main fine little chap; pity he ain't there to return +home with his father and mother. You look better, Hetty Vincent--not so +peaky like. Pain in the side less?" + +"Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't," answered Hetty; "it's much +better to-day. I can't stay talking any longer though, Mrs. Martin, for +I want to catch Aunt Fanny." + +"Well, you'll find her at home, but as busy as a bee, the whole place is +flocking to the inn to learn the latest news. We're a-going up to the +Court presently to welcome 'em home. You and your good man will come, +too, eh, Hetty?" + +"Yes, for sure," answered Hetty. She continued her walk up the village +street. + +Mrs. Armitage was cooling herself in the porch of the little inn when +she saw her niece approaching. + +Hetty hurried her steps, and came panting to her side. + +"Aunt Fanny, is it true?" she gasped. + +"True? Yes, child, it's true," said Mrs. Armitage. "They're coming home. +You come along in and stand in the shelter, Hetty. Seems to me you grow +thinner and thinner." + +"Oh, aunt, never mind about my looks just now; have you heard anything +else? How is he?" + +Mrs. Armitage looked behind her and lowered her voice. + +"They do say that Squire's as well as ever he wor," she remarked. "Why, +he's going to stand for Grandcourt. In one way that's as it should be. +We always had Awdreys in the House--we like to be represented by our own +folk." + +"Will any one oppose him?" asked Hetty. + +"How am I to say? there's nothing known at present. He is to be +nominated to-morrow; and that's what's bringing 'em home in double quick +time." + +"Are you going to the Court to-night, aunt?" + +"I thought I'd run round for an hour just to see the carriage roll by, +and get a glimpse of Squire and Madam, but I must hurry back, for +there'll be a lot to be done here." + +"Shall I come and help you and uncle to-night?" + +Mrs. Armitage looked her niece all over. + +"That's a good thought," she said, "if your man will spare you." + +"Oh, I can ask him; I don't think he'll refuse." + +"Well, you're spry enough with your fingers and legs when you like. I +can't stay out here talking any more, Het." + +Hetty came up close to her aunt, and lowered her voice to a whisper. + +"Aunt Fanny," she said, "one word afore you goes in--Do you think it is +safe, him coming back like this?" + +"Safe," echoed the elder woman in a tone hoarse with a queer mixture of +crossness and undefined fear. "Squire's safe enough ef you can keep +things to yourself." + +"Me?" echoed Hetty. "Do you think I can't hold my tongue?" + +"Your tongue may be silent, but there are other ways of letting out a +secret. Ef ever there was a tell-tale face yours is one. You're the +terror of my life with your aches and your pains, and your startings, as +if you saw a shadow behind yer all the time. It's a good thing you don't +live in the village. As to Vincent, pore man, he's as blind as a bat; he +don't see, or he won't see, what's staring him in the face." + +"For God's sake, Aunt Fanny, what do you mean?" + +"I mean this, girl. Vincent's wife carries a secret, and she loves one +she ought not to love." + +"Oh! Aunt Fanny, you rend my heart when you talk like that." + +"I won't again," said Mrs. Armitage, "but I had to speak out when you +came to-day. It was my opportunity, and I had to take it. Queer stories +will be spread ef you ain't very careful. You've nought to do with the +Squire, Hetty. Go and see him to-night with the rest of 'em, and then be +satisfied. You keep quiet at the farm now he's at the Court; don't you +be seen a-talking to him or a-follerin' him about." + +"I won't, I won't." + +"Well, I thought I'd warn yer--now I must get back to my work." + +"One minute first, aunt--you know there ain't a soul I can speak to but +you, and I'm near mad with the weight of my secret at times." + +"You should take it quiet, girl--you fret o'er much. I really must leave +you, Hetty; there's your uncle calling out to me." + +"One minute--you must answer my question first." + +"Well, well--what a girl you are! I'm glad you ain't my niece. Coming, +Armitage. Now, Hetty, be quick. My man's temper ain't what it wor and I +daren't cross 'im. Now what is it you want to say?" + +"It's this Aunt Fanny. Ef Mr. Robert is quite well--as well as ever he +wor in his life--do you think he remembers?" + +"Not he. He'll never remember again. They never do." + +"But, aunt, they never get well, either." + +"That's true enough." + +"And they say he's quite well--as well as ever he was in all his life." + +"Well, Hetty I can say no more. We'll see to-night--you and me. You keep +alongside of me in the avenue, and when he passes by in the carriage +we'll look at him straight in the face and we'll soon know. You noticed, +didn't you, how queer his eyes got since that dark night. It'll be fully +light when they drive up to the Court, and you and me we'll look at him +straight in the face and we'll know the worst then." + +"Yes, Aunt Fanny. Yes, I'll keep close to you." + +"Do, girl. Now I must be off. You can sit in the porch awhile and rest +yourself. Coming, Armitage." + +Hetty stayed down at the inn through the remainder of the day. + +In the course of the evening Vincent strode in. She was in the humor to +be sweet to him, and he was in high spirits at her unwonted words and +looks of affection. + +The village presented a gayer and gayer spectacle as the hours went by. +High good humor was the order of the day. Squire and Madam were +returning. Things must go well in the future. + +Griffiths was seen riding up and down altering the plan of the +decorations, giving orders in a stentorian voice. At last the time came +when the villagers were to assemble, some of them outside their houses, +some along the short bit of road which divided the village from the +Court, some to line the avenue up to the Court itself. + +Hetty and Mrs. Armitage managed to keep together. George Vincent and +Armitage preceded them at a little distance. They walked solemnly +through the village street, Armitage pleased but anxious to return to +the inn, Vincent thinking of Hetty, and vaguely wondering by what subtle +means he could get her to love him, Hetty and Mrs. Armitage weighed down +by the secret which had taken the sunshine out of both their lives. They +made straight for the avenue, and presently stationed themselves just on +the brow of a rising slope which commanded a view of the gates on one +side and of the Court itself on the other. + +Hetty's excitable heart beat faster and faster. Dreadful as her secret +was, she was glad, she rejoiced, at the fact that the Squire was coming +home. She would soon see him again. To look at him was her pleasure; it +was the breath of her highest life; it represented Paradise to her +ignorant and unsophisticated mind. Her eyes grew bright as stars. A +great deal of her old loveliness returned to her. Vincent, who with +Armitage had taken up his position a few steps further down the avenue, +kept looking back at her from time to time. + +"Why, man," said the landlord of the village inn, with a hoarse laugh, +"you're as much in love with that wife of your'n as if you hadn't been +wedded for the last five years." + +"Ay, I am in love with her," said Vincent. "I've got to win her yet, +that's why. Strikes me she looks younger and more spry than I've seen +her for many a year, to-night." + +"She's mortal fond of Squire and Madam," said the landlord. "She always +wor." + +"Maybe," replied Vincent, in a thoughtful tone. He looked again at his +wife's blooming face; a queer uncomfortable sense of suspicion began +slowly to stir in his heart. + +The sound of wheels was at last distinctly audible; bonfires were lit on +the instant; cheers echoed up from the village. The welcoming wave of +sound grew nearer and nearer, each face was wreathed with smiles. Into +the avenue, with its background of eager, welcoming faces, dashed the +spirited grays, with their open landau. + +Awdrey and his wife sat side by side. Other carriages followed, but no +one noticed their occupants. All eyes were turned upon Awdrey. He was +bending forward in the carriage, his hat was off, he was smiling and +bowing; now and then he uttered a cheerful word of greeting. Some of the +men, as he passed, darted forward to clasp his out-stretched hand. No +one who saw him now would have recognized him for the miserable man who +had come to the Court a few months back. His youth sat well upon him; +his athletic, upright figure, his tanned face, his bright eyes, all +spoke of perfect health, of energy both of mind and body. The Squire had +come home, and the Squire was himself again. The fact was patent to all. + +Margaret, who was also smiling, who also bowed and nodded, and uttered +words of welcome, was scarcely glanced at. The Squire was the centre of +attraction; he belonged to the people, he was theirs--their king, and he +was coming home again. + +"Bless 'im, he's as well as ever he wor," shouted a sturdy farmer, +turning round and smiling at his own wife as he spoke. + +"Welcome, Squire, welcome home! Glad to see yer so spry, Squire. We're +main pleased to have yer back again, Squire," shouted hundreds of +voices. + +Hetty and her aunt, standing side by side, were pushed forward by the +smiling, excited throng. + +Awdrey's smiles were arrested on his lips, for a flashing instant +Hetty's bright eyes looked full into his; he contracted his brows in +pain, then once again he repeated his smiling words of welcome. The +carriage rolled by. + +"Aunt Fanny, he remembers!" whispered Hetty in a low voice. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +A hasty supper had been got up in some large barns at the back of the +Court. When the Squire's carriage disappeared out of sight, Griffiths +rode hastily down to invite the villagers to partake of the hospitality +which had been arranged for them. He passed Hetty, was attracted by her +blooming face, and gave her a warm invitation. + +"Come along, Mrs. Vincent," he said, "we can't do without you. Your +husband has promised to stay. I'll see you in the west barn in a few +minutes' time." + +Vincent came up at this moment and touched Hetty on her shoulder. + +"I thought we might as well go in for the whole thing," he said, "and +I'm a bit peckish. You'd like to stay, wouldn't you, Het?" + +"That I would," she replied. "You'll come too, aunt?" she continued, +glancing at Mrs. Armitage. + +"No, I can't be spared," replied Mrs. Armitage; "me and Armitage must +hurry back to the inn. We've been away too long as it is." + +"Oh, George, I promised to help Aunt Fanny to-night," said Hetty, torn +by her desire to remain in the Squire's vicinity and the remembrance of +her promise. + +"We'll let you off, Het," said the old uncle, laying his heavy hand on +her shoulder. "Go off with your good man, my girl, and enjoy yourself." + +Armitage and his wife hurried down the avenue, and Hetty and Vincent +followed the train of villagers who were going along by the shrubbery in +the direction of the west barn. There were three great barns in all, and +supper had been laid in each. The west barn was the largest and the most +important, and by the time the Vincents reached it the building was full +from end to end. Hetty and her husband, with a crowd of other people, +remained outside. They all stood laughing and joking together. The +highest good humor was prevalent. The Squire's return--the pleasure it +gave the villagers--his personal appearance, the look of health and +vigor which had been so lamentably absent from him during the past +years, and which now to the delight of every one had so fully +returned--the death of the child--the look on Margaret's face--were the +only topics of the hour. But it was the subject of the Squire himself to +whom the people again and again returned. They were all so unaffectedly +glad to have him back again. Had he ever looked so well before? What a +ring of strength there was in his voice! And then that tone with which +he spoke to them all, the tone of remembrance, this it was which went +straight to the hearts of the men and women who had known him from his +boyhood. Yes, the Squire was back, a strong man in his prime, and the +people of Grandcourt had good reason for rejoicing. + +"He'll be as good a Squire as his father before him," said an old man of +nearly eighty years, hobbling up close to Hetty as he spoke. "They did +whisper that the curse of his house had took 'im, but it can't be +true--there ain't no curse on his face, bless 'im. He's good to the +heart's core, and strong too and well. He'll be as good a Squire as his +father; bless 'im, say I, bless 'im." + +"Het, you look as white as a sheet," said Vincent, turning at that +moment and catching his wife's eye. "There girl, eat you must. I'll +squeeze right into the barn and you come in ahind me. I'm big enough to +make way for a little body like you." + +Vincent squared his shoulders and strode on in front. After some pushing +he and Hetty found themselves inside the barn. The tables which had been +laid from one end to the other, were crowded with eager, hungry faces. +Griffiths and other servants from the Court were flying here and there, +pressing hospitality on every one. Vincent was just preparing to +ensconce himself in a vacant corner, and to squeeze room for Hetty close +to him, when the door at the other end of the long barn was opened, and +Awdrey, Margaret, and some visitors came in. + +Immediately all the villagers rose from their seats, and an enthusiastic +cheer resounded among the rafters of the old barn. Hetty standing on +tiptoe, and straining her neck, could see Awdrey shaking hands right and +left. Presently he would come to her, he would take her hand in his. She +could also catch a glimpse of Margaret's stately figure, of her pale, +high-bred face, of the dark waves of her raven black hair. Once again +she looked at the Squire. How handsome he was, how manly, and yet--and +yet--something seemed to come up in Hetty's throat and almost to choke +her. + +"You ain't well, Het," said her husband. He had also risen from his +seat, and pushing out, had joined Hetty in the crowd. "The air in this +place is too close for you, Hetty. Drat that supper, we'll get into the +open air once again." + +"No, we won't," answered Hetty. "I must wait to speak to Squire, happen +what may." + +"Why, it'll be half an hour before he gets as far as here," said +Vincent. "Well," he added, looking back regretfully at his plate, which +was piled with pie and other good things; "if we must stay I'm for a bit +of supper. There's a vacant seat at last; you slip in by me, Het. Ah, +that cold pie is just to my taste. What do you say to a tiny morsel, +girl?" + +"I could not eat, George, it would choke me," said Hetty, "I'm not the +least bit hungry. I had tea an hour ago down at the inn. You eat, +George, do, George; do go down and have some supper. I'll stand her and +wait for Squire and Madam." + +"You are daft on Squire and Madam," said the man angrily. + +Hetty did not answer. It is to be doubted if she heard him. One fact +alone was filling her horizon She felt quite certain now that the Squire +remembered. What then was going to happen? Was he going to be an +honorable man? Was he going to use the memory which had returned to him +to remove the cruel shame and punishment from another? If so, if indeed +so, Hetty herself would be lost. She would be arrested and charged with +the awful crime of perjury. The horrors of the law would fall upon her; +she would be imprisoned, she would---- + +"No matter," she whispered stoutly to herself, "it is not of myself I +think now, it is of him. He also will be tried. Public disgrace will +cling to his name. The people who love him so will not be able to help +him; he would suffer even, even to death: the death of the gallows. He +must not tell what he knew. He must not be allowed to be carried away by +his generous impulses. She, Hetty, must prevent this. She had guarded +his secret for him during the long years when the cloud was over his +mind. He must guard it now for himself. Doubtless he would when she had +warned him. Could she speak to him to-night? Was it possible?" + +"Hetty, how you do stand and stare," said George Vincent; he was +munching his pie as he spoke. Hetty had been pressed up against the +table where he was eating. + +"I'm all right, George," she said, but she spoke as if she had not heard +the words addressed to her. + +"If you're all right, come and have a bit of supper." + +"I don't want it. I'm not hungry. Do eat while you can and let me be." + +"I'll let you be, but not out of my sight," muttered the man. He helped +himself to some more pie, but he was no longer hungry. The jealous fiend +which had always lain dormant in his heart from the day when he had +married pretty Hetty Armitage and discovered that she had no love to +give to him was waking up now into full strength and vigor. What was the +matter with Hetty? How queer she looked to-night. She had always been +queer after a certain fashion--she had always been different from other +girls, but until to-night, Vincent, who had watched her well, had never +found anything special to lay hold of. But to-night things were +different. There must be a reason for Hetty's undue excitement, for her +changing color, for her agitation, for the emotion on her face. Now what +was she doing? + +Vincent started from his seat to see his wife moving slowly up the room, +borne onward by the pressure of the crowd. Several of the villagers, +impatient at the long delay, had struggled up the barn to get a +hand-shake from the Squire and his wife. Hetty was carried with the rest +out of her husband's sight. Vincent jumped on a bench in order to get a +view. He saw Hetty moving forward, he had a good glimpse of her profile, +the color on the cheek nearest to him was vivid as a damask rose. Her +whole little figure was alert, full of determination, of a queer +impulsive longing which the man saw without understanding. Suddenly he +saw his wife fall backward against some of the advancing crowd; she +clasped her hands together, then uttered a shrill, piercing cry. + +"Take me out of this for the love of God, Squire," she panted. + +"Is that young woman Mrs. Vincent?" suddenly cried another voice. "Then, +if so, I've something to say to her." + +It was Mrs. Everett who had spoken. Hetty had not seen her until this +moment. She was walking up the room accompanied by Awdrey's sisters, Ann +and Dorothy. + +"I can't stay--I won't meet her--take me away, take me away, into the +air, Squire," said Hetty. "Oh, I am suffocating," she continued, "the +room is rising up as if it would choke me." + +"Open that door there to your right, Griffiths," said Awdrey, in a tone +which rose above the tumult. "Come, Mrs. Vincent, take my arm." + +He drew Hetty's hand into his, and led her out by a side door. The crowd +made way for them. In another instant the excited girl found the cool +evening air blowing on her hot cheeks. + +"I am sorry you found the room too close," began Awdrey. + +"Oh, it was not that, sir, not really. Just wait a minute, please, Mr. +Robert, until I get my breath. I did not know that she--that she was +coming here." + +"Who do you mean?" asked Awdrey. + +"Mrs. Everett. I can't bear her. It was the sight of her, sudden-like, +that took the breath from me." + +Awdrey did not speak for a moment. + +"You are better now," he said then, in a stony tone. "Is your husband +here?" + +"Yes, but I don't want him." + +Hetty, in her excitement, laid both hands on the Squire's arm. + +"Mr. Robert, I must see you, and alone," she panted. + +Awdrey stepped back instinctively. + +"You don't want me to touch you, you don't want to have anything to do +with me, and yet--and yet, Mr. Robert, I must see you by yourself. When +I can see you alone?" + +"I cannot stay with you now," said Awdrey, in a hurried voice. "Come up +to the house to-morrow. No, though, I shall have no time to attend to +you to-morrow." + +"It must be to-morrow, sir. It is life or death; yes, it is life or +death." + +"Well, to-morrow let it be," said Awdrey, after a pause, "six o'clock in +the evening. Don't call at the house, come round to the office. I'll be +there and I'll give you a few minutes. Now I see you are better," he +continued, "I'll go back to the barn and fetch Vincent." + +He turned abruptly. On the threshold of the door by which he had gone +out he met Mrs. Everett. + +"Where is that young woman?" she demanded. + +"You seem to have frightened her," said Awdrey. "You had better not go +to her now, she was half-fainting, but I think the fresh air has put her +right again." + +His face looked cool and composed. + +"Fainting or not," said Mrs. Everett, "I must see her, for I have +something to say to her. The fact is, I don't mind telling you, Mr. +Awdrey, that I accepted your wife's kind invitation more with the hope +of meeting that young woman than for any other reason." + +Awdrey raised his brows as if in slight surprise. + +"I left Mrs. Vincent outside," he repeated. + +"Then pray let me pass." + +"If you want my wife I'll take you to her," said Vincent's voice at that +moment. + +"Glad to see you again, Vincent," said Awdrey. He held out his hand to +the farmer, who stepped back a pace as if he did not see it. + +"Obliged, I'm sure, sir," he said awkwardly. "You'll excuse me now, +Squire, I want to get to my wife." + +"Is that young woman really your wife?" demanded Mrs. Everett, in an +eager voice. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Then I've something very important I wish to say to her." + +"I'll find out if she's well enough to see you, ma'am. Hetty is not to +say too strong." + +The man pushed by, elbowing his way to right and left. Mrs. Everett +followed him. He quickly reached the spot where Awdrey had left Hetty. +She was no longer there. + +"Where is she?" asked Mrs. Everett, in an eager tone. + +"I can't tell you, ma'am. She is not here." + +"Do you think she has gone home?" + +"That's more'n I can say. May I ask what your business is with my wife?" + +"Your wife is in possession of a secret which I mean to find out." + +Vincent's face flushed an angry red. + +"So others think she has a secret," he muttered to himself. + +Aloud he said, "May I ask what yer name is, ma'am?" + +"My name is Mrs. Everett. I am the mother of the man who was accused of +murdering Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain six years ago." + +"Ah," said Vincent, "it's a good way back since that 'appened; we've +most forgot it now. I'm main sorry for yer, o' course, Mrs. Everett. +T'were a black day for yer when your son----" + +"My son is innocent, my good sir, and it is my belief that your wife can +help me to prove it." + +"No, you're on a wrong tack there," said Vincent slowly. "What can Hetty +know?" + +"Then you won't help me?" + +"I say nought about that. The hour is late, and my wife ain't well. +You'll excuse me now, but I must foller 'er." + +Vincent walked quickly away. He strode with long strides across the +grass. After a time he stopped, and looked to right and left of him. +There was a rustling sound in a shrub near by. Hetty stole suddenly out +of the deep shadow. + +"Take me home, George, I've been waiting for you," she said. + +"Well, these are queer goings-on," said the man. "There was a lady, Mrs. +Everett, and she said--never mind now what she said. Tell me, Het, as +you would speak the truth ef you were a-dying, what did yer want with +Squire?" + +"Nothing. What should I want with him? I was just glad to see him +again." + +"Why did you turn faint?" + +"It was the heat of the room." + +"Come on. Take my arm. Let's go out o' this." + +The farmer's tone was very fierce. He dragged Hetty's hand through his +big arm, and strode away so quickly that she could scarcely keep up with +him. + +"It hurts my side," she said, at last panting. + +"You think nothing hurts but your side," said the man. "There are worse +aches than that." + +"What do you mean, George? How queer and rough you speak!" + +"Maybe I know more'n you think, young woman." + +"Know more than I think," she said. "There's nothing more to know." + +"Ain't there? P'raps I've found out the reason why your 'eart's been +closed to me--p'raps I've got the key to that secret." + +"Oh, George, George, you know I'd love you ef I could." + +"P'raps I've got the key to that secret," repeated the farmer. "I'm not +a bad feller--not bad to look at nor bad to live with--and I gived yer +all I got--but never, God above is witness, never from the day I took +yer to church, 'ave yer kissed me of your own free will. No, nor ever +said a lovin' word to me--the sort of words that come so glib to the +lips o' other young wives. You're like one who carries sum'mat at her +heart. Maybe I guess to-night." + +"But there's nothing to guess," said Hetty. She was trembling, a sick +fear took possession of her. + +"Ain't there? Why did you make an appointment to meet Squire alone?" + +"What in the world do you mean?" + +"None o' your soft sawder, now, Hetty. I know what I'm a-talking of. I +crep' out of barn t'other way, and I 'eard what you said." + +"You heard," said Hetty, with a little scream. Then she suppressed it, +and gave a little hysterical laugh. "You're welcome to hear," she +continued. "There was nothing in it." + +"Worn't there? You seemed mighty eager to have a meetin' with 'im; much +more set on it, I take it, than he wor to have a meetin' wi' you. Gents +o' that sort don't care to be reminded o' the follies o' their youth. I +seed a big frown coming up between his eyes when you wor so masterful, +and when you pressed and pressed to see 'im. Why did yer say t'was life +or death? I've got my clue at last, and look you 'ere, you meet Squire +at your peril. There, that's my last word. You understand me?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +The next day Vincent got up early. It was his wont to rise betimes. +Small as his farm was he managed it well, superintended everything that +went on in it, and did, when possible, the greater part of the work +himself. He rose now from the side of his sleeping wife, looked for a +moment at her fair, flower-like face, clenched his fist at a memory +which came over him, and then stole softly out of the room. + +The morning was a lovely one, warm for the time of year, balmy with the +full promise of spring. The trees were clothed in their tenderest green; +there was a faint blue mist near the horizon which would pass into +positive heat later on. + +Vincent strode along with his hands deep in his pockets. He looked like +a man who was struggling under a heavy weight. In truth he was; he was +unaccustomed to thought, and he now had plenty of that commodity to +worry him. What was the matter with Het? What was her secret? Did Mrs. +Everett's queer words mean anything or nothing? Why did Het want to see +the Squire? Was it possible that the Squire--? The man dashed out one of +his great hands suddenly into space. + +"Drat it," he muttered, "ef I thought it I'd kill 'im." + +At this moment the sound of footsteps approaching caused him to raise +his head; he had drawn up close to a five-barred gate. He saw a woman's +bonnet above the hedgerow--a woman dressed in black was coming in his +direction--she turned the corner and he recognized Mrs. Everett. He +stared at her for a full moment without opening his lips. He felt he did +not like her; a queer sensation of possible danger stirred at his heart. +What was she doing at this hour? Vincent knew nothing of the ways of +women of quality; but surely they had no right to be out at this hour in +the morning. + +The moment Mrs. Everett saw him she quickened her footsteps. No smile +played round her lips, but there was a look of welcome and of gratified +longing in her keen, dark eyes. + +"I had a presentiment that I should find you," she said. "I wanted to +have a talk with you when no one was by. Here you are, and here am I." + +"Mornin', ma'am," said Vincent awkwardly. + +"Good-morning," answered, Mrs. Everett. "The day is a beautiful one," +she continued; "it will be hot by and by." + +Vincent did not think it necessary to reply to this. + +"I'm due in the five-acre field," he said, after a long pause. "I beg +pardon, ma'am, but I must be attending to my dooties." + +"If you wish to cross that field," said Mrs. Everett, "I have not the +least objection to accompanying you." + +Vincent hesitated. He glanced at the five-barred gate as if he meant to +vault over it, then he looked at the lady; she was standing perfectly +motionless, her arms hanging straight at her sides; she came a step or +two nearer to him. + +"Look you 'ere," he said then, suddenly. "I'm a plain body--a man, so to +speak, of one idee. There are the men yonder waitin' to fall to with the +spring turnips, and 'ere am I waitin' to give 'em orders, and 'ere you +are, ma'am, waitin' to say sum'mat. Now I can't attend to the men and to +you at the same time, so p'raps you'll speak out, ma'am, and go." + +"I quite understand your position," said Mrs. Everett. "I would much +rather speak out. I have come here to say something about your wife." + +"Ay," said Vincent, folding his arms, "it's mighty queer what you should +'ave to say 'bout Hetty." + +"Not at all, for I happen to know something about her." + +"And what may that be?" + +"I'll tell you if you will give me time to speak. I told you last night +who I am--I am Mrs. Everett, the mother of a man who has been falsely +accused of murder." + +"Falsely!" echoed Vincent, an incredulous expression playing round his +lips. + +"Yes, falsely. Don't interrupt me, please. Your wife witnessed that +murder." + +"That's true enough, and it blackened her life, poor girl." + +"I'm coming to that part in a minute. Your wife witnessed the murder. +She was very young at the time. It was well known that the murdered man +wanted to make her his wife. It was supposed, quite falsely, but it was +the universal supposition, that my son was also one of her lovers. This +latter was not the case. It is just possible, however, that she had +another lover--she was a very pretty girl, the sort of girl who would +attract men in a station above her own." + +Vincent's face grew black as night. + +"I have my reason," continued Mrs. Everett, "for supposing it possible +that your wife had another lover. There is, at least, not the slightest +doubt that the man who killed Mr. Frere did so in a fit of jealousy." + +"P'raps so," said Vincent. "It may be so. I loved Het then--I longed to +make her my wife then. I'm in her own station--it's best for girls like +Het to marry in their own station. She told me that the man who was +murdered wanted to make her his wife, but she never loved him, that I +will say." + +"She may have loved the murderer." + +"The man who is suffering penal servitude?" cried Vincent. "Your son, +ma'am? Then ef you think so he'd better stay where he is--he'd best stay +where 'e is." + +"I am not talking of my son, but of the real murderer," said Mrs. +Everett slowly. + +Vincent stared at her. He thought she was slightly off her head. + +"I was in court when your son was tried," he said, at last. "'Twas a +plain case. He killed his man--it was brought in manslaughter, worn't +it? And he didn't swing for it. I don't know what you mean, ma'am, an' +I'd like to be away now at my work." + +"I have something more to say, and then I'll go. I met your wife about a +year ago. We met on Salisbury Plain." + +"Ay, she's fond o' the Plain, Hetty is." + +"I told her then what I now tell you. She fell on her knees in +terror--she clasped my dress, and asked me how I had found out. Then she +recovered herself, tried to eat her own words, and left me. Since then +she has avoided me. It was the sight of me last night that made your +wife turn faint. I repeat that she carries a secret. If that secret were +known it might clear my son. I want to find it out. If you will help me +and if we succeed, I'll give you a thousand pounds." + +"'Taint to be done, ma'am," said Vincent. "Het is nervous, and a bit +given to the hysterics, but she knows no more 'bout that murder than all +the rest of the world knows; and what's more, I wouldn't take no money +to probe at my wife's heart. Good-mornin', ma'am, I must be attending to +my turnips." + +Vincent vaulted the five-barred gate as he spoke, and walked across the +field. + +Mrs. Everett watched him until he was out of sight. Then she turned +slowly, and went back to the Court. She entered the grounds a little +before the breakfast hour. Ann, now Mrs. Henessey, was out in the avenue +gathering daffodils, which grew in clumps all along a great border. She +raised her head when she saw Mrs. Everett approaching. + +"You out?" she cried. "I thought I was the only early bird. Where have +you been?" + +"For a walk," replied the widow. "The morning is a lovely one, and I was +not sleepy." She did not wait to say anything more to Ann, but went into +the house. + +The breakfast-room at the Court had French windows. The day was so balmy +that, early as it was still in the year, these windows stood open. As +Mrs. Everett stepped across the threshold, she was greeted by Margaret. + +"How pale and tired you look!" said Mrs. Awdrey, in a compassionate +voice. + +Mrs. Everett glanced round her, she saw that there was no one else +present. + +"I am sick at heart, Margaret," she said, fixing her sad eyes on her +friend's face. + +Margaret went up to her, put her slender hand on her shoulder, and +kissed her. + +"Why won't you rest?" she said; "you never rest; even at night you +scarcely sleep; you will kill yourself if you go on as you have been +doing of late, and then----" + +"Why do you stop, Margaret?" said Mrs. Everett. + +"When he comes out you won't be there," said Margaret--tears brimming +into her eyes. "I often see the meeting between you and him," she +continued. "When he comes out; when it is all over; he won't be old, as +men go, and he'll want you. Try and think of the very worst that can +happen--his innocence never being proved; even at the worst he'll want +you sorely when he is a free man again." + +"He won't have me. I shall be dead long, long before then; but I must +prove his innocence. I have an indescribable sensation that I am near +the truth while I am here, and that is why I came. Margaret, my heart is +on fire--the burning of that fire consumes me." + +At this moment the Squire entered the room; he looked bright, fresh, +alert, and young. He was now a man of extremely rapid movements; he came +up to Mrs. Everett and shook hands with her. + +"You have your bonnet on," he said. + +"Yes, I have been out for a walk," she replied. + +"And she has come in dead tired," said Margaret, glancing at her +husband. "Please go to your room now, Mrs. Everett," she continued, "and +take off your things. We are just going to breakfast, and I shall insist +on your taking a good meal." + +Mrs. Everett turned toward the door. When she had left the room Margaret +approached her husband's side. + +"I do believe she is right," she cried suddenly; "I believe her grief +will kill her in the end." + +"Whose grief, dearest?" asked Awdrey, in an absent-minded manner. + +"Whose grief, Robert? Don't you know? Mrs. Everett's grief. Can't you +see for yourself how she frets, how she wastes away? Have you no eyes +for her? In your own marvellous resurrection ought you, ought either of +us, to forget one who suffers so sorely?" + +"I never forget," said Awdrey. He spoke abruptly; he had turned his back +on his wife; a picture which was hanging slightly awry needed +straightening; he went up to it. Ann came in at the open window. + +"What possesses all you women to be out at cockcrow in this fashion?" +said her brother, submitting to her embrace rather than returning it. + +Ann laughed gleefully. + +"It's close on nine o'clock," she replied; "here are some daffodils for +you, Margaret"--she laid a great bunch by Mrs. Awdrey's plate. "You have +quite forgotten your country manners, Robert; in the old days breakfast +was long over at nine o'clock." + +"Well, let us come to table now," said the Squire. + +The rest of the party trooped in by degrees. Mrs. Everett was the last +to appear. Awdrey pulled out a chair near himself; she dropped into it. +He began to attend to her wants; then entered into conversation with +her. He talked well, like the man of keen intelligence and education he +really was. As he spoke the widow kept watching him with her bright, +restless eyes. He never avoided her glance. His own eyes, steady and +calm in their expression, met hers constantly. Toward the end of +breakfast the two pairs of eyes seemed to challenge each other. Mrs. +Everett's grew fuller than ever of puzzled inquiry; Awdrey's of a queer +defiance. In the end she looked away with a sigh. He was stronger than +she was; her spirit recognized this fact; it also began to be dimly +aware of the truth that he was her enemy. + +The Squire rose suddenly from his seat and addressed his wife. + +"I've just seen Griffiths pass the window," he said. "I'm going out now; +don't expect me to lunch." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +About an hour after her husband had left her, Hetty Vincent awoke. She +rubbed her eyes, sat up in bed, and after a moment's reflection began to +dress. She was downstairs, bustling about as usual, just as the +eight-day clock struck seven. Hetty attended to the household work +itself, but there was a maid to help her with the dairy, to milk the +cows, and undertake the heavy part of the work. The girl's name was +Susan. Hetty and she went into the dairy as usual now and began to +perform their morning duties. + +There were several cows kept on the farm, and the Vincents largely lived +on the dairy produce. Their milk and butter and cream were famous in the +district. The great pails of foaming milk were now being brought in by +Susan and the man Dan, and the different pans quickly filled. + +The morning's milk being set, Hetty began to skim the pans which were +ready from the previous night. As she did so she put the cream at once +into the churn, and Susan prepared to make the butter. + +"Hold a bit, ma'am," she said suddenly, "we never scalded out this churn +properly, and the last butter had a queer taste, don't you remember?" + +"Of course I do," said Hetty, "how provoking; all that cream is wasted +then." + +"I don't think so," answered Susan. "If we pour it out at once it won't +get the taste. Please hold that basin for me, ma'am, and I'll empty the +cream that is in the churn straight into it." + +Hetty did so. + +Susan set the churn down again on the floor. + +"If you'll give me that stuff in the bottle, ma'am," she said, "which +you keep in the cupboard, I'll mix some of it with boiling water and +wash out the churn, and it'll be as sweet as a nut immediately." + +"The water is already boiling in the copper," said Hetty. + +The girl went off to fill a large jug with some, and Hetty unlocked the +cupboard from which she had taken the bottle of laudanum the night +before. The chemical preparation required for sweetening the churn +should have stood close to the laudanum bottle. It was not there, and +Susan, who was anxious to begin her work, fetched a stepladder and +mounting it began to search through the contents of the cupboard. + +"I can't find the bottle," she cried, "but lor! ma'am, what is this +black stuff? It looks sum'mat like treacle." + +"No, it is not; let it alone," said Hetty in alarm. + +"I don't want to touch it, I'm sure," replied Susan. "It's got a good +big 'poison' marked on it, and I'm awful frightened of that sort o' +thing." + +"It's toothache cure," said Hetty. "Ef you swallowed a good lot of it it +'ud kill you, but it's a splendid thing to put on cotton-wool and stuff +into your tooth if it aches badly. Just you step down from the ladder, +and I'll have a look for the bottle we want, Susan." + +The bottle was nowhere to be found in the cupboard but was presently +discovered in another corner of the dairy; the morning's work then went +on without a hitch. + +At his accustomed hour Vincent came in to breakfast. He looked moody and +depressed. As he ate he glanced many times at Hetty, but did not +vouchsafe a single word to her. + +She was in the mood to be agreeable to him and she put on her most +fascinating airs for his benefit. Once as she passed his chair she laid +her small hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder. The man longed +indescribably to seize the little hand and press its owner to his hungry +heart, but he restrained himself. Mrs. Everett's words were ringing in +his ear: "Your wife holds a secret." + +Hetty presently sat down opposite to him. The sunshine was now streaming +full into the cheerful farm kitchen, and some of its rays fell across +her face. What a lovely face it was; pale, it is true, and somewhat +worn, but what pathetic eyes, so dark so velvety; what a dear rosebud +mouth, what an arch and yet sad expression! + +"She beats every other woman holler," muttered the man to himself. "It's +my belief that ef it worn't for that secret she'd love me. Yes, it must +be true, she holds a secret, and it's a-killing of her. She ain't what +she wor when we married. I'll get that secret out o' her; but not for no +thousand pounds, 'andy as it 'ud be." + +"Hetty," he said suddenly. + +"What in the world is the matter with you, George? You look so moody," +said Hetty. + +"Well, now, I may as well return the compliment," he replied, "so do +you." + +"Oh, I'm all right," she answered, with a pert toss of her head. "Maybe, +George," she continued, "you're bilious; you ate summat that disagreed +wi' you last night." + +"Yes, I did," he replied fiercely. "I swallered a powerful lot o' +jealousy, and it's bad food and hard to digest." + +"Jealousy?" she answered, bridling, and her cheeks growing a deep rose. +"Now what should make you jealous?" + +"You make me jealous, my girl," he answered. + +"I! what in the world did I do?" + +"You talked to Squire--you wor mad to see 'im. Het, you've got a secret, +and you may as well out wi' it." + +The imminence of the danger made Hetty quite cool and almost brave. She +uttered a light laugh, and bent forward to help herself to some more +butter. + +"You must be crazy to have thoughts o' that sort, George," she said. +"Ain't I been your wife for five years, and isn't it likely that ef I +had a secret you'd have discovered it, sharp feller as you are? No, I +was pleased to see Squire. I was always fond o' 'im; and I ain't got no +secret except the pain in my side." + +She turned very pale as she uttered the last words and pressed her hand +to the neighborhood of her heart. + +Vincent was at once all tenderness and concern. + +"I'm a brute to worry yer, my little gell," he said. "Secret or no +secret, you're all I 'as got. It's jest this way, Het, ef you'd love me +a bit, I wouldn't mind ef you had fifty secrets, but it's the feelin' +that you don't love me, mad as I be about you, that drives me stark, +staring wild at times." + +"I'll try hard to love you ef you wish it, George," she said. + +He left his seat and came toward her. The next moment he had folded her +in his arms. She shivered under his embrace, but submitted. + +"Now that's better," he said. "Tryin' means succeeding 'cording to my +way o' thinking of it. But you don't look a bit well, Het; you change +color too often--red one minute, white the next--you mustn't do no sort +o' work this morning. You jest put your feet up this minute on the +settle and I'll fetch that novel you're so took up with. You like +readin', don't yer, lass?" + +"At times I do," said Hetty, "but I ain't in the mood to read to-day, +and there's a heap to be done." + +"You're not to do it; Susan will manage." + +"George, she can't; she's got the dairy." + +"Dan shall manage the dairy. He's worth two Susans, and Susan can attend +to the housework. Now you lie still where I've put you and read your +novel. I'll be in to dinner at twelve o'clock, as usual, and ef you +don't look more spry by then I'll go and fetch Dr. Martin, that I will." + +"I wouldn't see him for the world," said Hetty in alarm. "Well, I'll +stay quiet ef you wish me to." + +The rest of the morning passed quickly. Until her husband was quite out +of sight Hetty remained on the settle in the cosy kitchen; then she went +up to her room, and taking a hat out of the cupboard began to pull it +about and to re-arrange the trimming. She put it on once or twice to see +if it became her. It was a pretty hat, made of white straw with a broad +low brim. It was trimmed simply with a broad band of colored ribbon. On +Hetty's charming head it had a rustic effect, and suited her particular +form of beauty. + +"It don't matter what I wear," she murmured to herself. "'Taint looks +I'm a-thinking of now, but I may as well look my best when I go to him. +Once he thought me pretty. That awful evening down by the brook when I +gathered the forget-me-nots--I saw his thought in his eyes then--he +thought well of me then. Maybe he will again this evening. Anyhow I'll +wear the hat." + +At dinner time Hetty once more resumed the role of an invalid, and +Vincent was charmed to find her reclining on the settle and pretending +to read the yellow-backed novel. + +"Here's a brace of young pigeons," he said; "I shot 'em an hour ago. You +shall have 'em cooked up tasty for supper. You want fattening and +coaxing a bit. Ah, dinner ready; just what I like, corned beef and +cabbage. I am hungry and no mistake." + +Susan had now left the house to return to her ordinary duties, and the +husband and wife were alone. Hetty declared herself much better; in +fact, quite well. She drew her chair close to Vincent, and talked to him +while he ate. + +"Now I call this real cosy," he said. "Ef you try a bit harder you'll +soon do the real thing, Het; you'll love me for myself." + +"Seems like it," answered Hetty. "George, you don't mind my going down +to see aunt this afternoon, do you?" + +She brought out her words coolly, but Vincent's suspicions were +instantly aroused. + +"Turn round and look at me," he said. + +She did so bravely. + +"You don't go outside the farm to-day, and that's flat," he said. "We +won't argufy on that point any more; you stop at 'ome to-day. Ef you're +a good girl and try to please me I'll harness the horse to the gig this +evening, and take yer for a bit of a drive." + +"I'd like that," answered Hetty submissively. She bent down as she spoke +to pick up a piece of bread. She knew perfectly well that Vincent would +not allow her to keep her appointment with Squire. But that appointment +must be kept; if in no other way, by guile. + +Hetty thought and thought. She was too excited to do little more than +pick her food, and Vincent showered attentions and affectionate words +upon her. At last he rose from his seat. + +"Well, I've 'ad a hearty meal," he cried. "I'll be in again about four +o'clock; you might have a cup o' tea ready for me." + +"No, I won't," said Hetty; "tea is bad for you; you're up so early, and +you're dead for sleep, and it's sleep you ought to have. You come home +about four, and I'll give you a glass o' stout." + +"Stout?" said the farmer--he was particularly partial to that +beverage--"I didn't know there was any stout in the house," he +continued. + +"Yes," she replied, laughing gayly, "the little cask which we didn't +open at Christmas; it's in the pantry, and you shall have a foaming +glass when you come in at four; go off now, George, and I'll have it +ready for you." + +"All right," he said; "why, you're turning into a model wife; quite +anxious about me--at least, it seems like it. Well, I'll turn up for my +stout, more particular ef you'll give me a kiss along wi' it." + +He went away, and Hetty watched him as he crossed the farmyard; her +cheeks were flushed, and her heart beat high. She had made up her mind. +She would drug the stout. + +Vincent was neither a lazy nor a sleepy man; he worked hard from early +morning until late at night, indulging in no excesses of any kind, and +preferring tea as a rule to any other beverage; but stout, good stout, +such as Hetty had in the little cask, was his one weakness; he did like +a big draught of that. + +"He shall have a sleep," said Hetty to herself. "It'll do him a power of +good. The first time I swallered a few drops of aunt's toothache cure I +slept for eight hours without moving. Lor! how bad I felt afore I went +off, and how nice and soothed when I awoke. Seemed as if I couldn't be +cross for ever so long. George shall sleep while I'm away. I'll put some +of the nice black stuff in his stout--the stuff that gives dreams--he'll +have a long rest, and I can go and return and he'll never know nothing +about it." + +She made all her preparations with promptitude and cunning. First, she +opened the cask, and threw away the first glass she drew from it. She +then tasted the beverage, which turned out, as she expected it would, to +be of excellent quality. Hetty saw in imagination her husband draining +off one or two glasses. Presently she heard his step in the passage, and +ran quickly to the pantry where the stout was kept, concealing the +little bottle of laudanum in her pocket. She poured what she thought a +small but safe dose into the jug, and then filled it up with stout. Her +face was flushed, and her eyes very bright, when she appeared in the +kitchen with the jug and glass on a tray. Vincent was hot and dead +tired. + +"Here you are, little woman," he cried. "Why, if you ain't a sort o' +ministering angel, I don't know who is. Well, I'm quite ready for that +ere drink o' your'n." + +Hetty filled his glass to the brim. It frothed slightly, and looked, as +Vincent expressed it, prime. He raised it to his lips, drained it to the +dregs, and returned it to her. She filled it again. + +"Come, come," he said, smiling, and half-winking at her, and then +casting a longing glance at the stout, "ain't two glasses o'er much." + +"Not a bit of it," she answered. "You're to go to sleep, you know." + +"Well, p'raps I can spare an hour, and I am a bit drowsy." + +"You're to lie right down on the settle, and go off to sleep. I'll wake +you when it is time." + +He drank off another glass. + +"You won't run away to that aunt o' your'n while I'm drowsing?" he said. + +"No," she replied. "I would not do a shabby sort of trick like that." + +He took her hand in his, and a moment later had closed his eyes. Once or +twice he opened them to gaze fondly at her, but presently the great, +roughly hewn face settled down into repose. Hetty bent over him, laid +her cheek against his, and felt his forehead. He never stirred. She then +listened to his breathing, which was perfectly quiet and light. + +"He's gone off like a baby. That's wonderful stuff in aunt's bottle," +muttered Hetty. Finally, she threw a shawl of her own over him, drew +down the blind of the nearest window, and went on tiptoe out of the +kitchen. + +"He'll sleep for hours. I did," she said to herself. + +She put the little bottle back into its place in the dairy and moved +softly about the house. She was to meet the Squire at six. It was now +five o'clock. It would take her the best part of an hour to walk to the +Court. She went up to her room, put on her hat, and as she was leaving +the house, once again entered the kitchen. Vincent's face was pale +now--he was in a dead slumber. She heard his breathing, a little quick +and stertorous, but he was always a heavy breather, and she thought +nothing about it. She left the house smiling to herself at the clever +trick she had played on her husband. She was going to meet the Squire +now. Her heart beat with rapture. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +Awdrey's cure was complete; he had passed right through the doom of his +house, and got out on the other side. He was the first man of his race +who had ever done that; the others had forgotten as he forgot, and had +pined, and dwindled, and slipped and slipped lower and lower down in the +scale of life until at last they had dropped over the brink into the +Unknown beyond. Awdrey's downward career had been stopped just in time. +His recovery had been quite as marvellous as his complaint. When he saw +his own face reflected in the pond on Salisbury Plain the cloud had +risen from his brain and he remembered what he had done. In that instant +his mental sky grew clear and light. He himself had murdered Horace +Frere; he had not done it intentionally, but he had done it; another man +was suffering in his stead; he himself was the murderer. He knew this +absolutely, completely, clearly, but at first he felt no mental pain of +any sort. A natural instinct made him desirous to keep his knowledge to +himself, but his conscience sat light within him, and did not speak at +all. He was now anxious to conceal his emotions from the doctor; his +mind had completely recovered its balance, and he found this possible. +Rumsey was as fully astonished at the cure as he had been at the +disease; he accompanied Awdrey back to London next day, and told +Margaret what a marvellous thing had occurred. Awdrey remembered all +about his son; he was full of grief for his loss; he was kind and loving +to his wife; he was no longer morose; no longer sullen and apathetic; in +short, his mental and physical parts were once again wide awake; but the +strange and almost inexplicable thing in his cure was that his moral +part still completely slumbered. This fact undoubtedly did much to +establish his mental and physical health, giving him time to recover his +lost ground. + +Rumsey did not profess to understand the case, but now that Awdrey had +quite come back from the borderland of insanity, he advised that +ordinary remedies should immediately be resorted to; he told Margaret +that in a few months her husband would be as fully and completely able +to attend to the duties of life as any other man of his day and station. +He did not believe, he said, that the strange attack through which +Awdrey had passed was ever likely to return to him! Margaret and her +husband shut up their house in town, and went abroad; they spent the +winter on the continent, and day by day Awdrey's condition, both +physical and mental, became more satisfactory. He slept well, he ate +well; soon he began to devour books and newspapers; to absorb himself in +the events of the day; to take a keen interest in politics; the member +for Grandcourt died, and Awdrey put up for the constituency. He was +obliged to return suddenly to England on this account, and to Margaret's +delight elected to come back at once to live at the Court. The whole +thing was arranged quickly. Awdrey was to be nominated as the new +candidate for Grandcourt; he was to have, too, his rightful position as +the Squire on his own property. Friends from all round the country +rejoiced in his recovery, as they had sincerely mourned over his strange +and inexplicable illness. He was welcomed with rejoicing, and came back +something as a king would to take possession of his kingdom. + +On the night therefore, that he returned to the Court, the higher part +of his being began to stir uneasily within him. He had quite agreed to +Margaret's desire to invite Mrs. Everett to meet them on their return, +but he read a certain expression in the widow's sad eyes, and a certain +look on Hetty's face, which stirred into active remorse the conscience +which had suffered more severely than anything else in the ordeal +through which he had lived. It was now awake within him, and its voice +was very poignant and keen; its notes were clear, sharp, and +unremitting. + +In his excellent physical and mental health his first impulse was to +defy the voice of conscience, and to live down the deed he had +committed. His first wish was to hide its knowledge from all the world, +and to go down to his own grave in the course of time with his secret +unconfessed. He did not believe it possible, at least at first, that the +moral voice within could not be easily silenced; but even on the first +night of his awakening he was conscious of a change in himself. The +sense of satisfaction, of complete enjoyment in life and all its +surroundings which had hitherto done so much for his recovery, was now +absent; he was conscious, intensely conscious, of his own hypocrisy, and +he began vehemently to hate and detest himself. All the same, his wish +was to hide the thing, to allow Mrs. Everett to go down to the grave +with a broken heart--to allow Everett to drink the cup of suffering and +dishonor to the dregs. + +Awdrey slept little during the first night of his return home. In the +morning he arose to the full fact that he must either carry a terrible +secret to his grave, or must confess all and bear the punishment which +was now awarded to another. His strong determination on that first +morning was to keep his secret. He went downstairs, putting a full guard +upon himself. Margaret saw nothing amiss with him--his face was full of +alertness, keenness, interest in life, interest in his fellow-creatures. +Only Mrs. Everett, at breakfast that morning, without understanding it, +read the defiance, the veiled meaning in his eyes. He went away +presently, and spent the day in going about his property, seeing his +constituents, and arranging the different steps he must take to insure +his return at the head of the poll. As he went from house to house, +however, the new knowledge which he now possessed of himself kept +following him. On all hands he was being welcomed and rejoiced over, but +he knew in his heart of hearts he was a hypocrite of the basest and +lowest type. He was allowing another man to suffer in his stead. That +was the cruellest stab of all; it was that which harassed him, for it +was contrary to all the traditions of his house and name. His mental +health was now so perfect that he was able to see with a wonderfully +clear perception what would happen to himself if he refused to listen to +the voice of conscience. In the past, while the cloud was over his +brain, he had undergone terrible mental and physical deterioration; he +would now undergo moral deterioration. The time might come when +conscience would cease to trouble him, but then, as far as his soul was +concerned, he would be lost. He knew all this, and hated himself +profoundly, nevertheless his determination grew stronger and stronger to +guard his secret at all hazards. The possibility that the truth might +out, notwithstanding all his efforts to conceal it, had not occurred to +him, to add to his anxieties. + +The day, a lovely one in late spring, had been one long triumph. Awdrey +was assured that his election was a foregone conclusion. He tried to +think of himself in the House; he was aware of the keenness and +freshness of his own intellect; he thought it quite possible that his +name might be a power in the future government of England. He fully +intended to take his rightful position. For generations men of his name +and family had sat in the House and done good work there--men of his +name and family had also fought for their country both on land and sea. +Yes, it was his bounden duty now to live for the honor of the old name; +to throw up the sponge now, to admit all now would be madness--the worst +folly of which a man could be capable. It was his duty to think of +Margaret, to think of his property, his tenants, all that was involved +in his own life. + +Everett and Mrs. Everett would assuredly suffer; but what of that if +many others were saved from suffering? Yes, it was his bounden duty to +live now for the honor of the old name; he had also his descendants to +think of. True his child was gone, but other children would in all +probability yet be his--he must think of them. Yes, the future lay +before him; he must carry the burden of that awful secret, and he would +carry it so closely pressed to his innermost heart that no one should +guess by look, word, manner, by a gloomy eye, by an unsmiling lip, that +its weight was on him. He would be gay, he would be brave, he would +banish grief, he would try to banish remorse, he would live his life as +best he could. + +"I must pay the cost some day," he muttered to himself. "I put off the +payment, and that is best. There is a tribunal, at the bar of which I +shall doubtless receive full sentence; but that is all in the future; I +accept the penalty; I will reap the wages by and by. Yes, I'll keep my +secret to the death. The girl, Hetty, knows about it, but she must be +silenced." + +Awdrey rode quickly home in the sweet freshness of the lovely spring +evening. He remembered that he was to meet Hetty; the meeting would be +difficult and also of some importance, but he would be guarded, he would +manage to silence her, to quiet her evident fears. Hetty was a +guileless, affectionate, and pretty girl; she had been wonderfully true +to him; he must be good to her, for she had suffered for his sake. It +would be best to make an excuse to send Hetty and her husband to Canada; +Vincent, who was a poor man, would doubtless be glad to emigrate with +good prospects. Yes, they must go; it would be unpleasant meeting Hetty, +knowing what she knew. Mrs. Everett must also not again be his guest; +her presence irritated him, he disliked meeting her eyes; and yet he +knew that while she was in the house he dared not shirk their glance; +her presence and the knowledge that her pain was killing her made the +sharp voice within him speak more loudly than he could quite bear. Yes, +Mrs. Everett must go, and Hetty must go, and--what was this memory which +made him draw up his horse abruptly?--his lost walking-stick. Ridiculous +that such a trifle should worry a man all through his life; how it had +haunted him all during the six years when the cloud was over his brain. +Even now the memory of it came up again to torment him. He had murdered +his man with that stick; the whole thing was the purest accident, but +that did not greatly matter, for the man had died; the ferrule of +Awdrey's stick had entered his brain, causing instant death. + +"Afterward I hid it away in the underwood," thought Awdrey. "I wonder +where it is now--doubtless still there--but some day that part of the +underwood may be cut down and the stick may be found. It might tell +tales, I must find it." + +He jogged his horse, and rode slowly home under the arching trees of the +long avenue. He had a good view of the long, low, rambling house +there--how sweet it looked, how homelike! But for this secret what a +happy man he would be to-night. Ah, who was that standing at his office +door? He started and hastened his horse's steps. Hetty Vincent was +already there waiting for him. + +"I must speak to her at once," he said to himself. "I hope no one will +see her; it would never do for the people to think she was coming after +me. This will be a disagreeable interview and must be got over quickly." + +The Squire rode round the part of the avenue which led directly past the +front of the long house. His wife, sisters, and Mrs. Everett were all +seated near the large window. They were drinking tea and talking. +Margaret's elbow rested upon the window-ledge. She wore a silk dress of +the softest gray. Her lovely face showed in full profile. Suddenly she +heard the sound of his horse's steps and turned round to greet him. + +"There you are; we are waiting for you," she called out. + +"Come in, Robert, and have a cup," called out Dorothy, putting her head +out of the window. + +Dorothy was his favorite sister. Under other circumstances he would have +sprung from his horse, given it to the charge of a groom who stood near, +and joined his wife and friends. Now he called back in a clear, incisive +voice: + +"I have to attend to some business at my office, and will be in +presently. Here, Davies, take my horse." + +The man hurried forward and Awdrey strode round to the side entrance +where his office was. + +Hetty, looking flushed and pretty in her rustic hat with a bunch of +cowslips pinned into the front of her jacket, stood waiting for him. + +Awdrey took a key out of his pocket. The office had no direct +communication with the house, but was always entered from outside. He +unlocked the door and motioned Hetty to precede him into the room. She +did so, he entered after her, locked the door, and put the key into his +pocket. The next thing he did was to look at the windows. There were +three large windows to the office, and they all faced on to a grass lawn +outside. Any one passing by could have distinctly seen the occupants of +the room. + +Awdrey went and deliberately pulled down one of the blinds. + +"Come over here," he said to Hetty. "Take this chair." He took another +himself at a little distance from her. So seated his face was in shadow, +but the full light of the westering sun fell across hers. It lit up her +bright eyes until they shone like jewels, and gave a bronze hue to her +dark hair. The flush on her cheeks was of the damask of the rose; her +brow and the rest of her face was milky white. + +Long ago, as a young man, Awdrey had admired Hetty's real beauty, but no +thought other than that of simple admiration had entered his brain. His +was not the nature to be really attracted by a woman below himself in +station. Now, however, his pulse beat a little faster than its wont as +he glanced at her. He remembered with a swift, poignant sense of regret +all that she had done for him and suffered for him. He could see traces +of the trouble through which she had lived in her face; that trouble and +her present anxiety gave a piquancy to her beauty which differentiated +it widely from the ordinary beauty of the rustic village girl. As he +watched her he forgot for a moment what she had come to speak to him +about. Then he remembered it, and he drew himself together, but a pang +shot through his heart. He thought of the small deceit which he was +guilty of in drawing down the blind and placing himself and his auditor +where no one from the outside could observe them. + +"You want to speak to me," he said abruptly. "What about?" + +"You must know, Mr. Robert," began Hetty. Her coral lips trembled, she +looked like some one who would break down into hysterical weeping at any +moment. + +"This must be put a stop to," Awdrey bestowed another swift glance upon +her, and took her measure. "I cannot pretend ignorance," he said, "but +please try not to lose your self-control." + +Hetty gulped down a great sob; the tears in her eyes were not allowed to +fall. + +"Then you remember?" she said. + +Awdrey nodded. + +"You remember everything, Mr. Robert?" + +Awdrey nodded again. + +"But you forgot at the time, sir." + +Awdrey stood up; he put his hands behind him. + +"I forgot absolutely," he said. "I suffered from the doom of my house. A +cloud fell on me, and I knew no more than a babe unborn." + +"I guessed that, sir; I was certain of it. That was why I took your +part." + +Awdrey waited until she was silent. Then he continued in a monotonous, +strained tone. + +"I have found my memory again. Four or five months ago at the beginning +of this winter I came here. I visited the spot where the murder was +committed, and owing to a chain of remarkable circumstances, which I +need not repeat to you, the memory of my deed came back to me." + +"You killed him, sir, because he provoked you," said Hetty. + +"You were present and you saw everything?" + +"I was, sir, I saw everything. You killed him because he provoked you." + +"I killed him through an accident. I did so in self-defence." + +"Yes, sir." + +Hetty also stood up. She sighed deeply. + +"The knowledge of it has nearly killed me," she said at last, sinking +back again into her seat. + +"I am not surprised at that," said the Squire. "You did what you did out +of consideration for me, and I suppose I ought to be deeply indebted to +you"--he paused and looked fixedly at her--"all the same," he continued, +"I fully believe it would have been much better had you not sworn +falsely in court--had you not given wrong evidence." + +"Did you think I'd let you swing for it?" said the girl with flashing +eyes. + +"I should probably not have swung for it, as you express it. You could +have proved that the assault was unprovoked, and that I did what I did +in self-defence. I wish you had not concealed the truth at the time." + +"Sir, is that all the thanks you give me? You do not know what this has +been to me. Aunt Fanny and I----" + +"Does your aunt, Mrs. Armitage, know the truth?" + +"I had to tell Aunt Fanny or I'd have gone mad, sir. She and me, we +swore on the Bible that we would never tell mortal man or woman what I +saw done. You're as safe with Aunt Fanny and me, Mr. Robert, as if no +one in all the world knew. You were one of the Family--that was enough +for aunt--and you was to me----" she paused, colored, and looked down. +Then she continued abruptly, "Mr. Everett was nothing, nothing to me, +nothing to aunt. He was a stranger, not one of our own people. Aunt +Fanny kept me up to it, and I didn't make one single mistake in court, +and not a soul in all the world guesses." + +"One person suspects," said Awdrey. + +"You mean Mrs. Everett, sir. Yes, Mrs. Everett is a dreadful woman. She +frightens me. She seems to read right through my heart." + +The Squire did not reply. He began to pace up and down in the part of +the room which was lying in shadow. Hetty watched him with eyes which +seemed to devour him--his upright figure was slightly bent, his bowed +head had lost its look of youth and alertness. He found that conscience +could be troublesome to the point of agony. If it spoke like this often +and for long could he endure the frightful strain? There was a way in +which he could silence it. There was a path of thorns which his feet +might tread. Could they take it? That path would lead to the complete +martyrdom, the absolute ruin of his own life. But life, after all, was +short, and there was a beyond. Margaret--what would Margaret feel? How +would she bear the awful shock? He knew then, a flash of thought +convinced him, that he must never tell Margaret the truth if he wished +to keep this ghastly thing to himself, for Margaret would rather go +through the martyrdom which it all meant, and set his conscience and her +own free. + +Awdrey looked again at Hetty. She was ghastly pale, her eyes were almost +wild with fear--she seemed to be reading some of his thoughts. All of a +sudden her outward calm gave way, she left her seat and fell on her +knees--her voice rose in sobs. + +"I know what you're thinking of," she cried. "You think you'll tell--you +think you'll save him and save her, but for God's sake----" + +"Do not say that," interrupted Awdrey. + +"Then for the devil's sake--for any sake, for my sake, for your own, for +Mrs. Awdrey's, don't do it, Squire, don't do it." + +"Don't do----" began Awdrey. "What did you think I was going to do?" + +"Oh, you frightened me so awfully when you looked like that--I thought +you were making up your mind. Squire, don't tell what you know--don't +tell what I've done. I'll be locked up and you'll be locked up, and Mrs. +Awdrey's heart will be broke, and we'll all be disgraced forever, and, +Squire, maybe they'll hang you. Think of one of the family coming to +that. Oh, sir, you've no right to tell now. You'll have to think of me +now, if you'll think of nothing else. I've kept your secret for close on +six years, and if they knew what I had done they would lock me up, and I +couldn't stand it. You daren't confess now--for my sake, sir." + +"Get up, Mrs. Vincent," said Awdrey. "I can't talk over matters with you +while you kneel to me. You've done a good deal for me, and I'm bound to +consider your position. Now, I'm going to tell you something which +perhaps you will scarcely understand. I remembered the act of which I +was guilty several months ago, but until last night my conscience did +not trouble me about it. It is now speaking to me, and speaking loudly. +It is impossible for me to tell you at present whether I shall have +strength of mind to follow it and do the right--yes, the right, the only +right thing to do, or to reject its counsels and lead a life of deceit +and hypocrisy. Both paths will be difficult to follow, but one leads to +life, the highest life, and the other to death, the lowest death. It is +quite possible that I may choose the lowest course. If I do, you, Hetty +Vincent, will know the truth about me. To the outside world I shall +appear to be a good man, for whatever my sufferings, I shall endeavor to +help my people, and to set them an outward example of morality. I shall +apparently live for them, and will think no trouble too great to promote +their best interests. Only you, Hetty, will know me for what I am--a +liar--a man who has committed murder, and then concealed his crime--a +hypocrite. You will know that much as I am thought of in the county here +among my own people, I am allowing an innocent man to wear out his life +in penal servitude because I have not the courage to confess my deed. +You will also know that I am breaking the heart of this man's mother." + +"The knowledge won't matter to me, Squire. I'd rather you were happy and +all the rest of the world miserable. I'd far, far rather." + +"Do you think that I shall be happy?" + +"I don't know," cried Hetty. "Perhaps you'll forget after a bit, and +that voice inside you won't speak so loud. It used to trouble me once, +but now--now it has grown dull." + +"It will never cease to speak. I know myself too well to have any doubt +on that point, but all the same I may take the downward course. I can't +say. Conscience has only just begun to trouble me. I may obey its +dictates, or I may deliberately lead the life of a hypocrite. If I +choose the latter, can you stand the test?" + +"I have stood it for five years." + +"But I have not been at home--the Court has been shut up--an absentee +landlord is not always to the front in his people's thoughts. In the +future, things will be different. Look at me for a moment, Hetty +Vincent. You are not well--your cheeks are hollow and your eyes are too +bright. Mrs. Everett is persuaded that you carry a secret. If she thinks +so, others may think the same. Your aunt also knows." + +"Aunt is different from me," said Hetty. "She didn't see it done. It +don't wear her like it wears me. But I think, sir, now that you have +come back, and I am quite certain that I know your true mind, and when I +know, too, that you are carrying the burden as well as me, and that we +two,"--she paused, her voice broke--"I think, sir," she added, "that it +won't wear me so much in the future." + +"You must on no account be tried. If I resolve to keep the secret of my +guilt from all the rest of the world, you must leave the country." + +"Me leave the country!" cried Hetty--her face became ghastly pale, her +eyes brimmed again with tears. "Then you would indeed kill me," she +said, with a moan--"to leave you--Mr. Robert, you must guess why I have +done all this." + +"Hush," he said in a harsh tone. He approached the window, where the +blind was drawn up. He saw, or fancied he saw--Mrs. Everett's dark +figure passing by in the distance. He retreated quickly into the shaded +part of the room. + +"I cannot afford to misunderstand your words," he said, after a pause, +"but listen to me, Hetty, you must never allude to that subject again. +If I keep this thing to myself I can only do it on condition that you +and your husband leave the country. I have not fully made up my mind +yet. Nothing can be settled to-night. You had better not stay any +longer." + +Hetty rose totteringly and approached the door. Awdrey took the key from +his pocket, and unlocked it for her. As he did so he asked her a +question. + +"You saw everything? You saw the deed done?" + +"Yes, sir, I saw the stick in your hand, and----" + +"That is the point I am coming to," said the Squire. "What did I do with +the stick?" + +"You pushed it into the midst of some underwood, sir, about twenty feet +from the spot where----" She could not finish her sentence. + +"Yes," said Awdrey slowly. "I remember that. Has the stick ever been +found?" + +"No, Mr. Robert, that couldn't be." + +"Why do you say that? The underwood may be cut down at any moment. The +stick has my name on it. It may come to light." + +"It can't, sir--'tain't there. Aunt Fanny and me, we thought o' that, +and we went the night after the murder, and took the stick out from +where you had put it, and weighted it with stones, and threw it into the +deep pond close by. You need not fear that, Mr. Robert." + +Awdrey did not answer. His eyes narrowed to a line of satisfaction, and +a cunning expression came into them, altogether foreign to his face. + +He softly opened the door, and Hetty passed out, then he locked it +again. + +He was alone with his conscience. He fell on his knees and covered his +face. + +"God, Thy judgments are terrible," he groaned. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +There was a short cut at the back of the office which would take Hetty +on to the high road without passing round by the front of the house. It +so happened that no one saw her when she arrived, and no one also saw +her go. When she reached the road she stopped still to give vent to a +deep sigh of satisfaction. Things were not right, but they were better +than she had dared hope. Of course the Squire remembered--he could not +have looked at her as he had done the night before, if memory had not +fully come back to him. He remembered--he told her so, but she was also +nearly certain that he would not confess to the world at large the crime +of which he was guilty. + +"I'll keep him to that," thought Hetty. "He may think nought o' +himself--it's in his race not to think o' theirselves--but he'd think o' +his wife and p'raps he'd think a bit o' me. There's Mrs. Everett and +there's her son, and they both suffer and suffer bad, but then agen +there's Mrs. Awdrey and there's me--there's two on us agen two," +continued Hetty, rapidly thinking out the case, and ranging the pros and +cons in due order in her mind, "yes, there's two agen two," she +repeated. + +"Mrs. Everett and her son are suffering now--then it 'ud be Mrs. Awdrey +and me--and surely Mrs. Awdrey is nearer to Squire, and maybe I'm a bit +nearer to Squire than the other two. Yes, it is but fair that he should +keep the secret to himself." + +The sun had long set and twilight had fallen over the land. Hetty had to +walk uphill to reach the Gables, the name of her husband's farm. It +would therefore take her longer to return home than it did to come to +the Court. She was anxious to get back as quickly as possible. It would +never do for Vincent to find out that she had deceived him. If he slept +soundly, as she fully expected he would, there was not the least fear of +her secret being discovered. Susan never entered the house after four in +the afternoon. The men who worked in the fields would return to the yard +to put away their tools, but they would have nothing to do in connection +with the house itself--thus Vincent would be left undisturbed during the +hours of refreshment and restoration which Hetty hoped he was enjoying. + +"Yes, I did well," she murmured to herself, quickening her steps as the +thought came to her. "I've seen Squire and there's nought to be dreaded +for a bit, anyway. The more he thinks o' it the less he'll like to see +himself in the prisoner's dock and me and Mrs. Awdrey and aunt as +witnesses agen 'im--and knowing, too, that me, and, perhaps, aunt, too, +will be put in the dock in our turn. He's bound to think o' us, for we +thought o' him--he won't like to get us into a hole, and he's safe not +to do it. Yes, things look straight enough for a bit, anyway. I'm glad I +saw Squire--he looked splendid, too, stronger than I ever see 'im. He +don't care one bit for me, and I--his eyes flashed so angry when I +nearly let out--yes, I quite let out. He said, 'I can't affect to +misunderstand you.' Ah, he knows at last, he knows the truth. I'm glad +he knows the truth. There's a fire inside o' me, and it burns and +burns--it's love for him--all my life it has consumed within me. There's +nought I wouldn't do for 'im. Shame, I'd take it light for his sake--it +rested me fine to see 'im, and to take a real good look at 'im. Queer, +ain't it, that I should care so much for a man what never give me a +thought, but what is, is, and can't be helped. Poor Vincent, he worships +the ground I walk on, and yet he's nought to me; he never can be +anything while Squire lives. I wonder if Squire thought me pretty +to-night. I wonder if he noticed the wild flowers in the bosom of my +jacket--I wonder. I'm glad I've a secret with 'im; he must see me +sometimes, and he must talk on it; and then he'll notice that I'm +pretty--prettier than most girls. Oh, my heart, how it beats!" + +Hetty was struggling up the hill, panting as she went. The pain in her +side got worse, owing to the exercise. She had presently to stop to take +breath. + +"He said sum'mat 'bout going away," she murmured to herself; "he wants +me and Vincent to leave the country, but we won't go. No, I draw the +line there. He thinks I'll split on 'im. I! Little he knows me. I must +manage to show him that I can hold my secret, so as no one in all the +world suspects. Oh, good God, I wish the pain in my side did not keep on +so constant. I'll take some of the black stuff when I get in; it always +soothes me; the pain will go soon after I take it, and I'll sleep like a +top to-night. Poor George, what a sleep he's havin'; he'll be lively, +and in the best o' humors when he wakes; you always are when you've +taken that black stuff. Now, I must hurry on, it's getting late." + +She made another effort, and reached the summit of the hill. + +From there the ground sloped away until it reached the Gables Farm. +Hetty now put wing to her feet and began to run, but the pain in her +side stopped her again, and she was obliged to proceed more slowly. She +reached home just when it was dark; the place was absolutely silent. +Susan, who did not sleep in the house, had gone away; the men had +evidently come into the yard, put their tools by, and gone off to their +respective homes. + +"That's good," thought Hetty. "Vincent's still asleep--I'm safe. Now, if +I hurry up he'll find the place lighted and cheerful, and everything +nice, and his supper laid out for him, and he'll never guess, never, +never." + +She unlatched the gate which led into the great yard; the fowls began to +rustle on their perches, and the house dog, Rover, came softly up to +her, and rubbed his head against her knee; she patted him abstractedly +and hurried on to the house. + +She had a latchkey with which she opened the side door; she let herself +in, and shut it behind her. The place was still and dark. + +Hetty knew her way well; she stole softly along the dark passage, and +opened the kitchen door. The fire smouldered low in the range, and in +the surrounding darkness seemed to greet her, something like an angry +eye. When she entered the room, she did not know why she shivered. + +"He's sound asleep," she murmured to herself; "that lovely black stuff +ha' done 'im a power o' good. I'll have a dose soon myself, for my heart +beats so 'ard, and the pain in my side is that bad." + +She approached the fireplace, opened the door of the range, and stirred +the smouldering coals into the semblance of a blaze. By this light, +which was very fitful and quickly expired, she directed her steps to a +shelf, where a candlestick and candle and matches were placed. She +struck a match, and lit the candle. With the candle in her hand she +then, softly and on tiptoe, approached the settle where her husband lay. +She did not want to wake him yet, and held the candle in such a way that +the light should not fall on his face. As far as she could tell he had +not stirred since she left him, two or three hours ago; he was lying on +his back, his arms were stretched out at full length at each side, his +lips were slightly open--as well as she could see, his face was pale, +though he was as a rule a florid man. + +"He's sleepin' beautiful," thought Hetty, "everything has been splendid. +I'll run upstairs now and take off my hat and jacket and make myself +look as trim as I can, for he do like, poor George do, to see me look +pretty. Then I'll come down and lay the supper on the table, and then +when everything is ready I think I'll wake him. He fell asleep soon +after four, and it's a good bit after eight now. I slept much longer +than four hours after my first dose of the nice black stuff, but I think +I'll wake 'im when supper is ready. It'll be real fun when he sees the +hour and knows how long he 'as slept." + +Holding her candle in her hand Hetty left the kitchen and proceeded to +light the different lamps which stood about in the passages. She then +went to her own nice bedroom and lit a pair of candles which were placed +on each side of her dressing glass. Having done this, she drew down the +blinds and shut the windows. She then carefully removed her hat, took +the cowslips out of the bosom of her dress, kissed them, and put them in +water. + +"Squire looked at 'em," she said to herself. "He didn't touch 'em, no, +but he looked at 'em, and then he looked at me and I saw in his eyes +that he knew I were pretty. I was glad then. Seemed as if it were worth +living just for Squire to know that I were really pretty." + +She placed the flowers in a jug of water, folded up her jacket and +gloves, and put them away with her hat in the cupboard in the wall. She +then, with the candle still in her hand, went downstairs. + +The kitchen felt chilly, and Hetty shivered as she entered it. All of a +sudden a great feeling of weakness seemed to tremble through her slight +frame; her heart fluttered too, seeming to bob up and down within her. +Then it quieted down again, but the constant wearing pain grew worse and +ached so perceptibly that she had to catch her breath now and then. + +"I'll be all right when I can have a good dose," she thought. She went +to the window, farthest from the one near which Vincent was lying, and +drew down the blind; then going to the coal cellar she brought out some +firewood and large knobs of coal. She fed the range and the fire soon +crackled and roared. Hetty stood close to it, and warmed her hands by +the blaze. + +"What a noise it do make," she said to herself. "It ought to wake him; +it would if he worn't sleepin' so sound from that lovely black stuff. +Well, he can keep on for a bit longer, for he were dead tired, poor man. +I'll get his supper afore I wake 'im." + +She went out to the scullery, turned on the tap and filled the kettle +with fresh cold water. She set it on the stove to boil, and then taking +a coarse white cloth from a drawer laid it on the centre table. She took +out plates, knives and forks and glasses for two, put them in their +places, laid a dish of cold bacon opposite Vincent's plate, and some +bread and a large square of cheese opposite her own. Having done this, +she looked at the sleeping man. He was certainly quiet; she could not +even hear him breathing. As a rule he was a stertorous breather, and +when first they were married Hetty could scarcely sleep with his +snoring. + +"He don't snore to-night--he's resting wonderful," she said to herself. +"Now, I just know what I'll do--he mayn't care when he wakes for nothing +but cold stuff--I'll boil some fresh eggs for his supper, and I'll make +some cocoa. I'll have a nice jug of milk cocoa and a plate of eggs all +ready by the time he wakes." + +She fetched a saucepan, some milk, and half-a-dozen new-laid eggs. Soon +the cocoa was made and poured into a big jug, the eggs just done to a +turn were put upon a plate; they were brown eggs, something the color of +a deep nut. + +"I could fancy one myself," thought Hetty; "I ain't eat nothing to speak +of for hours. Oh, I do wish the pain in my side 'ud get better." + +She pressed her hand to the region of her heart and looked around her. +The farm kitchen was now the picture of comfort--the fire blazed +merrily. Hetty had lit a large paraffin lamp and placed it in the centre +of the table; it lit up the cosy room, even the beams and rafters +glistened in the strong light; shadows from the fire leaped up and +reflected themselves on the sleeper's face. + +"He's very white and very still," thought Hetty; "maybe he has slept +long enough. I think I'll wake him now, for supper's ready." + +Then came a scratching at the window outside, and the fretful howl of a +dog. + +"There's Rover; what's the matter with him? I wish he wouldn't howl like +that," thought the wife. "I hate dogs that howl. Maybe I had best let +'im in." + +She ran to the kitchen door, flew down the passage, and opened the door +which led into the yard. + +"Rover, stop that noise and come along in," she called. + +The great dog shuffled up to her and thrust his head into her hand. She +brought him into the kitchen. The moment she did so he sat down on his +haunches, threw up his head, 'and began to howl again. + +"Nonsense, Rover, stop that noise," she said. She struck him a blow on +his forehead, he cowered, looked at her sorrowfully, and then tried to +lick her hand. She brought him to the fire; he came unwillingly, +slinking down at last with his back to the still figure on the settle. + +"Queer, what's the matter with him?" thought Hetty. "They say, folks do, +that dogs see things we don't; some folks say they see sperrits. Aunt +would be in a fuss if Rover went on like that. Dear, I am turning +nervous; fancy minding the howl of a dog. It's true my nerves ain't what +they wor. Well, cocoa will spoil, and eggs will spoil, and time has come +for me to wake Vincent. What a laugh we'll have together when I tell 'im +of his long sleep." + +She approached the sofa now, but her steps dragged themselves as she +went up to it and bent down over her husband and called his name. + +"George!" she said. "George!" He never moved. She went a little nearer, +calling him louder. + +"George, George, wake up!" she said. "Wake, George, you've slept for +over four hours. Supper is ready, George--cocoa and eggs, your favorite +supper. Wake! George, wake!" + +The dog howled by the fire. + +"Rover, I'll turn you out if you make that noise again," said Hetty. She +went on her knees now by the sleeping man, and shook him. His head moved +when she did so and she thought he was about to open his eyes, but when +she took her hands away there was not a motion, not a sound. + +"What is it?" she said to herself. For the first time a very perceptible +fear crept into her heart. She bent low and listened for the breathing. + +"He do breathe gentle," she murmured. "I can scarcely hear; do I hear at +all. I think I'll fetch a candle." + +In shaking the farmer she had managed to dislodge one of his hands, +which had fallen forward over the edge of the settle. She took it up, +then she let it fall with a slight scream; it was cold, icy cold! + +"Good God! Oh, God in heaven! what is it?" muttered the wife. + +The real significance of the thing had not yet flashed upon her +bewildered brain, but a sick fear was creeping over her. She went for +the candle, and bringing it back, held it close to the ashen face. It +was not only white, it was gray. The lips were faintly open, but not a +breath proceeded from them. The figure was already stiff in the icy +embrace of death. + +Hetty had seen death before; its aspect was too unmistakable for her not +to recognize it again. She fell suddenly forward, putting out the candle +as she did so. Her face, almost as white as the face of the dead man, +was pressed against his breast. For a brief few moments she was +unconscious. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +The twilight darkened into night, but Awdrey still remained in the +office. After a time he groped for a box of matches, found one, struck a +match, took a pair of heavy silver candlesticks from a cupboard in the +wall, lit the candles which were in them, and then put them on his +office table. The room was a large one, and the light of the two candles +seemed only to make the darkness visible. Awdrey went to the table, +seated himself in the old chair which his father and his grandfather had +occupied before him, and began mechanically to arrange some papers, and +put a pile of other things in order. His nature was naturally full of +system; from his childhood up he had hated untidiness of all sorts. +While he was so engaged there came a knock at the office door. He rose, +went across the room, and opened it; a footman stood without. + +"Mrs. Awdrey has sent me to ask you, sir, if you are ready for dinner." + +"Tell your mistress that I am not coming in to dinner," replied Awdrey. +"Ask her not to wait for me; I am particularly busy, and will have +something later." + +The man, with an immovable countenance, turned away. Awdrey once more +locked the office door. He now drew down the remaining blinds to the +other two windows, and began to pace up and down the long room. The +powers of good and evil were at this moment fighting for his soul--he +knew it; there was a tremendous conflict raging within him; it seemed to +tear his life in two; beads of perspiration stood on his brow. He knew +that either the God who made him or the devil would have won the victory +before he left that room. + +"I must make my decision once for all," he said to himself. "I am wide +awake; my whole intellectual nature is full of vigor; I have no excuse +whatever; the matter must be finally settled now. If I follow the +devil----" he shrank as the words formed themselves out of his brain; he +had naturally the utmost loathing for evil in any form, his nature was +meant to be upright; at school he had been one of the good boys; one of +the boys to whom low vices, dishonorable actions of any kind, were +simply impossible; he had had his weaknesses, for who has not?--but +these weaknesses were all more or less akin to the virtues. + +"If I choose the devil!" he repeated. Once again he faltered, trembling +violently; he had come to the part of the room where his father's old +desk was situated, he leaned up against it and gazed gloomily out into +the darkness which confronted him. + +"I know exactly what will happen if I follow the downward path," he said +again. "I must force myself to think wrong right, and right wrong. There +is no possible way for me to live this life of deception except by +deceiving myself. Must I decide to-night?" + +He staggered into the chair which his father used to occupy. His father +had been a man full of rectitude; the doom of the house had never +overtaken him; he had been a man with an almost too severe and lofty +code of honor. Awdrey remembered all about his father as he sat in that +chair. He sprang again to his feet. + +"There is no use in putting off the hour, for the hour has come," he +thought. "This is the state of the case. God and the devil are with me +to-night. I cannot lie in the presence of such awful, such potent +Forces. I must face the thing as it is. This is what has happened to me. +I, who would not willingly in my sober senses, hurt the smallest insect +that crawls on the earth, once, nearly six years ago, in a sudden moment +of passion killed a man. He attacked me, and I defended myself. I killed +him in self-defence. I no more meant to kill him than I mean to commit +murder to-night. Notwithstanding that fact I did it. Doubtless the +action came over me as a tremendous shock--immediately after the deed +the doom of my house fell on me, and I forgot all about what I myself +had done--for five years the memory of it never returned to me. Now I +know all about it. At the present moment another man is suffering in my +stead. Now if I follow the devil I shall be a brute and a scoundrel; the +other man will go on suffering, and his mother, whose heart is already +broken, may die before he recovers his liberty. Thus I shall practically +kill two lives. No one will know--no one will guess that I am leading a +shadowed life. I feel strong enough now to cover up the deed, to hide +away the remorse. I feel not the least doubt that I shall be outwardly +successful--the respect of my fellow-men will follow me--the love of +many will be given to me. By and by I may have children, and they will +love me as I loved my father, and Margaret will look up to me and +consult me as my mother looked up to and consulted my father, and my +honor will be considered above reproach. My people too will rejoice to +have me back with them. I can serve them if I am returned for this +constituency--in short, I can live a worthy and respected life. The +devil will have his way, but no one will guess that it is the devil's +way--I shall seem to live the life of an angel." + +Awdrey paused here in his own thought. + +"I feel as if the devil were laughing at me," he said, speaking half +aloud, and looking again into the darkness of the room--"he knows that +his hour will come--by and by my span of life will run out--eventually I +shall reach the long end of the long way. But until that time, day by +day, and hour by hour, I shall live the life of the hypocrite. Like a +whited sepulchre shall I be truly, for I shall carry hell here. By and +by I shall have to answer for all at a Higher Tribunal, and meanwhile I +shall carry hell here." He pressed his hand to his breast--his face was +ghastly. "Shall I follow the devil? Suppose I do not, what then?" + +There came another tap at the office door. Awdrey went across the room +and opened it. He started and uttered a smothered oath, for Margaret +stood on the threshold. + +"Go away now, Maggie, I can't see you; I am very much engaged," he said. + +Instead of obeying him she stepped across the threshold. + +"But you have no one with you," she said, looking into the darkness of +the room. "What are you doing, Robert, all by yourself? You look very +white and tired. We have finished dinner--my uncle has come over from +Cuthbertstown, and would like to see you--they all think it strange your +being away. What is the matter? Won't you return with me to the house?" + +"I cannot yet. I am particularly engaged." + +"But what about? Uncle James will be much disappointed if he does not +see you." + +"I'll come to him presently when I have thought out a problem." + +Margaret turned herself now in such a position that she could see her +husband's face. Something in his eyes seemed to speak straight to her +sympathies,--she put her arms round his neck. + +"Don't think any more now, my darling," she said. "Remember, though you +are so well, that you were once very ill. You have had no dinner, it is +not right for you to starve yourself and tire yourself. Come home with +me, Robert, come home!" + +"Not yet," he replied. "There is a knot which I must untie. I am +thinking a very grave problem out. I shall have no rest, no peace, until +I have made up my mind." + +"What can be the matter?" inquired Margaret. "Can I help you in any +way?" + +"No, my dearest," he answered very tenderly, "except by leaving me." + +"Is it anything to do with accounts?" she asked. She glanced at the +table with its pile of letters and papers. "If so, I could really render +you assistance; I used to keep accounts for Uncle James in the old days. +Two brains are better than one. Let me help you." + +"It is a mental problem, Maggie; it relates to morals." + +"Oh, dear me, Robert, you are quite mysterious," she said with a ghost +of a smile; but then she met his eyes and the trouble in them startled +her. + +"I wish I could help you," she said. "Do let me." + +"You cannot," he replied harshly, for the look in her face added to his +tortures. "I shall come to a conclusion presently. When I come to it I +will return to the house." + +"Then we are not to wait up for you? It is getting quite late, long past +nine o'clock." + +"Do not wait up for me; leave the side door on the latch; I'll come in +presently when I have made up my mind on this important matter." + +She approached the door unwillingly; when she reached the threshold she +turned and faced him. + +"I cannot but see that you are worried about something," she said. "I +know, Robert, that you will have strength to do what is right. I cannot +imagine what your worry can be, but a moral problem with you must mean +the victory of right over wrong." + +"Maggie, you drive me mad," he called after her, but his voice was +hoarse, and it did not reach her ears. She closed the door, and he heard +her retreating footsteps on the gravel outside. He locked the door once +more. + +"There spoke God and my good angel," he murmured to himself. "Help me, +Powers of Evil, if I am to follow you; give me strength to walk the path +of the lowest." + +These words had scarcely risen in the form of an awful prayer when once +again he heard his wife's voice at the door. She was tapping and calling +to him at the same time. He opened the door. + +"Well?" he said. + +"I am sorry to disturb you," she replied, "but you really must put off +all your reflections for the time being. Who do you think has just +arrived?" + +"Who?" he asked in a listless voice. + +"Your old friend and mine, Dr. Rumsey." + +"Rumsey!" replied Awdrey, "he would be a strong advocate on your side, +Maggie." + +"On my side?" she queried. + +"I cannot explain myself. I think I'll see Rumsey. It would be possible +for me to put a question to him which I could not put to you--ask him to +come to me." + +"He shall come at once," she answered, "I am heartily glad that he is +here." + +So he turned back and went to the house--she ran up the front +steps--Rumsey was in the hall. + +"My hearty congratulations," he said, coming up to her. "Your letter +contained such good news that I could not forbear hurrying down to +Grandcourt to take a peep at my strange patient; I always call Awdrey my +strange patient. Is it true that he is now quite well?" + +"Half an hour ago I should have said yes," replied Margaret; "but----" + +"Any recurrence of the old symptoms?" asked the doctor. + +"No, nothing of that sort. Perhaps the excitement has been too much for +him. Come into the library, will you?" + +She entered as she spoke, the doctor following her. + +"I wrote to you when I was abroad," continued Margaret, "telling you the +simple fact that my husband's state of health had gone from better to +better. He recovered tone of mind and body in the most rapid degree. +This morning I considered him a man of perfect physical health and of +keen brilliant intellect. You know during the five years when the cloud +was over his brain he refused to read, and lost grip of all passing +events. There is no subject now of general interest that he cannot talk +about--all matters of public concern arouse his keenest sympathies. +To-day he has been nominated to stand for his constituency, vacant by +the death of our late member. I have no doubt that he will represent us +in the House when Parliament next sits." + +"Or perhaps before this one rises," said the doctor. "Well, Mrs. Awdrey, +all this sounds most encouraging, but your 'but' leads to something not +so satisfactory, does it not?" + +"That is so; at the present moment I do not like his state. He was out +and about all day, but instead of returning home to dinner went straight +to his office, where he now is. As far as I can see, he is doing no +special work, but he will not come into the house. He tells me that he +is facing a problem which he also says is a moral one. He refuses to +leave the office until he has come to a satisfactory conclusion." + +"Come, he is overdoing it," said the doctor. + +"I think so. I told him just now that you had arrived; he asked me to +bring you to him; will you come?" + +"With pleasure." + +"Can you do without a meal until you have seen him?" + +"Certainly; take me to him at once." + +Mrs. Awdrey left the house, and took Dr. Rumsey round by the side walk +which led to the office. The door was now slightly ajar; Margaret +entered the doctor following behind her. + +"Well, my friend," said Dr. Rumsey, in his cheerful voice, "it is good +to see you back in your old place again. Your wife's letter was so +satisfactory that I could not resist the temptation of coming to see you +for myself." + +"I am in perfect health," replied Awdrey. "Sit down, won't you, Rumsey? +Margaret, my dear, do you mind leaving us?" + +"No, Robert," she answered. "I trust to Dr. Rumsey to bring you back to +your senses." + +"She does not know what she is saying," muttered Awdrey. He followed his +wife to the door, and when she went out turned the key in the lock. + +"It is a strange thing," he said, the moment he found himself alone with +his guest, "that you, Rumsey, should be here at this moment. You were +with me during the hour of my keenest and most terrible physical and +mental degradation; you have now come to see me through the hour of my +moral degradation--or victory." + +"Your moral degradation or victory?" said the doctor; "what does this +mean?" + +"It simply means this, Dr. Rumsey; I am the unhappy possessor of a +secret." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes--a secret. Were this secret known my wife's heart would be broken, +and this honorable house of which I am the last descendant would go to +complete shipwreck. I don't talk of myself in the matter." + +"Do you mean to confide in me?" asked the doctor, after a pause. + +"I cannot; for the simple reason, that if I told you everything you +would be bound as a man and a gentleman to take steps to insure the +downfall which I dread." + +"Are you certain that you are not suffering from delusion?" + +"No, doctor, I wish I were." + +"You certainly look sane enough," said the doctor, examining his patient +with one of his penetrating glances. "You must allow me to congratulate +you. If I had not seen you with my own eyes I could never have believed +in such a reformation. You are bronzed; your frame has widened; you have +not a scrap of superfluous flesh about you. Let me feel your arm; my +dear sir, your muscle is to be envied." + +"I was famed for my athletic power long ago," said Awdrey, with a grim +smile. "But now, doctor, to facts. You have come here; it is possible +for me to take you into my confidence to a certain extent. Will you +allow me to state my case?" + +"As you intend only to state it partially it will be difficult for me to +advise you," said the doctor. + +"Still, will you listen?" + +"I'll listen." + +"Well, the fact is this," said Awdrey, rising, "either God or the devil +take possession of me to-night." + +"Come, come," said Rumsey, "you are exaggerating the state of the case." + +"I am not. I am going through the most desperate fight that ever +assailed a man. I may get out on the side of good, but at the present +moment I must state frankly that all my inclinations tend to getting out +of this struggle on the side which will put me into the Devil's hands." + +"Come," said the doctor again, "if that is so there can be no doubt with +regard to your position. You must close with right even though it is a +struggle. You confess to possessing a secret; that secret is the cause +of your misery; there is a right and a wrong to it?" + +"Undoubtedly; a very great right and a very grave wrong." + +"Then, Awdrey, do not hesitate; be man enough to do the right." + +Awdrey turned white. + +"You are the second person who has come here to-night and advised me on +the side of God," he said. + +"Out with your trouble, man, and relieve your mind." + +"When I relieve my mind," said Awdrey, "my wife's heart will break, and +our house will be ruined." + +"What about you?" + +"I shall go under." + +"I doubt very much if your doing right would ever break a heart like +your wife's," said Rumsey, "but doing wrong would undoubtedly crush her +spirit." + +"There you are again--will no one take the Devil's part? Dr. Rumsey, I +firmly believe that it is much owing to your influence that I am now in +my sane mind. I believe that it is owing to you that the doom of my +house has been lifted from my brain. When I think of the path which you +now advocate, I could curse the day when you brought me back to health +and sanity. A very little influence on the other side, a mere letting me +alone, and I should now either be a madman or in my grave; then I would +have carried my secret to the bitter end. As it is----" + +There was a noise heard outside--the sound made by a faltering footstep. +The brush of a woman's dress was distinctly audible against the door; +this was followed by a timid knock. + +"Who is disturbing us now?" said Awdrey, with irritation. + +"I'll open the door and see," said the doctor. + +He crossed the room as he spoke and opened the door. An untidily dressed +girl with a ghastly white face stood without. When the door was opened +she peered anxiously into the room. + +"Is Mr. Awdrey in?--yes, I see him. I must speak to him at once." + +She staggered across the threshold. + +"I must see you alone, Squire," she said--"quite alone and at once." + +"This has to do with the matter under consideration," said the Squire. +"Come in, Hetty; sit down. Rumsey, you had best leave us." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +A real faint, or suspension of the heart's action, is never a long +affair. When Hetty fell in an unconscious state against the body of her +dead husband she quickly recovered herself. Her intellect was keen +enough, and she knew exactly what had happened. The nice black stuff +which gave such pleasant dreams had killed Vincent. She had therefore +killed him. Yes, he was stone dead--she had seen death once or twice +before, and could not possibly mistake it. She had seen her mother die +long ago, and had stood by the deathbed of more than one neighbor. The +cold, the stiffness, the gray-white appearance, all told her beyond the +possibility of doubt that life was not only extinct, but had been +extinct for at least a couple of hours. Her husband was dead. When she +had given him that fatal dose he had been in the full vigor of youth and +health--now he was dead. She had never loved him in life; although he +had been an affectionate husband to her, but at this moment she shed a +few tears for him. Not many, for they were completely swallowed up in +the fear and terror which grew greater and greater each moment within +her. He was dead, and she had killed him. Long ago she had concealed the +knowledge of a murder because she loved the man who had committed it. +Now she had committed murder herself--not intentionally, no, no. No more +had she intended to kill Vincent than Awdrey when he was out that night +had intended to take the life of Horace Frere. But Frere was dead and +now Vincent was dead, and Hetty would be tried for the crime. No, surely +they could not try her--they could not possibly bring it home to her. +How could a little thing like she was be supposed to take the life of a +big man? She had never meant to injure him, too--she had only meant to +give him a good sleep, to rest him thoroughly--to deceive him, of +course--to do a thing which she knew if he were aware of would break his +heart; but to take his life, no, nothing was further from her thoughts. +Nevertheless the deed was done. + +Oh, it was horrible, horrible--she hated being so close to the dead +body. It was no longer Vincent, the man who would have protected her at +the risk of his life, it was a hideous dead body. She would get away +from it--she would creep up close to Rover. No wonder Rover hated the +room; perhaps he saw the spirit of her husband. Oh, how frightened she +was! What was the matter with her side?--why did her heart beat so +strangely, galloping one, two, three, then pausing, then one, two, three +again?--and the pain, the sick, awful pain. Yes, she knew--she was sick +to death with terror. + +She got up presently from where she had been kneeling by her dead +husband's side and staggered across to the fireplace. She tried wildly +to think, but she found herself incapable of reasoning. Shivering +violently, she approached the table, poured out a cup of the cocoa which +was still hot, and managed to drink it off. The warm liquid revived her, +and she felt a shade better and more capable of thought. Her one +instinct now was to save herself. Vincent was dead--no one in all the +world could bring him back to life, but, if possible, Hetty would so act +that not a soul in all the country should suspect her. How could she +make things safe? If it were known, known everywhere, that she was away +from him when he died, then of course she would be safe. Yes, this fact +must be known. Once she had saved the Squire, now the Squire must save +her. It must be known everywhere that she had sought an interview with +him--that at the time when Vincent died she was in the Squire's +presence, shut up in the office with him, the door locked--she and the +Squire alone together. This secret, which she would have fought to the +death to keep to herself an hour ago, must now be blazoned abroad to a +criticising world. The lesser danger to the Squire must be completely +swallowed up in the greater danger to herself. She must hurry to him at +once and get him to tell what he knew. Ah, yes, if he did this she would +be safe--she remembered the right word at last, for she had heard the +neighbors speak of it when it a celebrated trial was going on in +Salisbury--she must prove an alibi--then it would be known that she had +been absent from home when her husband died. + +The imminence of the danger made her at last feel quiet and steady. She +took up the lighted candle and went into the dairy--she unlocked the +cupboard in the wall and took out the bottle of laudanum. Returning to +the kitchen she emptied the contents of the bottle into the range and +then threw the bottle itself also into the heart of the fire--she +watched it as it slowly melted under the influence of the hot fire--the +laudanum itself was also licked up by the hungry flames. That tell-tale +and awful evidence of her guilt was at least removed. She forgot all +about Susan having seen the liquid in the morning--she knew nothing +about the evidence which would be brought to light at a coroner's +inquest--about the facts which a doctor would be sure to give. Nothing +but the bare reality remained prominently before her excited brain. +Vincent was dead--she had killed him by an overdose of laudanum which +she had given him in all innocence to make him sleep--but yet, yet in +her heart of hearts, she knew that her motive would not bear +explanation. + +"Squire will save me," she said to herself--"if it's proved that I were +with Squire I am safe. I'll go to him now--I'll tell 'im all at once. +It's late, very late, and it's dark outside, but I'll go." + +Hetty left the room, leaving the dog behind her--he uttered a frightful +howl when she did so and followed her as far as the door--she shut and +locked the door--he scratched at it to try and release himself, but +Hetty took no notice--she was cruel as regarded the dumb beast's fear in +her own agony and terror. + +She ran upstairs to her room, put on her hat and jacket, and went out. +Stumbling and trembling, she went along the road until she reached the +summit of the hill which led straight down in a gentle slope toward +Grandcourt. She was glad the ground sloped downward, for it was +important that she should quicken her footsteps in order to see the +Squire with as little delay as possible. She was quite oblivious of the +lapse of time since her last visit, and hoped he might still be in the +office. She resolved to try the office first. If he were not there she +would go on to the house--find him she must; nothing should keep her +from his presence to-night. + +She presently reached Grandcourt, entered the grounds by a side entrance +and pursued her way through the darkness. The sky overhead was cloudy, +neither moon nor stars were visible. Faltering and falling she pressed +forward, and by and by reached the neighborhood of the office. She saw a +light burning dimly behind the closed blinds--her heart beat with a +sense of thankfulness--she staggered up to the door, brushing her dress +against the door as she did so--she put up her hand and knocked feebly. +The next instant the door was opened to her--a man, a total stranger, +confronted her, but behind him she saw Awdrey. She tottered into the +room. + +The comparative light and warmth within, after the darkness and chilly +damp of the spring evening, made her head reel, and her eyes at first +could take in no object distinctly. She was conscious of uttering +excited words, then she heard the door shut behind her. She looked +round--she was alone with the Squire. She staggered up to him, and fell +on her knees. + +"You must save me as I saved you long ago," she panted. + +"What is it? Get up. What do you mean?" said Awdrey. + +"I mean, Squire--oh! I mean I wanted to come to you to-day, but +Vincent,"--her voice faltered--"Vincent were mad wi' jealousy. He +thought that I ought not to see you, Squire; he had got summat in his +brain, and it made him mad. He thought that, perhaps, long ago, Squire, +I loved you--long ago. I'm not afeared to say anything to-night, the +truth will out to-night--I loved you long ago, I love you still; yes, +yes, with all my heart, with all my heart. You never cared nothin' for +me, I know that well. You never did me a wrong in thought or in deed, I +know that well also; but to me you were as a god, and I loved you, I +love you still, and Vincent, my husband, he must have seen it in my +face; but you did me no wrong--never, in word or in deed--only loved +you--and I love you still." + +"You must be mad, girl," said Awdrey. "Why have you come here to tell me +that? Get up at once; your words and your actions distress me much. Get +up, Hetty; try to compose yourself." + +"What I have come to say had best be said kneeling," replied Hetty; "it +eases the awful pain in my side to kneel. Let me be, Squire; let me +kneel up against your father's desk. Ah! that's better. It is my +heart--I think it's broke; anyhow, it beats awful, and the pain is +awful." + +"If you have come for any other reason than to say the words you have +just said, say them and go," replied Awdrey. + +Hetty glanced up at him. His face was hard, she thought it looked cruel, +she shivered from head to foot. Was it for this man she had sacrificed +her life? Then the awful significance of her errand came over her, and +she proceeded to speak. + +"Vincent saw the truth in my face," she continued. "Anyhow, he was mad +wi' jealousy, and he said that I worn't to come and see yer. He heard me +speak to yer last night, he heard me say it's a matter o' life and death +and he wor mad. He said I worn't to come; but I wor mad too, mad to +come, and I thought I'd get over him by guile. I put summat in his +stout, and he drank it--summat, I don't know the name, but I had took it +myself and it always made me a sight better, and I gave it to 'im in his +stout and he drank it, and then he slept. He lay down on the settle in +the kitchen, and he went off into a dead sleep. When he slept real sound +I stole away and I come to you. I saw you this evening and you spoke to +me and I spoke to you, and I begged of you to keep our secret, and I +thought perhaps you would, and I come away feelin' better. I went back +'ome, and the place were quiet, and I got into the kitchen. Vincent was +lying on the settle sound asleep. I thought nought o' his sleepin', only +to be glad, for I knew he'd never have missed me. I made his supper for +him, and built up the fire, and I lit the lamps in the house, and I took +off my outdoor things. The dog howled, but I didn't take no notice. +Presently I went up to Vincent, and I shook 'im--I shook 'im, 'ard, but +he didn't wake. I took his hand in mine, it wor cold as ice; I listened +for his breath, there wor none. Squire," said Hetty, rising now to her +feet, "my man wor dead; Squire, I have killed 'im, just the same as you +killed the man on Salisbury Plain six years ago. My husband is dead, and +I have killed him. Squire, you must save me as I saved you." + +"How?" asked Awdrey. His voice had completely altered now. In the +presence of the real tragedy all the hardness had left it. He sank into +a chair near Hetty's side, he even took one of her trembling hands in +his. + +"How am I to help you, you poor soul?" he said again. + +"You must prove an alibi--that's the word. You must say 'Hetty wor wi' +me, she couldn't have killed her man,' you must say that; you must tell +all the world that you and me was together here." + +"I'll do better than that," said Awdrey suddenly. + +"What do you mean?" Hetty started back and gazed at him with a queer +mixture of hope and terror in her face. "Better--but there ain't no +better," she cried. "Ef you don't tell the simple truth I'll be hanged; +hanged by the neck until I die--I, who saved you at the risk of my own +soul nearly six years gone." + +"I'll not let you be hanged," said Awdrey, rising. "Get up, Hetty; do +not kneel to me. You don't quite know what you have done for me +to-night. Sit on that chair--compose yourself--try to be calm. Hetty, +you just came in the nick of time. God and the devil were fighting for +my soul. In spite of all the devil's efforts God was getting the better +of it, and I--I didn't want him to get the best. I wanted the devil to +help me, and, Hetty, I even prayed to him that he might come and help +me. When I saw you coming into the room I thought at first that my +prayer was answered. I seemed to see the devil on your face. Now I see +differently--your presence has lifted a great cloud from before my +mind--I see distinctly, almost as distinctly as if I were in hell +itself, the awful consequences which must arise from wrong-doing. Hetty, +I have made up my mind; you, of all people, have been the most powerful +advocate on the side of God to-night. We will both do the right, +child--we will confess the simple truth." + +"No, Squire, no; they'll kill me, they'll kill me, if you don't help me +in the only way you can help me--you are stronger than me, Squire--don't +lead me to my death." + +"They won't kill you, but you must tell the whole truth as I will tell +the truth. It can be proved that you gave the poison to your husband +with no intent to kill--that matter can be arranged promptly. Come with +me, Hetty, now--let us come together. If you falter I'll strengthen you; +if I falter you'll strengthen me. We will go together at once and +tell--tell what you saw and what I did nearly six years ago." + +"What you did on Salisbury Plain?" she asked. + +"Yes, the time I killed that man." + +"Never, never," she answered; she fell flat on her face on the floor. + +Awdrey went to her and tried to raise her up. + +"Come," he said, "I have looked into the very heart of evil, and I +cannot go on with it--whatever the consequence we must both tell the +truth--and we will do it together; come at once." + +"You don't know what will happen to you," said Hetty. She shivered as +she lay prone before him. + +"No matter--nothing could happen so bad as shutting away the face of +God. I'll tell all, and you must tell all. No more lies for either of +us. We will save our souls even if our bodies die." + +"The pain--the pain in my side," moaned Hetty. + +"It will be better after we have gone through what is before us. Come, +I'll take your hand." + +She gave it timidly; the Squire's fingers closed over it. + +"Where are we to go?" she asked. "Where are you taking me?" + +"Come with me. I'll speak. Presently it will be your turn--after they +know all, all the worst, it will be your turn to speak." + +"Who are to know all, Squire?" + +"My wife, my sisters, Mrs. Everett, my friends." + +"Oh, God, God, why was I ever born!" moaned Hetty. + +"You'll feel better afterward," said Awdrey. "Try and remember that in +the awful struggle and ordeal of the next few minutes your soul and mine +will be born again--they will be saved--saved from the power of evil. Be +brave, Hetty. You told me to-night that you loved me--prove the +greatness of your love by helping me to save my own soul and yours." + +"I wonder if this is true," said Hetty. "You seem to lift me out of +myself." She spoke in a sort of dull wonder. + +"It is true--it is right--it is the only thing; come at once." + +She did not say any more, nor make the least resistance. They left the +office together. They trod softly on the gravel path which led to the +main entrance of the old house. They both entered the hall side by side. +Hetty looked pale and untidy; her hair fell partly down her back; there +were undried tears on her cheeks; her eyes had a wild and startled gleam +in them; the Squire was also deadly pale, but he was quiet and composed. +The fierce struggle which had nearly rent his soul in two was completely +over at that moment. In the calm there was also peace, and the peace had +settled on his face. + +Mrs. Henessey was standing in the wide entrance hall. She started when +she saw her brother; then she glanced at Hetty, then she looked again at +the Squire. + +"Why, Robert!" she said, "Robert!" + +There was an expression about Hetty's face and about Awdrey's face which +silenced and frightened her. + +"What is it?" she said in a low voice, "what is wrong?" + +"Where are the others?" asked the Squire. "I want to see them all +immediately." + +"They are in the front drawing-room--Margaret, Dr. Rumsey, Dorothy, my +husband and Dorothy's, and Margaret's uncle, Mr. Cuthbert." + +"I am glad he is there; we shall want a magistrate," said Awdrey. + +"A magistrate! What is the matter?" + +"You will know in a moment, Anne. Did you say Rumsey was in the +drawing-room?" + +"Yes; they are all there. Margaret is playing the "Moonlight +Sonata"--you hear it, don't you through the closed doors--she played so +mournfully that I ran away--I hate music that affects me to tears." + +Awdrey bent down and said a word to Hetty; then he looked at his sister. + +"I am going into the drawing-room, and Hetty Vincent will come with me," +he said. + +"I used to know you as Hetty Armitage," said Anne. "How are you, Hetty?" + +"She is not well," answered Awdrey for her, "but she will tell you +presently. Come into the drawing-room, too, Anne; I should like you to +be present." + +"I cannot understand this," said Anne. She ran on first and opened the +great folding-doors--she entered the big room, her face ablaze with +excitement and wonder--behind her came Awdrey holding Hetty's hand. +There was an expression on the Squire's face which arrested the +attention of every one present. Mr. Cuthbert, who had not seen him since +his return home, rose eagerly from the deep arm-chair into which he had +sunk, intending to give him a hearty welcome, but when he had advanced +in the Squire's direction a step or two, he paused--he seemed to see by +a sort of intuition that the moment for ordinary civilities was not +then. Margaret left her seat by the piano and came almost into the +centre of the room. Her husband's eyes seemed to motion her back--her +uncle went up to her and put his hand on her shoulder; he did not know +what he expected, nor did Margaret, but each one in the room felt with +an electric thrill of sympathy that a revelation of no ordinary nature +was about to be made. + +Still holding Hetty's hand, Awdrey came into the great space in front of +the fireplace; he was about to speak when Rumsey came suddenly forward. + +"One moment," he said. "This young woman is very ill; will some one +fetch brandy?" He took Hetty's slight wrist between his finger and +thumb, and felt the fluttering pulse. + +Anne rushed away to get the brandy. The doctor mixed a small dose, and +made Hetty swallow it. The stimulant brought back a faint color to her +cheeks, and her eyes looked less dull and dazed. + +"I have come into this room to-night with Hetty Vincent, who used to be +Hetty Armitage, to make a very remarkable statement," said Awdrey. + +Rumsey backed a few steps. He thought to himself: "We shall get now to +the mystery. He has made up his mind on the side of the good--brave +fellow! What can all this mean? What is the matter with that pretty +girl? She looks as if she were dying. What can be the connection between +them?" + +"What can be the connection between them?" was also the thought running +in the minds of every other spectator. Margaret shared it, as her +uncle's hand rested a little heavier moment by moment on her slight +shoulder. Squire Cuthbert was swearing heavily under his breath. The +sisters and their husbands stood in the background, prepared for any +"denouement"--all was quietness and expectancy. Mrs. Everett, who up to +the present instant had taken no part in the extraordinary scene, +hurried now to the front. + +"Squire," she said, "I don't know what you are going to say, but I can +guess. In advance, however, I thank you from my heart; a premonition +seizes me that the moment of my son's release is at hand. You have got +this young woman to reveal her secret?" + +"Her secret is mine," said Awdrey. + +Squire Cuthbert swore aloud. + +"Just wait one moment before you say anything," said Awdrey, fixing his +eyes on him. "The thing is not what you imagine. I can tell the truth in +half-a-dozen words. Mrs. Everett, you are right--you see the man before +you who killed Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain. Your son is innocent." + +"My God! You did this?" said Mrs. Everett. + +"Robert, what are you saying?" cried Margaret. + +"Robert!" echoed Anne. + +"Dear brother, you must be mad!" exclaimed Dorothy. + +"No, I am sane--I am sure I was mad for a time, but now I am quite sane +to-night. I killed Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain. Hetty Vincent saw +the murder committed; she hid her knowledge for my sake. Immediately +after I committed the deed the doom of my house fell upon me, and I +forgot what I myself had done. For five years I had no memory of my own +act. Rumsey, when I saw my face reflected in the pond, six months ago, +the knowledge of the truth returned to me. I remembered what I had done. +I remembered, and I was not sorry, and I resolved to hide the truth to +the death; my conscience, the thing which makes the difference between +man and beast, never awoke within me--I was happy and I kept well. But +yesterday--yesterday when I came home and saw my people and saw Hetty +here, and noticed the look of suffering on your face, Mrs. Everett, the +voice of God began to make itself heard. From that moment until now my +soul and the powers of evil have been fighting against the powers of +good. I was coward enough to think that I might hide the truth and +suffer, and live the life of a hypocrite." The Squire's voice, which had +been quite quiet and composed, faltered now for the first time. "It +could not be done," he added. "I found I could not close with the +devil." + +At this moment a strange thing happened. Awdrey's wife rushed up to him, +she flung her arms round his neck, and laid her head on his breast. + +"Thank God!" she murmured. "Nothing matters, for you have saved your +soul alive." + +Awdrey pushed back his wife's hair, and kissed her on her forehead. + +"But this is a most remarkable thing," said Mr. Cuthbert, finding his +tongue, and coming forward. "You, Awdrey--you, my niece's husband, come +quietly into this room and tell us with the utmost coolness that you are +a murderer. I cannot believe it--you must be mad." + +"No, I am perfectly sane. Hetty Vincent can prove the truth of my words. +I am a murderer, but not by intent. I never meant to kill Frere; +nevertheless, I am a murderer, for I have taken a man's life." + +"You tell me this?" said Squire Cuthbert. "You tell me that you have +suffered another man to suffer in your stead for close on six years." + +"Unknowingly, Squire Cuthbert. There was a blank over my memory." + +"I can testify to that," said Rumsey, now coming forward. "The whole +story is so astounding, so unprecedented, that I am not the least +surprised at your all being unable to make a just estimate of the true +circumstances at the present moment. Nevertheless, Awdrey tells the +simple truth. I have watched him as my patient for years. I have given +his case my greatest attention. I consider it one of the most curious +psychological studies which has occurred in the whole of my wide +experience. Awdrey killed Horace Frere, and forgot all about it. The +deed was doubtless done in a moment of strong irritation." + +"He was provoked to it," said Hetty, speaking for the first time. + +"It will be necessary that you put all that down in writing," said +Rumsey, giving her a quick glance. "Squire, I begin to see a ghost of +daylight. It is possible that you may be saved from the serious +consequences of your own act, if it can be proved before a jury that you +committed the terrible deed as a means of self-protection." + +"It was for that," said Hetty again. "I can tell exactly what I saw." + +The excited people who were listening to this narrative now began to +move about and talk eagerly and rapidly. Rumsey alone altogether kept +his head. He saw how ill Hetty was, and how all-important her story +would be if there was any chance of saving Awdrey. It must be put in +writing without delay. + +"Come and sit here," he said, taking the girl's hand and leading her to +a chair. All the others shrank away from her, but Mrs. Everett, whose +eyes were blazing with a curious combination of passionate anger and +wild, exultant joy, came close up to her for a moment. + +"Little hypocrite--little spy!" she hissed. "Don't forget that you have +committed perjury. Your sentence will be a severe one." + +"Hush," said Rumsey, "is this a moment--?" A look in his eyes silenced +the widow--she shrank away near one of the windows to relieve her +overcharged feelings in a burst of tears. + +"Sit here and tell me exactly what you saw," said Rumsey to Hetty. "Mr. +Cuthbert, you are doubtless a magistrate?" + +"Bless my stars, I don't know what I am at the present moment," said the +worthy Squire, mopping his crimson brow. + +"Try to retain your self-control--remember how much hangs on it. This +young woman is very ill--it will be all important that we get her +deposition before----" Rumsey paused; Hetty's eyes were fixed on his +face, her lips moved faintly. + +"You may save the Squire after all if you tell the simple truth," said +Rumsey kindly, bending toward her and speaking in a low voice. "Try and +tell the simple truth. I know you are feeling ill, but you will be +better afterward. Will you tell me exactly what happened? I shall put it +down in writing. You will then sign your own deposition." + +"I'll tell the truth," said Hetty--"is it the case that if I tell just +the truth I may save Squire?" + +"It is his only chance. Now begin." + +The others crowded round when Hetty began to speak; all but Mrs. +Everett, who still sat in the window, her face buried in her +handkerchief. + +Hetty began her tale falteringly, often trembling and often pausing, but +Rumsey managed to keep her to the point. By and by the whole queer story +was taken down and was then formally signed and sworn to. Rumsey finally +folded up the paper and gave it to Squire Cuthbert to keep. + +"I have a strong hope that we may clear Awdrey," he said. "The case is a +clear one of manslaughter which took place in self-defence. Mrs. +Vincent's deposition is most important, for it not only shows that +Awdrey committed the unfortunate deed under the strongest provocation, +but explains exactly why Frere should have had such animosity to the +Squire. Now, Mrs. Vincent, you have rendered a very valuable service, +and as you are ill we cannot expect you to do anything further +to-night." + +Here Rumsey looked full at Margaret. + +"I think this young woman far too unwell to leave the house," he +said--"can you have a room prepared for her here?" + +"Certainly," said Margaret; she went up to Hetty and laid one of her +hands on her shoulder. + +"Before Hetty leaves the room, there is something to be said on her own +account," said the Squire. + +He then related in a few words the tragedy which had taken place at the +Gable Farm. While he was speaking, Hetty suddenly staggered to her feet +and faced them. + +"If what I have told to-night will really save you, Squire, then nothing +else matters," she said; "I'm not afeared now, for ef I 'ave saved you +at last, nothing matters,"--her face grew ghastly white, she tumbled in +a heap to the floor. + +The doctor, Margaret, and the Squire rushed to her assistance, but when +they raised her up she was dead. + +"Heart disease," said Rumsey, afterward, "accelerated by shock." + + * * * * * + +A few more words can finish this strange story. At the Squire's own +request, Mr. Cuthbert took the necessary steps for his arrest, and +Rumsey hurried to town to get the interference of the Home Secretary in +the case of Everett, who was suffering for Awdrey's supposed crime in +Portland prison. The doctor had a long interview with one of the +officials at the Home Office, and disclosed all the queer circumstances +of the case. Everett, according to the Queen's Prerogative, received in +due course a free pardon for the crime he had never committed, and was +restored to his mother and his friends once again. + +Awdrey's trial took place almost immediately afterward at Salisbury. The +trial was never forgotten in that part of the country, and was the one +topic of conversation for several days in the length and breadth of +England. So remarkable and strange a case had never before been +propounded for the benefit of the jury, but it was evident that the very +learned Judge who conducted the trial was from the first on the side of +the prisoner. + +Hetty's all-important deposition made a great sensation; her evidence +was corroborated by Mrs. Armitage, and when Rumsey appeared as a witness +he abundantly proved that Awdrey had completely forgotten the deed of +which he had been guilty. His thrilling description of his patient's +strange case was listened to with breathless attention by a crowded +court. The trial lasted for two days, during which the anxiety of all +Awdrey's friends can be better imagined than described. At the end of +the trial, the jury returned a verdict of "Not Guilty." In short, his +strange case had been abundantly proved: he had done what he did without +intent to kill and simply as a means of self-defence. + +On the evening of his return to Grandcourt, he and Margaret stood in the +porch together side by side. It was a moonlight night, and the whole +beautiful place was brightly illuminated. + +"Robert," said the wife, "you have lived through it all--you will now +take a fresh lease of life." + +He shook his head. + +"It is true that I have gone through the fire and been saved," he said, +"but there is a shadow over me--I can never be the man I might have +been." + +"You can be a thousand times better," she replied with flashing eyes, +"for you have learned now the bitter and awful lesson of how a man may +fall, rise again, and in the end conquer." + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Dr. Rumsey's Patient, by L. T. Mead and Dr. Halifax + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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T. MEAD AND DR. HALIFAX. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Dr. Rumsey's Patient, by L. T. Mead and Dr. Halifax + +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: Dr. Rumsey's Patient + A Very Strange Story + +Author: L. T. Mead + Dr. Halifax + +Release Date: December 2, 2010 [EBook #34545] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT</h1> + +<h2><i>A VERY STRANGE STORY</i></h2> + +<h2>BY L. T. MEAD AND DR. HALIFAX</h2> + +<h3>JOINT AUTHORS OF "STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR"</h3> + + +<h3>NEW YORK<br /> +HURST & COMPANY<br /> +<span class="smcap">Publishers</span></h3> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Copyrighted, 1896, by</span><br /> +THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY<br /> +<i>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</i></h3> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/front.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>MRS L. T. MEADE.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + +<p>Two young men in flannels were standing outside the door of the Red Doe +in the picturesque village of Grandcourt. The village contained one long +and straggling street. The village inn was covered with ivy, wistaria, +flowering jessamine, monthly roses, and many other creepers. The flowers +twined round old-fashioned windows, and nodded to the guests when they +awoke in the morning and breathed perfume upon them as they retired to +bed at night. In short, the Inn was an ideal one, and had from time +immemorial found favor with reading parties, fishermen, and others who +wanted to combine country air and the pursuit of health with a certain +form of easy amusement. The two men who now stood in the porch were +undergraduates from Balliol. There was nothing in the least remarkable +about their appearance—they looked like what they were, good-hearted, +keen-witted young Englishmen of the day. The time was evening, and as +the Inn faced due west the whole place was bathed in warm sunshine.</p> + +<p>"This heat is tremendous and there is no air," said Everett, the younger +of the students. "How can you stand that sun beating on your head, +Frere? I'm for indoors."</p> + +<p>"Right," replied Frere. "It is cool enough in the parlor."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he took a step forward and gazed down the winding village +street. There was a look of pleased expectation in his eyes. He seemed +to be watching for some one. A girl appeared, walking slowly up the +street. Frere's eye began to dance. Everett, who was about to go into +the shady parlor, gave him a keen glance—and for some reason his eyes +also grew bright with expectation.</p> + +<p>"There's something worth looking at," he exclaimed in a laughing voice.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?" asked Frere gruffly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, old man—at least nothing special. I say, doesn't Hetty look +superb?"</p> + +<p>"You've no right to call her Hetty."</p> + +<p>Everett gave a low whistle.</p> + +<p>"I rather fancy I have," he answered—"she gave me leave this morning."</p> + +<p>"Impossible," said Frere. He turned pale under all his sunburn, and bit +his lower lip. "Don't you find the sun very hot?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, it is sinking into the west—the great heat is over. Let us go and +enliven this little charmer."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Frere suddenly. "You had better stay here where you are. +It is my right," he added. "I was about to tell you so, when she came in +view."</p> + +<p>"Your right?" cried Everett; he looked disturbed.</p> + +<p>Frere did not reply, but strode quickly down the village street. A dozen +strides brought him up to Hetty's side. She was a beautiful girl, with a +face and figure much above her station. Her hat was covered with wild +flowers which she had picked in her walk, and coquettishly placed there. +She wore a pink dress covered with rosebuds—some wild flowers were +stuck into her belt. As Frere advanced to meet her, her laughing eyes +were raised to his face—there was a curious mixture of timidity and +audacity in their glance.</p> + +<p>"I have a word to say to you," he accosted her in a gruff tone. "What +right had you to give Everett leave to call you Hetty?"</p> + +<p>The timidity immediately left the bright eyes, and a slight expression +of anger took its place.</p> + +<p>"Because I like to distribute my favors, Mr. Horace."</p> + +<p>She quickened her pace as she spoke. Everett, who had been standing +quite still in the porch watching the little scene, came out to meet the +pair. Hetty flushed crimson when she saw him; she raised her dancing, +charming dark eyes to his face, then looked again at Frere, who turned +sullenly away.</p> + +<p>"I hope, gentlemen, you have had good sport," said the rustic beauty, in +her demure voice.</p> + +<p>"Excellent," replied Everett.</p> + +<p>They had now reached the porch, which was entwined all over with +honeysuckle in full flower. A great spray of the fragrant flower nearly +touched the girl's charming face. She glanced again at Frere. He would +not meet her eyes. Her whole face sparkled with the feminine love of +teasing.</p> + +<p>"Why is he so jealous?" she whispered to herself. "It would be fun to +punish him. I like him better than Mr. Everett, but I'll punish him."</p> + +<p>"Shall I give you a buttonhole?" she said, looking at Everett.</p> + +<p>"If you'll be so kind," he replied.</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes to the honeysuckle over her head, selected a spray +with extreme care, and handed it to him demurely. He asked her to place +it in his buttonhole; she looked again at Frere,—he would not go away, +but neither would he bring himself to glance at her. She bent her head +to search in the bodice of her dress for a pin, found one, and then with +a laughing glance of her eyes into Everett's handsome face, complied +with his request.</p> + +<p>The young fellow blushed with pleasure, then he glanced at Frere, and a +feeling of compunction smote him—he strode abruptly into the house.</p> + +<p>"Hetty, what do you mean by this sort of thing?" said Frere the moment +they were alone.</p> + +<p>"I mean this, Mr. Horace: I am still my own mistress."</p> + +<p>"Great Scot! of course you are; but what do you mean by this sort of +trifling? It was only this morning that you told me you loved me. Look +here, Hetty, I'm in no humor to be trifled with; I can't and won't stand +it. I'll make you the best husband a girl ever had, but listen to me, I +have the devil's own temper when it is roused. For God's sake don't +provoke it. If you don't love me, say so, and let there be an end of +it."</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't speak so loudly," said Hetty, pouting her lips +and half crying. "Of course I like you; I—well, yes, I suppose I +love you. I was thinking of you all the afternoon. See what I +gathered for you—this bunch of heart's-ease. There's meaning in +heart's-ease—there's none in honeysuckle."</p> + +<p>Frere's brow cleared as if by magic.</p> + +<p>"My little darling," he said, fixing his deep-set eyes greedily on the +girl's beautiful face. "Forgive me for being such a brute to you, Hetty. +Here—give me the flowers."</p> + +<p>"No, not until you pay for them. You don't deserve them for being so +nasty and suspicious."</p> + +<p>"Give me the flowers, Hetty; I promise never to doubt you again."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you will; it is your nature to doubt."</p> + +<p>"I have no words to say what I feel for you."</p> + +<p>Frere's eyes emphasized this statement so emphatically, that the +empty-headed girl by his side felt her heart touched for the moment.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do, Mr. Horace?" she asked, lowering her eyes.</p> + +<p>"To give me the flowers, and to be nice to me."</p> + +<p>"Come down to the brook after supper, perhaps I'll give them to you +then. There's aunt calling me—don't keep me, please." She rushed off.</p> + +<p>"Hetty," said Mrs. Armitage, the innkeeper's wife, "did I hear you +talking to Mr. Horace Frere in the porch?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Aunt Fanny, you did," replied Hetty.</p> + +<p>"Well, look here, your uncle and I won't have it. Just because you're +pretty—"</p> + +<p>Hetty tossed back her wealth of black curls.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," she said in a whisper, her eyes shining as she spoke. +"He wants me to be his wife—he asked me this morning."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't mean that, surely," said Mrs. Armitage, incredulous and +pleased.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he does; he'll speak to uncle to-morrow—that is, if I'll say +'Yes.' He says he has no one to consult—he'll make me a lady—he has +plenty of money."</p> + +<p>"Do you care for him, Hetty?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't ask me whether I do or not, Aunt Fanny—I'm sure I can't tell +you."</p> + +<p>Hetty moved noisily about. She put plates and dishes on a tray +preparatory to taking them into the parlor for the young men's supper.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said her aunt, "I'll see after the parlor lodgers +to-night." She lifted the tray as she spoke.</p> + +<p>Hetty ran up to her bedroom. She took a little square of glass from its +place on the wall and gazed earnestly at the reflection of her own +charming face. Presently she put the glass down, locked her hands +together, went over to the open window and looked out.</p> + +<p>"Shall I marry him?" she thought. "He has plenty of money—he loves me +right enough. If I were his wife, I'd be a lady—I needn't worry about +household work any more. I hate household work—I hate drudgery. I want +to have a fine time, with nothing to do but just to think of my dress +and how I look. He has plenty of money, and he loves me—he says he'll +make me his wife as soon as ever I say the word. Uncle and aunt would be +pleased, too, and the people in the village would say I'd made a good +match. Shall I marry him? I don't love him a bit, but what does that +matter?"</p> + +<p>She sighed—the color slightly faded on her blooming cheeks—she poked +her head out of the little window.</p> + +<p>"I don't love him," she said to herself. "When I see Mr. Awdrey my heart +beats. Ever since I was a little child I have thought more of Mr. Awdrey +than of any one else in all the world. I never told—no, I never told, +but I'd rather slave for Mr. Robert Awdrey than be the wife of any one +else on earth. What a fool I am! Mr. Awdrey thinks nothing of me, but he +is never out of my head, nor out of my heart. My heart aches for +him—I'm nearly mad sometimes about it all. Perhaps I'll see him +to-night if I go down to the brook. He's sure to pass the brook on his +way to the Court. Mr. Everett likes me too, I know, and he's a gentleman +as well as Mr. Frere. Oh, dear, they both worry me more than please me. +I'd give twenty men like them for one sight of the young Squire. Oh, +what folly all this is!"</p> + +<p>She went again and stood opposite to her little looking-glass.</p> + +<p>"The young ladies up at the Court haven't got a face like mine," she +murmured. "There isn't any one all over the place has a face like mine. +I wonder if Mr. Awdrey really thinks it pretty? Why should I worry +myself about Mr. Frere? I wonder if Mr. Awdrey would mind if I married +him—would it make him jealous? If I thought that, I'd do it fast +enough—yes, I declare I would. But of course he wouldn't mind—not one +bit; he has scarcely ever said two words to me—not since we were little +'uns together, and pelted each other with apples in uncle's orchard. Oh, +Mr. Awdrey, I'd give all the world for one smile from you, but you think +nothing at all of poor Hetty. Dear, beautiful Mr. Awdrey—won't you love +me even a little—even as you love your dog? Yes, I'll go and walk by +the brook after supper. Mr. Frere will meet me there, of course, and +perhaps Mr. Awdrey will go by—perhaps he'll be jealous. I'll take my +poetry book and sit by the brook just where the forget-me-nots grow. +Yes, yes—oh, I wonder if the Squire will go by."</p> + +<p>These thoughts no sooner came into Hetty's brain than she resolved to +act upon them. She snatched up a volume of L. E. L.'s poems—their weak +and lovelorn phrases exactly suited her style and order of mind—and ran +quickly down to a dancing rivulet which ran its merry course about a +hundred yards back of the Inn. She sat by the bank, pulled a great bunch +of forget-me-nots, laid them on the open pages of her book, and looked +musingly down at the flowers. Footsteps were heard crunching the +underwood at the opposite side. A voice presently sounded in her ears. +Hetty's heart beat loudly.</p> + +<p>"How do you do?" said the voice.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, Mr. Robert," she replied.</p> + +<p>Her tone was demure and extremely respectful. She started to her feet, +letting her flowers drop as she did so. A blush suffused her lovely +face, her dancing eyes were raised for a quick moment, then as suddenly +lowered. She made a beautiful picture. The young man who stood a few +feet away from her, with the running water dividing them, evidently +thought so. He had a boyish figure—a handsome, manly face. His eyes +were very dark, deeply set, and capable of much thought. He looked every +inch the gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Is Armitage in?" he asked after a pause.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Mr. Robert, I'll go and inquire if you like."</p> + +<p>"No, it doesn't matter. The Squire asked me to call and beg of your +uncle to come to the Court to-morrow morning. Will you give him the +message?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Robert."</p> + +<p>There was a perceptible pause. Hetty looked down at the water. Awdrey +looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening," he said then.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, sir," she replied.</p> + +<p>He turned and walked slowly up the narrow path which led toward the +Court.</p> + +<p>"His eyes told me to-night that he thought me pretty," muttered Hetty to +herself, "why doesn't he say it with his lips? I—I wish I could make +him. Oh, is that you, Mr. Frere?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Hetty. I promised to come, and I am here. The evening is a perfect +one, let us follow the stream a little way."</p> + +<p>Hetty was about to say "No," when suddenly lifting her eyes, she +observed that the young Squire had paused under the shade of a great +elm-tree a little further up the bank. A quick idea darted into her vain +little soul. She would walk past the Squire without pretending to see +him, in Frere's company. Frere should make love to her in the Squire's +presence. She gave her lover a coy and affectionate glance.</p> + +<p>"Yes, come," she said: "it is pretty by the stream; perhaps I'll give +you some forget-me-nots presently."</p> + +<p>"I want the heart's-ease which you have already picked for me," said +Frere.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's time enough."</p> + +<p>Frere advanced a step, and laid his hand on the girl's arm.</p> + +<p>"Listen," he said: "I was never more in earnest in my life. I love you +with all my heart and soul. I love you madly. I want you for my wife. I +mean to marry you, come what may. I have plenty of money and you are the +wife of all others for me. You told me this morning that you loved me, +Hetty. Tell me again; say that you love me better than any one else in +the world."</p> + +<p>Hetty paused, she raised her dark eyes; the Squire was almost within +earshot.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I love you—a little," she said, in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Then give me a kiss—just one."</p> + +<p>She walked on. Frere followed.</p> + +<p>"Give me a kiss—just one," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"Not to-night," she replied, in a demure voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you must—I insist."</p> + +<p>"Don't, Mr. Frere," she called out sharply, uttering a cry as she spoke.</p> + +<p>He didn't mind her. Overcome by his passion he caught her suddenly in +his arms, and pressed his lips many times to hers.</p> + +<p>"Hold, sir! What are you doing?" shouted Awdrey's voice from the +opposite side of the bank.</p> + +<p>"By heaven, what is that to you?" called Frere back.</p> + +<p>He let Hetty go with some violence, and retreated one or two steps in +his astonishment. His face was crimson up to the roots of his honest +brow.</p> + +<p>Awdrey leaped across the brook. "You will please understand that you +take liberties with Miss Armitage at your peril," he said. "What right +have you to take such advantage of an undefended girl? Hetty, I will see +you home."</p> + +<p>Hetty's eyes danced with delight. For a moment Frere felt too stunned to +speak.</p> + +<p>"Come with me, Hetty," said Awdrey, putting a great restraint upon +himself, but speaking with irritation. "Come—you should be at home at +this hour."</p> + +<p>"You shall answer to me for this, whoever you are," said Frere, whose +face was white with passion.</p> + +<p>"My name is Awdrey," said the Squire; "I will answer you in a way you +don't like if you don't instantly leave this young girl alone."</p> + +<p>"Confound your interference," said Frere. "I am not ashamed of my +actions. I can justify them. I am going to marry Miss Armitage."</p> + +<p>"Is that true, Hetty?" said Awdrey, looking at the girl in some +astonishment.</p> + +<p>"No, there isn't a word of it true," answered Hetty, stung by a look on +the Squire's face. "I don't want to have anything to do with him—he +shan't kiss me. I—I'll have nothing to do with him." She burst into +tears.</p> + +<p>"I'll see you home," said Awdrey.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<p>The Awdreys of "The Court" could trace their descent back to the Norman +Conquest. They were a proud family with all the special characteristics +which mark races of long descent. Among the usual accompaniments of +race, was given to them the curse of heredity. A strange and peculiar +doom hung over the house. It had descended now from father to son during +many generations. How it had first raised its gorgon head no one could +tell. People said that it had been sent as a punishment for the greed of +gold. An old ancestor, more than a hundred and fifty years ago, had +married a West Indian heiress. She had colored blood in her veins, a +purse of enormous magnitude, a deformed figure, and, what was more to +the point, a particularly crooked and obtuse order of mind. She did her +duty by her descendants, leaving to each of them a gift. To one, +deformity of person—to another, a stammering tongue—to a third, a +squint—to a fourth, imbecility. In each succeeding generation, at least +one man and woman of the house of Awdrey had cause to regret the gold +which had certainly brought a curse with it. But beyond and above all +these things, it was immediately after the West Indian's entrance into +the family that that strange doom began to assail the male members of +the house which was now more dreaded than madness. The doom was unique +and curious. It consisted of one remarkable phase. There came upon those +on whom it descended an extraordinary and complete lapse of memory for +the grave events of life, accompanied by perfect retention of memory for +all minor matters. This curious phase once developed, other +idiosyncrasies immediately followed. The victim's moral sense became +weakened—all physical energy departed—a curious lassitude of mind and +body became general. The victim did not in the least know that there was +anything special the matter with him, but as a rule the doomed man +either became idiotic, or died before the age of thirty.</p> + +<p>All the great physicians of their time had been consulted with regard to +this curious family trait, but in the first place no one could +understand it, in the second no possible cure could be suggested as a +remedy. The curse was supposed to be due to a brain affection, but brain +affections in the old days were considered to be special visitations +from God, and men of science let them alone.</p> + +<p>In their early life, the Awdreys were particularly bright, clever sharp +fellows, endowed with excellent animal spirits, and many amiable traits +of character. They were chivalrous to women, kind to children, full of +warm affections, and each and all of them possessed much of the golden +gift of hope. As a rule the doom of the house came upon each victim with +startling suddenness. One of the disappointments of life ensued—an +unfortunate love affair—the death of some beloved member—a money loss. +The victim lost all memory of the event. No words, no explanations could +revive the dead memory—the thing was completely blotted out from the +phonograph of the brain. Immediately afterward followed the mental and +physical decay. The girls of the family quite escaped the curse. It was +on the sons that it invariably descended.</p> + +<p>Up to the present time, however, Robert Awdrey's father had lived to +confute the West Indian's dire curse. His father had married a Scotch +lassie, with no bluer blood in her veins than that which had been given +to her by some rugged Scotch ancestors. Her health of mind and body had +done her descendants much good. Even the word "nerves" had been unknown +to this healthy-minded daughter of the North—her children had all up to +the present escaped the family curse, and it was now firmly believed at +the Court that the spell was broken, and that the West Indian's awful +doom would leave the family. The matter was too solemn and painful to be +alluded to except under the gravest conditions, and young Robert Awdrey, +the heir to the old place and all its belongings, was certainly the last +person to speak of it.</p> + +<p>Robert's father was matter-of-fact to the back bone, but Robert himself +was possessed of an essentially reflective temperament. Had he been less +healthily brought up by his stout old grandmother and by his mother, he +might have given way to morbid musings. Circumstances, however, were all +in his favor, and at the time when this strange story really opens, he +was looking out at life with a heart full of hope and a mind filled with +noble ambitions. Robert was the only son—he had two sisters, bright, +good-natured, every-day sort of girls. As a matter of course his sisters +adored him. They looked forward to his career with immense pride. He was +to stand for Parliament at the next general election. His brains +belonged to the highest order of intellect. He had taken a double first +at the University—there was no position which he might not hope to +assume.</p> + +<p>Robert had all the chivalrous instincts of his race toward women. As he +walked quickly home now with Hetty by his side, his blood boiled at the +thought of the insult which had been offered to her. Poor, silly little +Hetty was nothing whatever to him except a remarkably pretty village +girl. Her people, however, were his father's tenants; he felt it his +duty to protect her. When he parted with her just outside the village +inn, he said a few words.</p> + +<p>"You ought not to allow those young men to take liberties with you, +Hetty," he said. "Now, go home. Don't be out so late again in the +future, and don't forget to give your uncle my father's message."</p> + +<p>She bent her head, and left him without replying. She did not even thank +him. He watched her until she disappeared into the house, then turned +sharply and walked up the village street home with a vigorous step.</p> + +<p>He had come to the spot where he had parted with Frere, and was just +about to leap the brook, when that young man started suddenly from under +a tree, and stood directly in his path.</p> + +<p>"I must ask you to apologize to me," he said.</p> + +<p>Awdrey flushed.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he replied.</p> + +<p>"What I say. My intentions toward Miss Armitage are perfectly honest. +She promised to marry me this morning. When you chose to interfere, I +was kissing my future wife."</p> + +<p>"If that is really the case, I beg your pardon," said Awdrey; "but +then," he continued, looking full at Frere, "Hetty Armitage denies any +thought of marrying you."</p> + +<p>"She does, does she?" muttered Frere. His face turned white.</p> + +<p>"One word before you go," said Awdrey. "Miss Armitage is a pretty +girl——"</p> + +<p>"What is that to you?" replied Frere, "I don't mean to discuss her with +you."</p> + +<p>"You may please yourself about that, but allow me to say one thing. Her +uncle is one of my father's oldest and most respected tenants; Hetty is +therefore under our protection, and I for one will see that she gets +fair play. Any one who takes liberties with her has got to answer to me. +That's all. Good-evening."</p> + +<p>Awdrey slightly raised his hat, leaped the brook, and disappeared +through the underwood in the direction of the Court.</p> + +<p>Horace Frere stood and watched him.</p> + +<p>His rage was now almost at white heat. He was madly in love, and was +therefore not quite responsible for his own actions. He was determined +at any cost to make Hetty his wife. The Squire's interference awoke the +demon of jealousy in his heart. He had patiently borne Everett's marked +attentions to the girl of his choice—he wondered now at the sudden +passion which filled him. He walked back to the inn feeling exactly as +if the devil were driving him.</p> + +<p>"I'll have this thing out with Hetty before I am an hour older," he +cried aloud. "She promised to marry me this very morning. How dare that +jackanapes interfere! What do I care for his position in the place? If +he's twenty times the Squire it's nothing to me. Hetty had the cool +cheek to eat her own words to him in my presence. It's plain to be seen +what the thing means. She's a heartless flirt—she's flying for higher +game than honest Horace Frere, but I'll put a spoke in her wheel, and in +his wheel too, curse him. He's in love with the girl himself—that's why +he interferes. Well, she shall choose between him and me to-night, and +if she does choose him it will be all the worse for him."</p> + +<p>As he rushed home, Frere lashed himself into greater and greater fury. +Everett was standing inside the porch when the other man passed him +roughly by.</p> + +<p>"I say, Frere, what's up?" called Everett, taking the pipe out of his +mouth.</p> + +<p>"Curse you, don't keep me, I want to speak to Miss Armitage."</p> + +<p>Everett burst into a somewhat discordant laugh.</p> + +<p>"Your manners are not quite to be desired at the present moment, old +man," he said. "Miss Armitage seems to have a strangely disquieting +effect upon her swains."</p> + +<p>"I do not intend to discuss her with you, Everett. I must speak to her +at once."</p> + +<p>Everett laughed again.</p> + +<p>"She seems to be a person of distinction," he said. "She has just been +seen home with much ceremony by no less a person than Awdrey, of The +Court."</p> + +<p>"Curse Awdrey and all his belongings. Do you know where she is?"</p> + +<p>A sweet, high-pitched voice within the house now made itself heard.</p> + +<p>"I can see you in Aunt's parlor if you like, Mr. Horace."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Frere strode into the house—a moment later he was standing opposite to +Hetty in the little hot gaslit parlor.</p> + +<p>Hetty had evidently been crying. Her tears had brought shadows under her +eyes—they added pathos to her lovely face, giving it a look of depth +which it usually lacked. Frere gave her one glance, then he felt his +anger dropping from him like a mantle.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Hetty, speak the truth," said the poor fellow.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to say, Mr. Horace?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Her voice was tremulous, her tears nearly broke forth anew. Frere made a +step forward. He would have clasped her to his breast, but she would not +allow him.</p> + +<p>"No," she said with a sob, "I can't have anything to do with you."</p> + +<p>"Hetty, you don't know what you are saying. Hetty, remember this +morning."</p> + +<p>"I remember it, but I can't go on with it. Forget everything I said—go +away—please go away."</p> + +<p>"No, I won't go away. By heaven, you shall tell me the truth. Look here, +Hetty, I won't be humbugged—you've got to choose at once."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Mr. Horace?"</p> + +<p>"You've got to choose between that fellow and me."</p> + +<p>"Between you and the Squire!" exclaimed Hetty.</p> + +<p>She laughed excitedly; the bare idea caused her heart to beat wildly. +Her laughter nearly drove Frere mad. He strode up to her, took her hands +with force, and looked into her frightened eyes.</p> + +<p>"Do you love him? The truth, girl, I will have it."</p> + +<p>"Let me go, Mr. Horace."</p> + +<p>"I won't until you tell me the truth. It is either the Squire or me; I +must hear the truth now or never—which is it, Squire Awdrey or me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't help it," said Hetty, bursting into tears—"it's the +Squire—oh, sir, let me go."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + +<p>Frere stood perfectly still for a moment after Hetty had spoken, then +without a word he turned and left her. Everett was still standing in the +porch. Everett had owned to himself that he had a decided penchant for +the little rustic beauty, but Frere's fierce passion cooled his. He did +not feel particularly inclined, however, to sympathize with his friend.</p> + +<p>"How rough you are, Frere!" he said angrily; "you've almost knocked the +pipe out of my mouth a second time this evening."</p> + +<p>Frere went out into the night without uttering a syllable.</p> + +<p>"Where are you off to?" called Everett after him.</p> + +<p>"What is that to you?" was shouted back.</p> + +<p>Everett said something further. A strong and very emphatic oath left +Frere's lips in reply. The innkeeper, Armitage, was passing the young +man at the moment. He stared at him, wondering at the whiteness of his +face, and the extraordinary energy of his language. Armitage went +indoors to supper, and thought no more of the circumstance. He was +destined, however, to remember it later. Everett continued to smoke his +pipe with philosophical calm. He hoped against hope that pretty little +Hetty might come and stand in the porch with him. Finding she did not +appear, he resolved to go out and look for his friend. He was leaving +the Inn when Armitage called after him:</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Mr. Everett, but will you be out late?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say," replied Everett, stopping short; "why?"</p> + +<p>"Because if so, sir, you had better take the latchkey. We're going to +shut up the whole place early to-night; the wife is dead beat, and Hetty +is not quite well."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry for that," said Everett, after a pause; "well, give me the +key. I dare say I'll return quite soon; I am only going out to meet Mr. +Frere."</p> + +<p>Armitage gave the young man the key and returned to the house.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Frere had wandered some distance from the pretty little +village and the charming rustic inn. His mind was out of tune with all +harmony and beauty. He was in the sort of condition when men will do mad +deeds not knowing in the least why they do them. Hetty's words had, as +he himself expressed it, "awakened the very devil in him."</p> + +<p>"She has owned it," he kept saying to himself. "Yes, I was right in my +conjecture—he wants her himself. Much he regards honor and behaving +straight to a woman. I'll show him a thing or two. Jove, if I meet him +to-night, he'll rue it."</p> + +<p>The great solemn plain of Salisbury lay not two miles off. Frere made +for its broad downs without knowing in the least that he was doing so. +By and by, he found himself on a vast open space, spreading sheer away +to the edge of the horizon. The moon, which had been bright when he had +started on his walk, was now about to set—it was casting long shadows +on the ground; his own shadow in gigantic dimensions walked by his side +as he neared the vicinity of the plain. He walked on and on; the further +he went the more fiercely did his blood boil within him. All his life +hitherto he had been calm, collected, reasonable. He had taken the +events of life with a certain rude philosophy. He had intended to do +well for himself—to carve out a prosperous career for himself, but +although he had subdued his passions both at college and at school, he +had never blinded his eyes to the fact that there lived within his +breast, ready to be awakened when the time came, a devil. Once, as a +child, he had given way to this mad fury. He had flung a knife at his +brother, wounding him in the temple, and almost killing him. The sight +of the blood and the fainting form of his only brother had awakened his +better self. He had lived through agony while his brother's life hung in +the balance. The lad eventually recovered, to die in a year or two of +something else, but Frere never forgot that time of mental torture. From +that hour until the present, he had kept his "devil," as he used to call +it, well in check.</p> + +<p>It was rampant to-night, however—he knew it, he took no pains to +conceal the fact from his own heart—he rather gloried in the knowledge.</p> + +<p>He walked on and on, across the plain.</p> + +<p>Presently in the dim distance he heard Everett calling him.</p> + +<p>"Frere, I say Frere, stop a moment, I'll come up to you."</p> + +<p>A man who had been collecting underwood, and was returning home with a +bagful, suddenly appeared in Frere's path. Hearing the voice of the man +shouting behind he stopped.</p> + +<p>"There be some-un calling yer," he said in his rude dialect.</p> + +<p>Frere stared at the man blindly. He looked behind him, saw Everett's +figure silhouetted against the sky, and then took wildly to his heels; +he ran as if something evil were pursuing him.</p> + +<p>At this moment the moon went completely down, and the whole of the vast +plain lay in dim gray shadow. Frere had not the least idea where he was +running. He and Everett had spent whole days on the plain revelling in +the solitude and the splendid air, but they had neither of them ever +visited it at night before. The whole place was strange, uncanny, +unfamiliar. Frere soon lost his bearings. He tumbled into a hole, +uttered an exclamation of pain, and raised himself with some difficulty.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" said a voice, "you might have broken your leg. What are you +doing here?"</p> + +<p>Frere stood upright; a man slighter and taller than himself faced him +about three feet away. Frere could not recognize the face, but he knew +the tone.</p> + +<p>"What the devil have you come to meet me for?" he said. "You've come to +meet a madman. Turn back and go home, or it will be the worse for you."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>Frere put a tremendous restraint upon himself.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said, "I don't want to injure you, upon my soul I don't, +but there's a devil in me to-night, and you had better go home without +any more words."</p> + +<p>"I shall certainly do nothing of the kind," answered Awdrey. "The plain +is as open to me as to you. If you dislike me take your own path."</p> + +<p>"My path is right across where you are standing," said Frere.</p> + +<p>"Well, step aside and leave me alone!"</p> + +<p>It was so dark the men only appeared as shadows one to the other. Their +voices, each of them growing hot and passionate, seemed scarcely to +belong to themselves. Frere came a step nearer to Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"You shall have it," he cried. "By the heaven above, I don't want to +spare you. Let me tell you what I think of you."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said Awdrey, "I don't wish to have anything to do with you—leave +me, go about your business."</p> + +<p>"I will after I've told you a bit of my mind. You're a confounded +sneak—you're a liar—you're no gentleman. Shall I tell you why you +interfered between me and my girl to-night—because you want her for +yourself!"</p> + +<p>This sudden accusation so astounded Awdrey that he did not even reply. +He came to the conclusion that Frere was really mad.</p> + +<p>"You forget yourself," he said, after a long pause. "I excuse you, of +course, I don't even know what you are talking about!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you do, you black-hearted scoundrel. You interfered between Hetty +Armitage and me because you want her yourself—she told me so much +to-night!"</p> + +<p>"She told you!—it's you who lie."</p> + +<p>"She told me—so much for your pretended virtue. Get out of the way, or +I'll strike you to the earth, you dog!"</p> + +<p>Frere's wild passion prevented Awdrey's rising.</p> + +<p>The accusation made against him was so preposterous that it did not even +rouse his anger.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry for you," he said after a pause, "you labor under a complete +misapprehension. I wish to protect Hetty Armitage as I would any other +honest girl. Keep out of my path now, sir, I wish to continue my walk."</p> + +<p>"By Heaven, that you never shall."</p> + +<p>Frere uttered a wild, maniacal scream. The next instant he had closed +with Awdrey, and raising a heavy cane which he carried, aimed it full at +the young Squire's head.</p> + +<p>"I could kill you, you brute, you scoundrel, you low, base seducer," he +shouted.</p> + +<p>For a moment Awdrey was taken off his guard. But the next instant the +fierce blood of his race awoke within him. Frere was no mean +antagonist—he was a stouter, heavier, older man than Awdrey. He had +also the strength which madness confers. After a momentary struggle he +flung Awdrey to the ground. The two young men rolled over together. Then +with a quick and sudden movement Awdrey sprang to his feet. He had no +weapon to defend himself with but a slight stick which he carried. Frere +let him go for a moment to spring upon him again like a tiger. A sudden +memory came to Awdrey's aid—a memory which was to be the undoing of his +entire life. He had been told in his boyhood by an old prize-fighter who +taught him boxing, that the most effective way to use a stick in +defending himself from an enemy was to use it as a bayonet.</p> + +<p>"Prod your foe in the mouth," old Jim had said—"be he dog or man, prod +him in the mouth. Grasp your stick in both hands, and when he comes to +you, prod him in the mouth or neck."</p> + +<p>The words flashed distinctly now through Awdrey's brain. When Frere +raised his heavy stick to strike him he grasped his own slender weapon +and rushed forward. He aimed full at Frere's open mouth. The stick went +a few inches higher and entered the unfortunate man's right eye. He fell +with a sudden groan to the ground.</p> + +<p>In a moment Awdrey's passion was over. He bent over the prostrate man +and examined the wound which he had made. Frere lay perfectly quiet; +there was an awful silence about him. The dark shadows of the night +brooded heavily over the place. Awdrey did not for several moments +realize that something very like a murder had been committed. He bent +over the prostrate man—he took his limp hand in his, felt for a +pulse—there was none. With trembling fingers he tore open the coat and +pressed his hand to the heart—it was strangely still. He bent his ear +to listen—there was no sound. Awdrey was scarcely frightened yet. He +did not even now in the least realize what had happened. He felt in his +pocket for a flask of brandy which he sometimes carried about with him. +An oath escaped his lips when he found he had forgotten it. Then taking +up his stick he felt softly across the point. The point of the stick was +wet—wet with blood. He felt carefully along its edge. The blood +extended up a couple of inches. He knew then what had happened. The +stick had undoubtedly entered Frere's brain through the eye, causing +instant death.</p> + +<p>When the knowledge came to Awdrey he laughed. His laugh sounded queer, +but he did not notice its strangeness. He felt again in his +pocket—discovered a box of matches which he pulled out eagerly. He +struck a match, and by the weird, uncertain light which it cast looked +for an instant at the dead face of the man whose life he had taken.</p> + +<p>"I don't even know his name," thought Awdrey. "What in the world have I +killed him for? Yes, undoubtedly I've killed him. He is dead, poor +fellow, as a door-nail. What did I do it for?"</p> + +<p>He struck another match, and looked at the end of his stick. The stick +had a narrow steel ferrule at the point. Blood bespattered the end of +the stick.</p> + +<p>"I must bury this witness," said Awdrey to himself.</p> + +<p>He blew out the match, and began to move gropingly across the plain. His +step was uncertain. He stooped as he walked. Presently he came to a +great copse of underwood. Into the very thick of the underwood he thrust +his stick.</p> + +<p>Having done this, he resolved to go home. Queer noises were ringing in +his head. He felt as if devils were pursuing him. He was certain that if +he raised his eyes and looked in front of him, he must see the ghost of +the dead man. It was early in the night, not yet twelve o'clock. As he +entered the grounds of the Court, the stable clock struck twelve.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I shall get into a beastly mess about this," thought Awdrey. +"I never meant to kill that poor fellow. I ran at him in self-defence. +He'd have had my blood if I hadn't his. Shall I see my father about it +now? My father is a magistrate; he'll know what's best to be done."</p> + +<p>Awdrey walked up to the house. His gait was uncertain and shambling, so +little characteristic of him that if any one had met him in the dark he +would not have been recognized. He opened one of the side doors of the +great mansion with a latch key. The Awdreys were early people—an +orderly household who went to roost in good time—the lamps were out in +the house—only here and there was a dim illumination suited to the +hours of darkness. Awdrey did not meet a soul as he went up some stairs, +and down one or two corridors to his own cheerful bedroom. He paused as +he turned the handle of his door.</p> + +<p>"My father is in bed. There's no use in troubling him about this horrid +matter before the morning," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>Then he opened the door of his room, and went in.</p> + +<p>To his surprise he saw on the threshold, just inside the door, a little +note. He picked it up and opened it.</p> + +<p>It was from his sister Ann. It ran as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dearest Bob.</span>—I have seen the Cuthberts, and they can join us +on the plain to-morrow for a picnic. As you have gone early to +bed, I thought I'd let you know in case you choose to get up at +cockcrow, and perhaps leave us for the day. Don't forget that +we start at two o'clock, and that Margaret will be there. Your +loving sister,<span class="smcap"> Ann</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Awdrey found himself reading the note with interest. The excited beating +of his heart cooled down. He sank into a chair, took off his cap, wiped +the perspiration from his brow.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't miss Margaret for the world," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>A look of pleasure filled his dark gray eyes. A moment or two later he +was in bed, and sound asleep. He awoke at his usual hour in the morning. +He rose and dressed calmly. He had forgotten all about the murder—the +doom of his house had fallen upon him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<p>"I wish you would tell me about him, Mr. Awdrey," said Margaret Douglas.</p> + +<p>She was a handsome girl, tall and slightly made—her eyes were black as +night, her hair had a raven hue, her complexion was a pure olive. She +was standing a little apart from a laughing, chattering group of boys +and girls, young men and young ladies, with a respectable sprinkling of +fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts. Awdrey stood a foot or two away +from her—his face was pale, he looked subdued and gentle.</p> + +<p>"What can I tell you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"You said you met him last night, poor fellow. The whole thing seems so +horrible, and to think of it happening on this very plain, just where we +are having our picnic. If I had known it, I would not have come."</p> + +<p>"The murder took place several miles from here," said Awdrey. "Quite +close to the Court, in fact. I've been over the ground this morning with +my father and one of the keepers. The body was removed before we came."</p> + +<p>"Didn't it shock you very much?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I am sorry for that unfortunate Everett."</p> + +<p>"Who is he? I have not heard of him."</p> + +<p>"He is the man whom they think must have done it. There is certainly +very grave circumstantial evidence against him. He and Frere were heard +quarrelling last night, and Armitage can prove that Everett did not +return home until about two in the morning. When he went out he said he +was going to follow Frere, who had gone away in a very excited state of +mind.</p> + +<p>"What about, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"The usual thing," said Awdrey, giving Margaret a quick look, under +which she lowered her eyes and faintly blushed.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she said, almost in a whisper. "I am interested—it is such a +tragedy."</p> + +<p>"It is; it is awful. Sit down here, won't you, or shall we walk on a +little way? We shall soon get into shelter if we go down this valley and +get under those trees yonder."</p> + +<p>"Come then," said Margaret.</p> + +<p>She went first, her companion followed her. He looked at her many times +as she walked on in front of him. Her figure was full of supple and easy +grace, her young steps seemed to speak the very essence of youth and +springtime. She appeared scarcely to touch the ground as she walked over +it; once she turned, and the full light of her dark eyes made Awdrey's +heart leap. Presently she reached the shadow caused by a copse of young +trees, and stood still until the Squire came up to her.</p> + +<p>"Here's a throne for you, Miss Douglas. Do you see where this tree +extends two friendly arms? Do you observe a seat inlaid with moss? Take +your throne."</p> + +<p>She did so immediately and looked up at him with a smile.</p> + +<p>"The throne suits you," he said.</p> + +<p>She looked down—her lips faintly trembled—then she raised her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why are you so pale?" he asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I can't quite tell you," she replied, "except that notwithstanding the +beauty of the day, and the summer feeling which pervades the air, I +can't get rid of a sort of fear. It may be superstitious of me, but I +think it is unlucky to have a picnic on the very plain where a murder +was committed."</p> + +<p>"You forget over what a wide extent the plain extends," said Awdrey; +"but if I had known"—he stopped and bit his lips.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," she answered, endeavoring to smile and look cheerful, "any +sort of tragedy always affects me to a remarkable degree. I can't help +it—I'm afraid there is something in me akin to trouble, but of course +it would be folly for us to stay indoors just because that poor young +fellow came to a violent end some miles away."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is quite some miles from here—I am truly sorry for him."</p> + +<p>"Sit down here, Mr. Awdrey, here at my feet if you like, and tell me +about it."</p> + +<p>"I will sit at your feet with all the pleasure in the world, but why +should we talk any more on this gruesome subject?"</p> + +<p>"That's just it," said Margaret, "if I am to get rid of it, I must know +all about it. You said you met him last night?"</p> + +<p>"I did," said Awdrey, speaking with unwillingness.</p> + +<p>"And you guess why he came by his end?"</p> + +<p>"Partly, but not wholly."</p> + +<p>"Well, do tell me."</p> + +<p>"I will—I'll put it in as few words as possible. You know that little +witch Hetty, the pretty niece of the innkeeper Armitage?"</p> + +<p>"Hetty Armitage—of course I know her. I tried to get her into my Sunday +class, but she wouldn't come."</p> + +<p>"She's a silly little creature," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"She is a very beautiful little creature," corrected Miss Douglas.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am afraid her beauty was too much for this unfortunate Frere's +sanity. I came across him last night, or rather they passed me by in the +underwood, enacting a love scene. The fact is, he was kissing her. I +thought he was taking a liberty and interfered. He told me he intended +to marry her—but Hetty denied it. I saw her back to the Inn—she was +very silent and depressed. Another man, a handsome fellow, was standing +in the porch. It just occurred to me at the time, that perhaps he also +was a suitor for her hand, and might be the favored one. She went +indoors. On my way home I met Frere again. He tried to pick a quarrel +with me, which of course I nipped in the bud. He referred to his firm +intention of marrying Hetty Armitage, and when I told him that she had +denied the engagement, he said he would go back at once and speak to +her. I then returned to the Court.</p> + +<p>"The first thing I heard this morning was the news of the murder. My +father as magistrate was of course made acquainted with the fact at a +very early hour. Poor Everett has been arrested on suspicion, and +there's to be a coroner's inquest to-morrow. That is the entire story as +far as I know anything about it. Your face is whiter than ever, Miss +Douglas. Now keep your word—forget it, since you have heard all the +facts of the case."</p> + +<p>She looked down again. Presently she raised her eyes, brimful of tears, +to his face.</p> + +<p>"I cannot forget it," she said. "That poor young fellow—such a +fearfully sudden end, and that other poor fellow; surely if he did take +away a life it must have been in a moment of terrible madness?"</p> + +<p>"That is true," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"They cannot possibly convict him of murder, can they?"</p> + +<p>"My father thinks that the verdict will be manslaughter, or, at the +worst, murder under strong provocation; but it is impossible to tell."</p> + +<p>Awdrey looked again anxiously at his companion. Her pallor and distress +aroused emotion in his breast which he found almost impossible to quiet.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to my heart that you know about this," he said. "You are not +fit to stand any of the roughness of life."</p> + +<p>"What folly!" she answered, with passion. "What am I that I should +accept the smooth and reject the rough? I tell you what I would like to +do. I'd like to go this very moment to see that poor Mr. Everett, in +order to tell him how deeply sorry I am for him. To ask him to tell me +the story from first to last, from his point of view. To clear him from +this awful stain. And I'd like to lay flowers over the breast of that +dead boy. Oh, I can't bear it. Why is the world so full of trouble and +pain?"</p> + +<p>She burst into sudden tears.</p> + +<p>"Don't, don't! Oh! Margaret, you're an angel. You're too good for this +earth," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," she answered; "let me have my cry out; I'll be all right in +a minute."</p> + +<p>Her brief tears were quickly over. She dashed them aside and rose to her +feet.</p> + +<p>"I hear the children shouting to me," she said. "I'm in no humor to meet +them. Where shall we go?"</p> + +<p>"This way," said Awdrey quickly; "no one knows the way through this +copse but me."</p> + +<p>He gave her his hand, pushed aside the trees, and they soon found +themselves in a dim little world of soft green twilight. There was a +narrow path on which they could not walk abreast. Awdrey now took the +lead, Margaret following him. After walking for half a mile the wood +grew thinner, and they found themselves far away from their companions, +and on a part of the plain which was quite new ground to Margaret.</p> + +<p>"How lovely and enchanting it is here," she said, giving a low laugh of +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you like it," said Awdrey. "I discovered that path to these +heights only a week ago. I never told a soul about it. For all you can +tell your feet may now be treading on virgin ground."</p> + +<p>As Awdrey spoke he panted slightly, and put his hand to his brow.</p> + +<p>"Is anything the matter with you?" asked Margaret.</p> + +<p>"Nothing; I was never better in my life."</p> + +<p>"You don't look well; you're changed."</p> + +<p>"Don't say that," he answered, a faint ring of anxiety in his voice.</p> + +<p>She gazed at him earnestly.</p> + +<p>"You are," she repeated. "I don't quite recognize the expression in your +eyes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right," he replied, "only——"</p> + +<p>"Only what? Do tell me."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to revert to that terrible tragedy again," he said, after +a pause. "There is something, however, in connection with it which +surprises myself."</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>"I don't seem to feel the horror of it. I feel everything else; your +sorrow, for instance—the beauty of the day—the gladness and fulness of +life, but I don't feel any special pang about that poor dead fellow. +It's queer, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Margaret tenderly. "I know—I quite understand your +sensation. You don't feel it simply because you feel it too much—you +are slightly stunned."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you're right—we'll not talk about it any more. Let us stay here +for a little while."</p> + +<p>"Tell me over again the preparations for your coming of age."</p> + +<p>Margaret seated herself on the grass as she spoke. Her white dress—her +slim young figure—a sort of spiritual light in her dark eyes, gave her +at that moment an unearthly radiance in the eyes of the man who loved +her. All of a sudden, with an impulse he could not withstand, he +resolved to put his fortunes to the test.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he said, emotion trembling in his voice—"I can only speak +of one thing at this moment."</p> + +<p>He dropped lightly on one knee beside her. She did not ask him what it +was. She looked down.</p> + +<p>"You know perfectly well what I am going to say," he continued; "you +know what I want most when I come of age—I want my wife—I want you. +Margaret, you must have guessed my secret long ago?"</p> + +<p>She did not answer him for nearly a minute—then she softly and timidly +stretched out one of her hands—he grasped it in his.</p> + +<p>"You have guessed—you do know—you're not astonished nor shocked at my +words?"</p> + +<p>"Your secret was mine, too," she answered in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"You will marry me, Margaret—you'll make me the happiest of men?"</p> + +<p>"I will be your wife if you wish it, Robert," she replied.</p> + +<p>She stood up as she spoke. She was tall, but he was a little taller—he +put his arms round her, drew her close to him, and kissed her +passionately.</p> + +<p>Half-an-hour afterward they left the woods side by side.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell anybody to-day," said Margaret.</p> + +<p>"Why not? I don't feel as if I could keep it to myself even for an hour +longer."</p> + +<p>"Still, humor me, Robert; remember I am superstitious."</p> + +<p>"What about?"</p> + +<p>"I am ashamed to confess it—I would rather that our engagement was not +known until the day of the murder has gone by."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + +<p>Margaret Douglas lived with her cousins, the Cuthberts. Sir John +Cuthbert was the Squire of a parish at a little distance from +Grandcourt. He was a wealthy man and was much thought of in his +neighborhood. Margaret was the daughter of a sister who had died many +years ago—she was poor, but this fact did not prevent the county +assigning her a long time ago to Robert Awdrey as his future wife. The +attachment between the pair had been the growth of years. They had spent +their holidays together, and had grown up to a great extent in each +other's company—it had never entered into the thoughts of either to +love any one else. Awdrey, true to his promise to Margaret, said nothing +about his engagement, but the secret was after all an open one. When the +young couple appeared again among the rest of Sir John Cuthbert's +guests, they encountered more than one significant glance, and Lady +Cuthbert even went to the length of kissing Margaret with much fervor in +Awdrey's presence.</p> + +<p>"You must come back with us to Cuthbertstown to supper," she said to the +young Squire.</p> + +<p>"Yes, come, Robert," said Margaret, with a smile.</p> + +<p>He found it impossible to resist the invitation in her eyes. It was +late, therefore, night, in fact, when he started to walk back to +Grandcourt. He felt intensely happy as he walked. He had much reason for +this happiness—had he not just won the greatest desire of his life? +There was nothing to prevent the wedding taking place almost +immediately. As he strode quickly over the beautiful summer landscape he +was already planning the golden future which lay before him. He would +live in London, he would cultivate the considerable abilities which he +undoubtedly possessed. He would lead an active, energetic, and worthy +life. Margaret already shared all his ambitions. She would encourage him +to be a man in every sense of the word. How lucky he was—how kind fate +was to him! Why were the things of life so unevenly divided? Why was one +man lifted to a giddy pinnacle of joy and another hurled into an abyss +of despair? How happy he was that evening—whereas Everett—he paused in +his quick walk as the thought of Everett flashed before his mind's eye. +He didn't know the unfortunate man who was now awaiting the coroner's +inquest, charged with the terrible crime of murder, but he had seen him +twenty-four hours ago. Everett had looked jolly and good-tempered, +handsome and strong, as he stood in the porch of the pretty little inn, +and smoked his pipe and looked at Hetty when Awdrey brought her home. +Now a terrible and black doom was overshadowing him. Awdrey could not +help feeling deeply interested in the unfortunate man. He was young like +himself. Perhaps he, too, had dreamed dreams, and been full of ambition, +and perhaps he loved a girl, and thought of making her his wife. Perhaps +Hetty was the girl—if so—Awdrey stamped his foot with impatience.</p> + +<p>"What mischief some women do," he muttered; "what a difference there is +between one woman and another. Who would suppose that Margaret Douglas +and Hetty Armitage belonged to the same race? Poor Frere, how madly in +love he was with that handsome little creature! How little she cared for +the passion which she had evoked. I hope she won't come in my path; I +should like to give her a piece of my mind."</p> + +<p>This thought had scarcely rushed through Awdrey's brain before he was +attracted by a sound in the hedge close by, and Hetty herself stood +before him.</p> + +<p>"I thought you would come back this way, Mr. Robert," she said. "I've +waited here by the hedge for a long time on purpose to see you."</p> + +<p>The Squire choked down a sound of indignation—the hot color rushed to +his cheeks—it was with difficulty he could keep back his angry words. +One glance, however, at Hetty's face caused his anger to fade. The +lovely little face was so completely changed that he found some +difficulty in recognizing it. Hetty's pretty figure had always been the +perfection of trim neatness. No London belle could wear her expensive +dresses more neatly nor more becomingly. Her simple print frocks fitted +her rounded figure like a glove. The roses on her cheeks spoke the +perfection of perfect health; her clear dark eyes were wont to be as +open and untroubled as a child's. Her wealth of coal-black hair was +always neatly coiled round her shapely head. Now, all was changed, the +pretty eyes were scarcely visible between their swollen lids—the face +was ghastly pale in parts—blotched with ugly red marks in others; there +were great black shadows under the eyes, the lips were parched and dry, +they drooped wearily as if in utter despair. The hair was untidy, and +one great coil had altogether escaped its bondage, and hung recklessly +over the girl's neck and bosom. Her cotton dress was rumpled and +stained, and the belt with which she had hastily fastened it together, +was kept in its place by a large pin.</p> + +<p>Being a man, Awdrey did not notice all these details, but the <i>tout +ensemble</i>, the abject depression of intense grief, struck him with a +sudden pang.</p> + +<p>"After all, the little thing loved that poor fellow," he said to +himself; "she was a little fool to trifle with him, but the fact that +she loved him alters the complexion of affairs."</p> + +<p>"What can I do for you?" he said, speaking in a gentle and compassionate +voice.</p> + +<p>"I have waited to tell you something for nearly two hours, Mr. Robert."</p> + +<p>"Why did you do it? If you wanted to say anything to me, you could have +come to the Court, or I'd have called at the Inn. What is it you want to +say?"</p> + +<p>"I could not come to the Court, sir, and I could not send you a message, +because no one must know that we have met. I came out here unknown to +any one; I saw you go home from Cuthbertstown with Miss Douglas." Here +Hetty choked down a sob. "I waited by the hedge, for I knew you must +pass back this way. I wished to say, Mr. Robert, to tell you, sir, that +whatever happens, however matters turn out, I'll be true to you. No one +shall get a word out of me. They say it's awful to be cross-examined, +but I'll be true. I thought I'd let you know, Mr. Awdrey. To my dying +day I'll never let out a word—you need have no fear."</p> + +<p>"I need have no fear," said Awdrey, in absolute astonishment. "What in +the world do you mean? What are you talking about?"</p> + +<p>Hetty looked full up into the Squire's face. The unconscious and +unembarrassed gaze with which he returned her look evidently took her +breath away.</p> + +<p>"I made a mistake," she said in a whisper. "I see that I made a mistake. +I'd rather not say what I came to say."</p> + +<p>"But you must say it, Hetty; you have something more to tell me, or you +wouldn't have taken all this trouble to wait by the roadside on the +chance of my passing. What is it? Out with it now, like a good girl."</p> + +<p>"May I walk along a little bit with you, Mr. Robert?"</p> + +<p>"You may as far as the next corner. There our roads part, and you must +go home."</p> + +<p>Hetty shivered. She gave the Squire another furtive and undecided +glance.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell him?" she whispered to herself.</p> + +<p>Awdrey glanced at her, and spoke impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Come, Hetty; remember I'm waiting to hear your story. Out with it now, +be quick about it."</p> + +<p>"I was out last night, sir."</p> + +<p>"You were out—when? Not after I saw you home?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." Hetty choked again. "It was after ten o'clock."</p> + +<p>"You did very wrong. Were you out alone?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I—I followed Mr. Frere on to the Plain."</p> + +<p>"You did?" said Awdrey. "Is that fact known? Did you see anything?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then why in the name of Heaven didn't you come up to the Court this +morning and tell my father. Your testimony may be most important. Think +of the position of that poor unfortunate young Everett."</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I don't think of it."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, girl?"</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you my story, Mr. Awdrey. If it is nothing to you—it is +nothing. You will soon know if it is nothing or not. I had a quarrel +with Mr. Frere last night. Nobody was by; Mr. Frere came into Aunt's +parlor and he spoke to me very angrily, and I—I told him something +which made him wild."</p> + +<p>"What was that?"</p> + +<p>Hetty gave a shy glance up at the young Squire; his face looked hard, +his lips were firmly set. He and she were walking on the same road, but +he kept as far from her side as possible.</p> + +<p>"I will not tell him—at least I will not tell him yet," she said to +herself.</p> + +<p>"I think I won't say, sir," she replied. "What we talked about was Mr. +Frere's business and mine. He asked me if I loved another man better +than him, and I—I said that I did, sir."</p> + +<p>"I thought as much," reflected Awdrey; "Everett is the favored one. If +this fact is known it will go against the poor fellow."</p> + +<p>"Well, Hetty," he interrupted, "it's my duty to tell you that you +behaved very badly, and are in a great measure responsible for the awful +tragedy that has occurred. There, poor child, don't cry. Heaven knows, I +don't wish to add to your trouble; but see, we have reached the +cross-roads where we are to part, and you have not yet told me what you +saw when you went out."</p> + +<p>"I crept out of my bedroom window," said Hetty. "Aunt and uncle had gone +to bed. I can easily get out of the window, it opens right on the +cow-house, and from there I can swing myself into the laburnum-tree, and +so reach the ground. I got out, and followed Mr. Frere. Presently I saw +that Mr. Everett was also out, and was following him. I knew every yard +of the Plain well, far better than Mr. Everett did. I went to it by a +short cut round by Sweetbriar Lane—you know the part there—not far +from the Court. I had no sooner got on the Plain than I saw Mr. +Frere—he was running—I thought he was running to meet me—he came +forward by leaps and bounds very fast—suddenly he stumbled and fell. I +wanted to call him, but my voice, sir, it wouldn't rise, it seemed to +catch in my throat. I couldn't manage to say his name. All of a sudden +the moon went down, and the plain was all gray with black shadows. I +felt frightened—awfully. I was determined to get to Mr. Frere. I +stumbled on—presently I fell over the trunk of a tree. My fall stunned +me a bit—when I rose again there were two men on the Plain. They were +standing facing each other. Oh, Mr. Awdrey, I don't think I'll say any +more."</p> + +<p>"Not say any more? You certainly must, girl," cried Awdrey, his face +blazing with excitement. "You saw two men facing each other—Frere and +Everett, no doubt."</p> + +<p>Hetty was silent. After a moment, during which her heart beat loudly, +she continued to speak in a very low voice.</p> + +<p>"It was so dark that the men looked like shadows. Presently I heard them +talking—they were quarrelling. All of a sudden they sprang together +like—like tigers, and they—fought. I heard the sound of blows—one of +them fell, the taller one—he got on to his feet in a minute: they +fought a second time, then one gave a cry, a very sharp, sudden cry, and +there was the sound of a body falling with a thud on the +ground—afterward, silence—not a sound. I crept behind the furze bush. +I was quite stunned. After a long time—at least it seemed a long time +to me—one of the men went away, and the other man lay on his back with +his face turned up to the sky. The man who had killed him turned in the +direction of——"</p> + +<p>"In what direction?" asked Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"In the direction of——" Hetty looked full up at the Squire; the +Squire's eyes met hers. "The town, sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the town," said Awdrey, giving vent to a short laugh. "From the way +you looked at me, I thought you were going to say The Court."</p> + +<p>"Sir, Mr. Robert, do you think it was Mr. Everett?"</p> + +<p>"Who else could it have been?" replied Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir, I'll hold to that. Who else could it have been? I +thought I'd tell you, Mr. Awdrey. I thought you'd like to know that I'd +hold to that. When the steps of the murderer died away, I stole back to +Mr. Frere, and I tried to bring him back to life, but he was as dead as +a stone. I left him and I went home. I got back to my room about four in +the morning. Not a soul knew I was out; no one knows it now but you, +sir. I thought I'd come and tell you, Mr. Robert, that I'd hold to the +story that it was Mr. Everett who committed the murder. Good-night, +sir."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Hetty. You'll have to tell my father what you have told me, +in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir, if you wish it."</p> + +<p>Hetty turned and walked slowly back toward the village, and Awdrey stood +where the four roads met and watched her. For a moment or two he was +lost in anxious thought—then he turned quickly and walked home. He +entered the house by the same side entrance by which he had come in on +the previous night. He walked down a long passage, crossed the wide +front hall, and entered the drawing-room where his sister Ann was +seated.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Bob?" she said, jumping up when she saw him. "I'm so glad +to have you all to myself. Of course, you were too busy with Margaret to +take any notice of us all day, but I've been dying to hear your account +of that awful tragedy. Sit here like a dear old fellow and tell me the +story."</p> + +<p>"Talk of women and their tender hearts," said Awdrey, with irritation.</p> + +<p>Then the memory of Margaret came over him and his face softened. +Margaret, whose heart was quite the tenderest thing in all the world, +had also wished to hear of the tragedy.</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth, Ann," he said, sinking into a chair by his sister's +side, "you can scarcely ask me to discuss a more uncongenial theme. Of +course, the whole thing will be thoroughly investigated, and the local +papers will be filled with nothing else for weeks to come. Won't that +content you? Must I, too, go into this painful subject?"</p> + +<p>Ann was a very good-natured girl.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, dear Bob, if it worries you," she replied; "but just +answer me one question. Is it true that you met the unfortunate man last +night?"</p> + +<p>"Quite true. I did. We had a sort of quarrel."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious! Why, Robert, if you had been out late last night they +might have suspected you of the murder."</p> + +<p>Awdrey's face reddened.</p> + +<p>"As it happens, I went to bed remarkably early," he said; "at least, +such is my recollection." As he spoke he looked at his sister with +knitted brows.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course, don't you remember, you said you were dead beat. +Dorothy and I wanted you to sing with us, but you declared you were as +hoarse as a raven, and went off to your bedroom immediately after +supper. For my part, I was so afraid of disturbing you that I wouldn't +even knock when I pushed that little note about Margaret under the +door."</p> + +<p>Ann gave her brother a roguish glance when she mentioned Margaret's +name. He did not notice it. He was thinking deeply.</p> + +<p>"I am tired to-night, too," he said. "I have an extraordinary feeling in +the back of my head, as if it were numbed. I believe I want more sleep. +This horrid affair has upset me. Well, goodnight, Ann, I'm off to bed at +once."</p> + +<p>"But supper is ready."</p> + +<p>"I had something at Cuthbertstown; I don't want anything more. +Good-night."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + +<p>Hetty dragged herself wearily home—she had waited to see the young +Squire in a state of intense and rapt excitement. He had received her +news with marvellous indifference. The excitement he had shown was the +ordinary excitement which an outsider might feel when he received +startling and unlooked for tidings. There was not a scrap of personal +emotion in his manner. Was it possible that he had forgotten all about +the murder which he himself had committed? Hetty was not a native of +Grandcourt without knowing something of the tragedy which hung over the +Court. Was it possible that the doom of the house had really overtaken +Robert Awdrey? Hetty with her own eyes had seen him kill Horace Frere. +Her own eyes could surely not deceive her. She rubbed them now in her +bewilderment. Yes, she had seen the murder committed. Without any doubt +Awdrey was the man who had struggled with Frere. Frere had thrown him to +the ground; he had risen quickly again. Once more the two men had rushed +at each other like tigers eager for blood—there had been a scuffle—a +fierce, awful wrestle. A wrestle which had been followed by a sudden +leap forward on the part of the young Squire—he had used his stick as +men use bayonets in battle—there had come a groan from Frere's lips—he +had staggered—his body had fallen to the ground with a heavy thud—then +had followed an awful silence. Yes, Hetty had seen the whole thing. She +had watched the terrible transaction from beginning to end. After he had +thrown his man to the ground the Squire had struck a match, and had +looked hard into the face of the dead. Hetty had seen the lurid light +flash up for an instant on the Squire's face—it had looked haggard and +gray—like the face of an old man. She had watched him as he examined +the slender stick with which he had killed his foe. She observed him +then creep across the Plain to a copse of young alders. She had seen him +push the stick out of sight into the middle of the alders—she had then +watched him as he went quickly home. Yes, Robert Awdrey was the guilty +man—Frank Everett was innocent, as innocent as a babe. All day long +Hetty's head had been in a mad whirl. She had kept her terrible +knowledge to herself. Knowing that a word from her could save him, she +had allowed Everett to be arrested. She had watched him from behind her +window when the police came to the house for the purpose, she had seen +Everett go away in the company of two policemen. He was a square-built +young fellow with broad shoulders—he had held himself sturdily as an +Englishman should, when he walked off, an innocent man, to meet an awful +doom. Hetty, as she watched, crushed down the cry in her heart—it had +clamored to save this man. There was a louder cry there—a fiercer +instinct. The Squire belonged to her own people—she was like a subject, +and he was her king—to the people of Grandcourt the king could do +nothing wrong. They were old-fashioned in the little village, and had +somewhat the feeling of serfs to their feudal lord. Hetty shared the +tradition of her race. But over and above these minor matters, the +unhappy girl loved Robert Awdrey with a fierce passion. She would rather +die herself than see him die. When she saw Everett arrested, she watched +the whole proceeding in dull amazement. She wondered why the Squire had +not acted a man's part. Why did he not deliver himself up to the course +of justice? He had killed Frere in a moment of mad passion. Hetty's +heart throbbed. Could that passion have been evoked on her account? Of +course, he would own to his sin. He had not done so; on the contrary, he +had gone to a picnic. He had been seen walking about with the young lady +whom he loved. Did Robert Awdrey really love Margaret Douglas?</p> + +<p>"If that is the case, why should not I give him up?" thought Hetty. "He +cares nothing for me. I am less than the thistle under his feet. Why +should I save him? Why should Mr. Everett die because of him? The Squire +cares nothing for me. Why should I sin on his account?"</p> + +<p>These thoughts, when they came to her, were quickly hurled aside by +others.</p> + +<p>"I'd die twenty times over rather than he should suffer," thought the +girl. "He shan't die, he's my king, and I'm his subject. It does not +matter whether he loves me or not, he shan't die. Yes, he loves that +beautiful Miss Douglas—she belongs to his set, and she'll be his wife. +Perhaps she thinks that she loves him. Oh, oh!"</p> + +<p>Hetty laughed wildly to herself.</p> + +<p>"After all, she doesn't know what real love is. She little guesses what +I feel; she little guesses that I hold his life in my hands. O God, keep +me from going mad!"</p> + +<p>It was dark when Hetty re-entered the Inn. The taproom was the scene of +noisy excitement. It was crowded with eager and interested villagers. +The murder was the one and only topic of conversation. Armitage was busy +attending to his numerous guests, and Mrs. Armitage kept going backward +and forward between the taproom and the little kitchen at the back.</p> + +<p>When she saw Hetty she called out to her in a sharp tone.</p> + +<p>"Where have you been, girl?" she cried. "Now just look here, your uncle +won't have you stealing out in this fashion any more. You are to stay at +home when it is dark. Why, it's all over the place, it's in every one's +mouth, that you have been the cause of the murder. You encouraged that +poor Mr. Frere with your idle, flighty, silly ways and looks, and then +you played fast and loose with him. Don't you know that this is just the +thing that will ruin us? Yes, you'll be the ruin of us Hetty, and times +so bad, too. When are we likely to have parlor lodgers again?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt, I wish you wouldn't scold me," answered Hetty. She sank down +on the nearest chair, pushed her hat from her brow, and pressed her hand +to it.</p> + +<p>"Sakes, child!" exclaimed her aunt, "you do look white and bad to be +sure."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage stood in front of her niece, and eyed her with a critical +gaze.</p> + +<p>"It's my belief, after all, that you really cared for the poor young +man," she said. "For all your silly, flighty ways you gave him what +little heart you possess. If he meant honest by you, you couldn't have +done better—they say he had lots of money, and not a soul to think of +but himself. I don't know how your uncle is to provide for you. But +there, you've learned your lesson, and I hope you'll never forget it."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Fanny, may I go upstairs to my room?"</p> + +<p>"Hoity toity! nothing of the kind. You've got to work for your living +like the rest of us. Put on your apron and help me to wash up the +dishes."</p> + +<p>Hetty rose wearily from her chair. The body of the murdered man lay out +straight and still in the little front parlor. Many people had been in +and out during the afternoon; many people had gazed solemnly at the +white face. The doctor had examined the wound in the eye. The coroner +had come to view the dead. All was in readiness for the inquest, which +was to take place at an early hour on the following day. No one as yet +had wept a single tear over the dead man. Mrs. Armitage came to Hetty +now and asked her to go and fetch something out of the parlor. A paper +which had been left on the mantelpiece was wanted by Armitage in a +hurry.</p> + +<p>"Go, child, be quick!" said the aunt. "You'll find the paper by that +vase of flowers on the mantelpiece."</p> + +<p>Hetty obeyed, never thinking of what she was to see. There was no +artificial light in the room. On the centre-table, in a rude coffin +which had been hastily prepared, lay the body. It was covered by a white +sheet. The moon poured in a ghastly light through the window. The form +of the dead man was outlined distinctly under the sheet. Hetty almost +ran up against it when she entered the room. Her nerves were overstrung; +she was not prepared for the sight which met her startled eyes; uttering +a piercing shriek, she rushed from the room into her Aunt Fanny's arms.</p> + +<p>"Now, whatever is the matter?" said the elder woman.</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have sent me in there," panted Hetty. "You should have +told me that it was there."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, I thought you knew. What a silly little good-for-nothing +you are! Stay quiet and I'll run and fetch the paper. Dear, dear, I'm +glad you are not my niece; it's Armitage you belong to."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage entered the parlor, fetched the required paper, and shut +the door behind her. As she walked down the passage Hetty started +quickly forward and caught her arm.</p> + +<p>"If I don't tell somebody at once I'll go mad," she said. "Aunt Fanny, I +must speak to you at once. I can't keep it to myself another minute."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious me! whatever is to be done, Hetty? How am I to find time +to listen to your silly nonsense just now? There's your uncle nearly +wild with all the work being left on his hands."</p> + +<p>"It isn't silly nonsense, Aunt Fanny. I've got to say something. I know +something. I must tell it to you. I must tell it to you at once."</p> + +<p>"Why, girl," said Mrs. Armitage, staring hard at her niece, "you are not +making a fool of me, are you?"</p> + +<p>"No. I'll go up to my room. Come to me as soon as ever you can. Tell +Uncle that you are tired and must go to bed at once. Tell any lie, make +any excuse, only come to me quickly. I'm in such a state that if you +don't come I'll have to go right into the taproom and tell every one +what I know. Oh, Aunt Fanny! have mercy on me and come quickly."</p> + +<p>"You do seem in a way, Hetty," replied the aunt. "For goodness sake do +keep yourself calm. There, run upstairs and I'll be with you in a minute +or two."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage went into the taproom to her husband.</p> + +<p>"Look here, John," she sad, "I've got a splitting headache, and Hetty is +fairly knocked up. Can't you manage to do without us for the rest of the +evening?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, wife, if you're really bad," replied Armitage. "There's work +here for three pairs of hands," he added, "but that can't be helped, if +you are really bad."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am, and as to that child, she is fairly done."</p> + +<p>"I'm not surprised. I wonder she's alive when she knows the whole thing +is owing to her. Little hussy, I'd like to box her ears, that I would."</p> + +<p>"So would I for that matter," replied the wife, "but she's in an awful +state, poor child, and if I don't get her to bed, she'll be ill, and +there will be more money out of pocket."</p> + +<p>"Don't waste your strength sitting up with her, wife, she ain't worth +it," Armitage called out, as his wife left the room.</p> + +<p>A moment later, Mrs. Armitage crept softly upstairs. She entered Hetty's +little chamber, which was also flooded with moonlight. It was a tiny +room, with a sloping roof. Its little lattice window was wide open. +Hetty was kneeling by the window looking out into the night. The moment +she saw her aunt she rose to her feet, and ran to meet her.</p> + +<p>"Lock the door, Aunt Fanny," she said, in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>"Oh, child, whatever has come to you?"</p> + +<p>"Lock the door, Aunt Fanny, or let me do it."</p> + +<p>"There, I'll humor you. Here's the key. I'll put it into my pocket. Why +don't you have a light, Hetty?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want it—the moon makes light enough for me. I have something +to say to you. If I don't tell it, I shall go mad. You must share it +with me, Aunt Fanny. You and I must both know it, and we must keep it to +ourselves forever and ever and ever."</p> + +<p>"Lor, child! what are you talking about?"</p> + +<p>"I'll soon tell you. Let me kneel close to you. Hold my hand. I never +felt so frightened in all my life before."</p> + +<p>"Out with it, Hetty, whatever it is."</p> + +<p>"Aunt, before I say a word, you've got to make me a promise."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"You won't tell a soul what I am going to say to you."</p> + +<p>"I hate making promises of that sort, Hetty."</p> + +<p>"Never mind whether you hate it or not. Promise or I shall go mad."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, "why should a poor woman be +bothered in this way, and you neither kith nor kin to me. Don't you +forget that it's Armitage you belong to. You've no blood of mine, thank +goodness, in your veins."</p> + +<p>"What does that matter. You're a woman, and I'm another. I'm just in the +most awful position a girl could be in. But whatever happens, I'll be +true to him. Yes, Aunt Fanny, I'll be true to him. I'm nothing to him, +no more than if I were a weed, but I love him madly, deeply, +desperately. He is all the world to me. He is my master, and I am his +slave. Of course I'm nothing to him, but he's everything to me, and he +shan't die. Aunt Fanny, you and I have got to be true to him. We must +share the thing together, for I can't keep the secret by myself. You +must share it with me, Aunt Fanny."</p> + +<p>Up to this point, Mrs. Armitage had regarded Hetty's words as merely +those of a hysterical and over-wrought girl. Now, however, she began to +perceive method in her madness.</p> + +<p>"Look here, child," she said, "if you've got anything to say, say it, +and have done with it. I'm not blessed with over much patience, and I +can't stand beating round the bush. If you have a secret, out with it, +you silly thing. Oh, yes, of course I won't betray you. I expect it's +just this, you've gone and done something you oughtn't to. Oh, what have +I done to be blessed with a niece-in-law like you?</p> + +<p>"It's nothing of that sort, Aunt Fanny. It is this—I don't mind telling +you now, now that you have promised not to betray me. Aunt Fanny, I was +out last night—I saw the murder committed."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage suppressed a sharp scream.</p> + +<p>"Heaven preserve us!" she said, in a choking voice. "Were you not in +bed, you wicked girl?"</p> + +<p>"No, I was out. I had quarrelled with Mr. Frere in the parlor, and I +thought I'd follow him and make it up. I went straight on to the +Plain—I saw him running. I hid behind a furze bush and I saw the +quarrel, and I heard the words—I saw the awful struggle, and I heard +the blows. I heard the fall, too—and I saw the man who had killed Mr. +Frere run away."</p> + +<p>"I wonder you never told all this to-day, Hetty Armitage. Well, I'm +sorry for that poor Mr. Everett. Oh, dear, what will not our passions +lead us to; to think that two young gentlemen should come to this +respectable house, and that it should be the case of Cain and Abel over +again—one rising up and slaying the other."</p> + +<p>Hetty, who had been kneeling all this time, now rose. Her face was +ghastly—her words came out in strange pauses.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't Mr. Everett," she said.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! Hetty," exclaimed her aunt, springing also to her feet, +and catching the girl's two hands within her own—"It wasn't Mr. +Everett!—what in the world do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"What I say, Aunt Fanny—the man who killed Mr. Frere was Mr. Awdrey. +Our Mr. Awdrey, Aunt Fanny, and I could die for him—and no one must +ever know—and I saw him this evening, and—and he has forgotten all +about it. He doesn't know a bit about it—not a bit. Oh, Aunt Fanny, I +shall go quite mad, if you don't promise to help me to keep my secret."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + + +<p>"Sit down, Hetty, and keep yourself quiet," said Mrs. Armitage.</p> + +<p>Her manner had completely changed. A stealthy, fearful look crept into +her face. She went on tiptoe to the door to assure herself over again +that it was locked. She then approached the window, shut it, fastened +it, and drew a heavy moreen curtain across it.</p> + +<p>"When one has secrets," she said, "it is best to be certain there are no +eavesdroppers anywhere."</p> + +<p>She then lit a candle and placed it on the centre of the little table.</p> + +<p>Having done this, she seated herself—she didn't care to look at Hetty. +She felt as if in a sort of way she had committed the murder herself. +The knowledge of the truth impressed her so deeply that she did not care +to encounter any eyes for a few minutes.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Fanny, why don't you speak to me?" asked the girl at last.</p> + +<p>"You are quite sure, child, that you have told me the truth?" said Mrs. +Armitage then.</p> + +<p>"Yes—it is the truth—is it likely that I could invent anything so +fearful?"</p> + +<p>"No, it ain't likely," replied the elder woman, "but I don't intend to +trust just to the mere word of a slip of a giddy girl like you. You must +swear it—is there a Bible in the room?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't, Aunt, I wish you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Stop that silly whining of yours, Hetty; what do your wishes matter one +way or the other? If you've told me the truth an awful thing has +happened, but I won't stir in the matter until I know it's gospel truth. +Yes, there's your Testament—the Testament will do. Now, Hetty Armitage, +hold this book in your hand, and say before God in heaven that you saw +Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. Horace Frere. Kiss the book, and tell the +truth if you don't want to lose your soul."</p> + +<p>Hetty trembled from head to foot. Her nature was impressionable—the +hour—the terrible excitement she had just lived through—the solemn, +frightened expression of her aunt's face, irritated her nerves to the +last extent. She had the utmost difficulty in keeping herself from +screaming aloud.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do?" she said, holding the Testament between her +limp fingers.</p> + +<p>"Say these words: 'I, Hetty Armitage, saw Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. +Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain last night. This is the truth, so help +me God.'"</p> + +<p>"I, Hetty Armitage, saw Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. Horace Frere on +Salisbury Plain last night. This is the truth, so help me God," repeated +Hetty, in a mechanical voice.</p> + +<p>"Kiss the Book now, child," said the aunt</p> + +<p>Hetty raised it to her lips.</p> + +<p>"Give me the Testament."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage took it in her hands.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Fanny, what in the world do you mean to do now?" said the girl.</p> + +<p>"You are witness, Hetty; you are witness to what I mean to do. It is all +for the sake of the Family. What are poor folks like us and our +consciences, and our secrets, compared to the Family? This book has not +done its work yet. Now I am going to take an oath on the Testament. I, +Frances Armitage, swear by the God above, and the Bible He has given us, +that I will never tell to mortal man the truth about this murder."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage finished her words by pressing the Testament to her lips.</p> + +<p>"Now you swear," she said, giving the book back again to her niece.</p> + +<p>Hetty did so. Her voice came out in broken sobs. Mrs. Armitage replaced +the Testament on the top shelf of Hetty's little bookcase.</p> + +<p>"There," she said, wiping her brow, "that's done. You saw the murder +committed; you and I have sworn that we'll never tell what we know. We +needn't talk of it any more. Another man will swing for it. Let him +swing. He is a nice fellow, too. He showed me the photograph of his +mother one day. She had white hair and eyes like his; she looked like a +lady every inch of her. Mr. Everett said, 'I am her only child, Mrs. +Armitage; I'm all she has got.' He had a pleasant smile—wonderful, and +a good face. Poor lad, if it wasn't the Family I had to be true to I +wouldn't let him swing. They say downstairs that the circumstantial +evidence is black against him."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, after all, they cannot convict him, Aunt."</p> + +<p>"What do you know about it? I say they can and will, but don't let us +talk of it any more. The one thing you and I have to do is to be true to +the Family. There's not a second thought to be given to the matter. Sit +down, Hetty; don't keep hovering about like that. I think I had better +send you away from home; only I forgot, you are sure to be called upon +as a witness. You must see that your face doesn't betray you when you're +cross-examined."</p> + +<p>"No, it won't," said the girl. "I've got you to help me now. I can talk +about it sometimes, and it won't lie so heavily on my heart. Aunt Fanny, +do you really think Mr. Awdrey forgets?"</p> + +<p>"Do I think it? I know it. I don't trouble to think about what I know. +It's in their blood, I tell you. The things they ought to remember are +wiped out of their brains as clean as if you washed a slate after using +it. My mother was cook in the Family, and her mother and her mother +before her again. We are Perrys, and the Perrys had always a turn for +cooking. We've cooked the dinner up at the Court for close on a hundred +years. Don't you suppose I know their ways by this time? Oh, I could +tell you of fearful things. There have been dark deeds done before now, +and the men who did them had no more memory of their own sin than if +they were babies of a month old. There was a Squire—two generations +back he was—my grandmother knew him—and he had a son. The mother +was—! but there! where's the use of going into that. The mother died +raving mad, and the Squire knew no more what he had done than the babe +unborn. Folks call it the curse of God. It's an awful doom, and it +always comes on just as it has fallen on the young Squire. There comes a +fit of passion—a desperate deed is done or a desperate sorrow is met, +and all is blank. They wither up afterward just as if the drought was in +them. He'll die young, the young Squire will, just like his forefathers. +What's the good of crying, Hetty? Crying won't save him—he'll die +young. Blood for blood. God will require that young man's blood at his +hands. He can't escape—it's in his race; but at least he shan't hang +for it—if you and I can keep him from the gallows. Hetty, put your hand +in mine and tell me all over again what you saw."</p> + +<p>"I can't bear to go over it again, Aunt Fanny—it seems burnt into me +like fire. I can think of nothing else—I can think of no face but Mr. +Awdrey's—I can only remember the look on his face when he bent over the +man he had killed. I saw his face just for a minute by the light of the +match, and I never could have believed that human face could have looked +like that before. It was old—like the face of an old man. But I met him +this evening, Aunt Fanny, and he had forgotten all about it, and he was +jolly and happy, and they say he was seen with Miss Douglas to-day. The +family had a picnic on the Plain, and Miss Douglas was there, with her +uncle, Sir John Cuthbert, and there were a lot of other young ladies. +Mr. Awdrey went back to Cuthbertstown with Miss Douglas. It was when he +was returning to the Court I met him. All the world knows he worships +the ground she walks on. I suppose he'll marry her by and by, Aunt—he +seemed so happy and contented to-night."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he will marry her, child—that is the best thing that could +happen to him, and she's a nice young lady and his equal in other ways. +He's happy, did you say? Maybe he is for a bit, but he's a gone man for +all that—nothing, nor no one can keep the doom of his house from him. +What are you squeezing my hand for, Hetty?"</p> + +<p>"I can't bear to think of the Squire marrying Miss Douglas."</p> + +<p>"Stuff and nonsense! What is the Squire to you, except as one of the +Family. You'd better mind your station, Hetty, and leave your betters to +themselves. If you don't you'll get into awful trouble some day. But now +the night is going on, and we've got something to do. Tell me again how +that murder was done."</p> + +<p>"The Squire ran at Mr. Frere, and the point of his stick ran into Mr. +Frere's eye."</p> + +<p>"What did he do with the stick?"</p> + +<p>"He went to a copse of young alders and thrust it into the middle. Oh, +it's safe enough."</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the kind—it isn't safe at all. How do you know they won't +cut those alders down and find the stick? Mr. Robert's walking-stick is +well known—it has a silver plate upon it with his name. Years hence +people may come across that stick, and all the county will know at once +who it belonged to. Come along, Hetty—you and I have our work to do."</p> + +<p>"What is that, Aunt Fanny?"</p> + +<p>"Before the morning dawns we must bury that stick where no one will find +it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt, don't ask me—I can't go back to the Plain again."</p> + +<p>"You can and must—I wouldn't ask you, but I couldn't find the exact +spot myself. I'll go down first and have a word with Armitage, and then +return to you."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage softly unlocked the door of her niece's room, and going +first to her own bedroom, washed her ashen face with cold water; she +then rubbed it hard with a rough towel to take some of the tell-tale +expression out of it. Afterward she stole softly downstairs. Her husband +was busy in the taproom. She opened the door, and called his name.</p> + +<p>"Armitage, I want you a minute."</p> + +<p>"Mercy on us, I thought you were in bed an hour ago, wife," he said. +"Why, you do look bad, what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't me, it's the child—she's hysterical. I've been having no end +of a time with her; I came down to say that I'd sleep with Hetty +to-night. Good-night, Armitage."</p> + +<p>"Good-night," said the man. "I say, wife, though," he called after her, +"see that you are up in good time to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Never fear," exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, as she ascended the creaking +stairs, "I'll be down and about at six."</p> + +<p>She re-entered her niece's bedroom and locked the door.</p> + +<p>"How did you get out last night?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Through the window."</p> + +<p>"Well, you're a nice one. This is not the time to scold you, however, +and you and I have got to go out the same way now. They'll think we are +in our bed—let them think it. Come, be quick—show me the way out. It's +a goodish step from here to the Plain; we've not a minute to lose, and +not a soul must see us going or returning."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage was nearly as slender and active as her niece. She +accomplished the descent from the window without the least difficulty, +and soon she and Hetty were walking quickly in the direction of the +Plain—they kept well in the shadow of the road and did not meet a soul +the entire way. During that walk neither woman spoke a word to the +other. Presently they reached the Plain. Hetty trembled as she stood by +the alder copse.</p> + +<p>"Keep your courage up," whispered Mrs. Armitage, "we must bury that +stick where no one can find it."</p> + +<p>"Don't bury it, Aunt Fanny," whispered Hetty. "I have thought of +something—there's the pond half a mile away. Let us weight the stick +with stones and throw it into the pond."</p> + +<p>"That's a good thought, child, we'll do it."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + +<p>The village never forgot the week when the young Squire came of age. +During that week many important things happened. The usual festivities +were arranged to take place on Monday, for on that day the Squire +completed his twenty-first year. On the following Thursday Robert Awdrey +was to marry Margaret Douglas, and between these two days, namely, on +Tuesday and Wednesday, Frank Everett was to be tried for the murder of +Horace Frere at Salisbury. It will be easily believed, therefore, that +the excitement of the good folks all over the country reached high-water +mark. Quite apart from his position, the young Squire was much loved for +himself. His was an interesting personality. Even if this had not been +so, the fact of his coming of age, and the almost more interesting fact +of his marriage, would fill all who knew him with a lively sense of +pleasure. The public gaze would be naturally turned full upon this young +man. But great as was the interest which all who knew him took in +Awdrey, it was nothing to that which was felt with regard to a man who +was a stranger in the county, but whose awful fate now filled all hearts +and minds. The strongest circumstantial evidence was against Frank +Everett, but beyond circumstantial evidence there was nothing but good +to be known of this young man. He had lived in the past, as far as all +could tell, an immaculate life. He was the only son of a widowed mother. +Mrs. Everett had taken lodgings in Salisbury, and was awaiting the issue +of the trial with feelings which none could fathom.</p> + +<p>As the week of her wedding approached, Margaret Douglas showed none of +the happy expectancy of a bride. Her face began to assume a worn and +anxious expression. She could hardly think of anything except the coming +trial. A few days before the wedding she earnestly begged her lover to +postpone the ceremony for a short time.</p> + +<p>"I cannot account for my sensations, Robert," she said. "The shadow of +this awful tragedy seems to shut away the sunshine from me. You cannot, +of course, help coming of age on Monday, but surely there is nothing +unreasonable in my asking to have the wedding postponed for a week. I +will own that I am superstitious—I come of a superstitious race—my +grandmother had the gift of second sight—perhaps I inherit it also, I +cannot say. Do yield to me in the matter, Robert. Do postpone the +wedding."</p> + +<p>Awdrey stood close to Margaret. She looked anxiously into his eyes; they +met hers with a curious expression of irritation in them. The young +squire was pale; there were fretful lines round his mouth.</p> + +<p>"I told you before," he said, "that I am affected with a strange and +unaccountable apathy with regard to this terrible murder. I try with all +my might to get up sympathy for that poor unfortunate Everett. Try as I +may, however, I utterly fail to feel even pity for him. Margaret, I +would confess this to no one in the world but yourself. Everett is +nothing to me—you are everything. Why should I postpone my happiness on +Everett's account?"</p> + +<p>"You are not well, dearest," said Margaret, looking at him anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am, Maggie," he replied. "You must not make me fanciful. I never +felt better in my life, except——" Here he pressed his hand to his +brow.</p> + +<p>"Except?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>"Nothing really—I have a curious sensation of numbness in the back of +my head. I should think nothing at all about it but for the fact——"</p> + +<p>Here he paused, and looked ahead of him steadily.</p> + +<p>"But for what fact, Robert?"</p> + +<p>"You must have heard—it must have been whispered to you—every one all +over the county knows that sometimes—sometimes, Maggie, queer things +happen to men of our house."</p> + +<p>"Of course, I have heard of what you allude to," she answered brightly. +"Do you think I mind? Do you think I believe in the thing? Not I. I am +not superstitious in that way. So you, dear old fellow, are imagining +that you are to be one of the victims of that dreadful old curse. Rest +assured that you will be nothing of the kind. I have a cousin—he is in +the medical profession—you shall know him when we go to London. I spoke +to Dr. Rumsey once about this curious phase in your family history. He +said it was caused by an extraordinary state of nerves, and that the +resolute power of will was needed to overcome it. Dr. Rumsey is a very +interesting man, Robert. He believed in heredity; who does not? but he +also firmly believes that the power of will, rightly exercised, can be +more powerful than heredity. Now, I don't mean you to be a victim to +that old family failing, so please banish the thought from your mind +once and for ever."</p> + +<p>Awdrey smiled at her.</p> + +<p>"You cheer me," he said. "I am a lucky man to have found such a woman as +you to be my wife. You will help to bring forward all that is best in +me. Margaret, I feel that through you I shall conquer the curse which +lies in my blood."</p> + +<p>"There is no curse, Robert. When your grandfather married a +strong-minded Scotch wife the curse was completely arrested—the spell +removed."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Awdrey, "of course you are perfectly right. My father has +never suffered from a trace of the family malady, and as for me, I +didn't know what nervousness meant until within the last month. I +certainly have suffered from a stupid lapse of memory during the last +month."</p> + +<p>"We all forget things at times," said Margaret. "What is it that worries +you?"</p> + +<p>"Something so trifling that you will laugh when I tell you. You know my +favorite stick?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. By the way, you have not used it lately."</p> + +<p>"I have not. It is lost. I have looked for it high and low, and racked +my memory in vain to know where I could have put it. When last I +remember using it, I was talking to that unfortunate young Frere in the +underwood. I wish I could find it—not for the sake of the stick, but +because, under my circumstances, I don't want to forget things."</p> + +<p>"Well, every one forgets things at times—you will remember where you +have put the stick when you are not thinking of it."</p> + +<p>"Quite true; I wish it didn't worry me, however. You know that poor +Frere met his death in the most extraordinary manner. The man who killed +him ran his walking-stick into his eye. The doctors say that the ferrule +of the stick entered the brain, causing instantaneous death. Everett +carried a stick, but the ferrule was a little large for the size of the +wound made. Now my stick——"</p> + +<p>"Really, Robert, I won't listen to you for another moment," exclaimed +Margaret. "The next thing you will do is to assure me that your stick +was the weapon which caused the murder."</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, with a spasm of queer pain. "Of course, Maggie, there +is nothing wrong, only with our peculiar idiosyncrasies, small lapses of +memory make one anxious. I should be happy if I could find the stick, +and happier still if this numbness would leave the back of my head. But +your sweet society will soon put me right."</p> + +<p>"I mean it to," she replied, in her firm way.</p> + +<p>"You will marry me, dearest, on the twenty-fourth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, "you are first, first of all. I will put aside my +superstition—the wedding shall not be postponed."</p> + +<p>"Thank you a thousand times—how happy you make me!"</p> + +<p>Awdrey went home in the highest spirits.</p> + +<p>The auspicious week dawned. The young Squire's coming of age went off +without a flaw. The day was a perfect one in August. All the tenants +assembled at the Court to welcome Awdrey to his majority. His modest and +graceful speech was applauded on all sides. He never looked better than +when he stood on a raised platform and addressed the tenants who had +known him from his babyhood. Some day he was to be their landlord. In +Wiltshire the tie between landlord and tenant is very strong. The spirit +of the feudal times still in a measure pervades this part of the +country. The cheers which followed Awdrey's speech rose high on the +evening air. Immediately afterward there was supper on the lawn, +followed by a dance. Among those assembled, however, might have been +seen two anxious faces—one of them belonged to Mrs. Armitage. She had +been a young-looking woman for her years, until after the night of the +murder—now she looked old, her hair was sprinkled with gray, her face +had deep lines in it, there was a touch of irritation also in her +manner. She and Hetty kept close together. Sometimes her hand clutched +hold of the hand of her niece and gave it a hard pressure. Hetty's +little hand trembled, and her whole frame quivered with almost +uncontrollable agony when Mrs. Armitage did this. All the gay scene was +ghastly mockery to poor Hetty. Her distress, her wasted appearance, +could not but draw general attention to her. The little girl, however, +had never looked more beautiful nor lovely. She was observed by many +people; strangers pointed her out to one another.</p> + +<p>"Do you see that little girl with the beautiful face?" they said. "It +was on her account that the tragedy took place."</p> + +<p>Presently the young Squire came down and asked Mrs. Armitage to open the +ball with him.</p> + +<p>"You do me great honor, sir," she said. She hesitated, then placed her +hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>As he led her away, his eyes met those of Hetty.</p> + +<p>"I'll give you a dance later on," he said, nodding carelessly to the +young girl.</p> + +<p>She blushed and pressed her hand to her heart.</p> + +<p>There wasn't a village lad in the entire assembly who would not have +given a year of his life to dance even once with beautiful little Hetty, +but she declined all the village boys' attentions that evening.</p> + +<p>"She wasn't in the humor to dance," she said. "Oh, yes, of course, she +would dance with the Squire if he asked her, but she would not bestow +her favors upon any one else." She sat down presently in a secluded +corner. Her eyes followed Awdrey wherever he went. By and by Margaret +Douglas noticed her. There was something about the childish sad face +which drew out the compassion of Margaret's large heart. She went +quickly across the lawn to speak to her.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, Hetty," she said, "I hope you are well?"</p> + +<p>Hetty stood up; she began to tremble.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Douglas, I am quite well," she answered.</p> + +<p>"You don't look well," said Margaret. "Why are you not dancing?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't the heart to dance," said Hetty, turning suddenly away. Her +eyes brimmed with sudden tears.</p> + +<p>"Poor little girl! how could I be so thoughtless as to suppose she would +care to dance," thought Margaret. "All her thoughts must be occupied +with this terrible trial—Robert told me that she would be the principal +witness. Poor little thing."</p> + +<p>Margaret stretched out her hand impulsively and grasped Hetty's.</p> + +<p>"I feel for you—I quite understand you," she said. Her voice trembled +with deep and full sympathy. "I see that you are suffering a great deal, +but you will be better afterward—you ought to go away afterward—you +will want change."</p> + +<p>"I would rather stay at home, please, Miss Douglas."</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't worry you. Here is Mr. Awdrey. You have not danced once, +Hetty. Would you not like to have a dance with the Squire, just for +luck? Yes, I see you would. Robert, come here."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Awdrey. "Oh, is that you, Hetty? I have not +forgotten our dance."</p> + +<p>"Dance with her now, Robert," said Margaret. "There is a waltz just +striking up—I will meet you presently on the terrace."</p> + +<p>Margaret crossed the lawn, and Awdrey gave his arm to Hetty. She turned +her large gaze upon him for a moment, her lips trembled, she placed her +hand on his arm. "Yes, I will dance with him once," she said to herself. +"It will please me—I am doing a great deal for him, and it will +strengthen me—to have this pleasure. Oh, I hope, I do hope I'll be +brave and silent, and not let the awful pain at my heart get the better +of me. Please, God, help me to be true to Mr. Robert."</p> + +<p>"Come, Hetty, why won't you talk?" said the Squire; he gave her a kindly +yet careless glance.</p> + +<p>They began to waltz, but Hetty had soon to pause for want of breath.</p> + +<p>"You are not well," said Awdrey; "let me lead you out of the crowd. +Here, let us sit the dance out under this tree; now you are better, are +you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; oh, yes, Mr. Robert, I am much better now." She panted as she +spoke.</p> + +<p>"How pale you are," said Awdrey, "and you used to be such a blooming, +rosy little thing. Well, never mind," he added hastily, "I ought not to +forget that you have a good deal to worry you just now. You must try to +keep up your courage. All you have to do to-morrow when you go into +court is to tell the entire and exact truth."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean me to do that, you can't," said Hetty. She opened her +eyes and gave a wild startled glance. The next moment her whole face was +covered with confusion. "Oh, what have I said?" she cried, in +consternation. "Of course, I will tell the exact and perfect truth."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Awdrey, surprised at her manner. "You will be under +oath, remember." He stood up as he spoke. "Now let me take you to your +aunt."</p> + +<p>"One moment first, Mr. Robert; I'd like to ask you a question."</p> + +<p>"Well, Hetty, what is it?" said the young man, kindly.</p> + +<p>Hetty raised her eyes for a moment, then she lowered them.</p> + +<p>"It's a very awful thing, the kind of thing that God doesn't forgive," +she said in a whisper, "for—for a girl to tell a lie when she's under +oath?"</p> + +<p>"It is perjury," said Awdrey, in a sharp, short voice. "Why should you +worry your head about such a matter?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not, sir, only I'd like to know. I hope you'll be very happy +with your good lady, Mr. Awdrey, when you're married. I think I'll go +home now, sir. I'm not quite well, and it makes me giddy to dance. I +wish you a happy life, sir, and—and Miss Douglas the same. If you see +Aunt Fanny, Mr. Robert, will you tell her that I've gone home?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, to be sure I will. Good-by, Hetty. Here, shake hands, won't you? +God bless you, little girl. I hope you will soon be all right."</p> + +<p>Hetty crept slowly away; she looked like a little gray shadow as she +returned to the village, passing silently through the lovely gardens and +all the sweet summer world. Beautiful as she was, she was out of keeping +with the summer and the time of gayety.</p> + +<p>Against Awdrey's wish Margaret insisted on being present during the +first day of the trial. Everett's trial would in all probability occupy +the whole of two days. Awdrey was to appear in court as witness. His +evidence and that of Hetty Armitage and the laborer who had seen Frere +running across the plain would probably sum up the case against the +prisoner. Hetty's evidence, however, was the most important of all. Some +of the neighbors said that Hetty would never have strength to go through +the trial. But when the little creature stepped into the witness-box, +there was no perceptible want of energy about her—her cheeks were pink +with the color of excitement, her lovely eyes shone brightly. She gave +her testimony in a clear, penetrating, slightly defiant voice. That +voice of hers never once faltered. Her eyes full of desperate courage +were fixed firmly on the face of the solicitor who examined her. Even +the terrible ordeal of cross-examination was borne without flinching; +nor did Hetty once commit herself, or contradict her own evidence. At +the end of the cross-examination, however, she fainted off. It was +noticed afterward by eye-witnesses that Hetty's whole evidence had been +given with her face slightly turned away from that of the accused man. +It was after she had inadvertently met his eyes that she turned white to +the very lips, and fell down fainting in the witness-box. She was +carried away immediately, and murmurs of sympathy followed her as she +was taken out of the court. Hetty was undoubtedly the heroine of the +occasion. Her remarkable beauty, her modesty, the ring of truth which +seemed to pervade all her unwilling words, told fatally against poor +Everett.</p> + +<p>She was obliged to return to court on the second day, but Margaret did +not go to Salisbury on that occasion. After the first day of the trial +Margaret spent a sleepless night. She was on the eve of her own wedding, +but she could think of nothing but Everett and Everett's mother. Mrs. +Everett was present at the trial. She wore a widow's dress and her veil +was down, but once or twice she raised it and looked at her son; the son +also glanced at his mother. Margaret had seen these glances, and they +wrung her heart to its depths. She felt that she could not be in court +when the verdict was given. She was so excited with regard to the issue +of the trial that she gave no attention to those minor matters which +usually occupy the minds of young brides.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter," she said to her maid; "pack anything you fancy into +my travelling trunk. Oh, yes, that dress will do; any dress will do. +What hats did you say? Any hats, I don't care. I'm going to Grandcourt +now, there may be news from Salisbury."</p> + +<p>"They say, Miss Douglas, that the Court won't rise until late to-night. +The jury are sure to take a long time to consider the case."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm going to Grandcourt now. Mr. Awdrey may have returned. I +shall hear the latest news."</p> + +<p>Margaret arrived at the Court just before dinner. Her future +sisters-in-law, Anne and Dorothy, ran out on the lawn to meet her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how white and tired you look!"</p> + +<p>"I am not a bit tired; you know I am always pale. Dorothy, has any news +come yet from Salisbury?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing special," replied Dorothy. "The groom has come back to tell us +that we are not to wait dinner for either father or Robert. You will +come into the house now, won't you, Margaret?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'd rather stay out here. I don't want any dinner."</p> + +<p>"Nor do I. I will stay with you," said Dorothy. "Isn't there a lovely +view from here? I love this part of the grounds better than any other +spot. You can just get a peep of the Cathedral to the right and the +Plain to the left."</p> + +<p>"I hate the Plain," said Margaret, with a shiver. "I wish Grandcourt +didn't lie so near it."</p> + +<p>Dorothy Awdrey raised her delicate brows in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Why, the Plain is the charm of Grandcourt," she exclaimed. "Surely, +Margaret, you are not going to get nervous and fanciful, just because a +murder was committed on the Plain."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Margaret started to her feet. "Excuse me, Dorothy, I see +Robert coming up the avenue."</p> + +<p>"So he is. Stay where you are, and I'll run and get the news."</p> + +<p>"No, please let me go."</p> + +<p>"Margaret, you are ill."</p> + +<p>"I am all right," replied Margaret.</p> + +<p>She ran swiftly down the avenue.</p> + +<p>Awdrey saw her, and stopped until she came up to him.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she asked breathlessly.</p> + +<p>He put both his hands on her shoulders, and looked steadily into her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"The verdict," she said. "Quick, the verdict."</p> + +<p>"Guilty, Maggie; but they have strongly recommended him to mercy. +Maggie, Maggie, my darling, what is it?"</p> + +<p>She flung her arms round his neck, and hid her trembling face against +his breast.</p> + +<p>"I can't help it," she said. "It is the eve of our wedding-day. Oh, I +feel sick with terror—sick with sorrow."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + + +<p>Arthur Rumsey, M.D., F.R.C.S., was one of the most remarkable men of his +time. He was unmarried, and lived in a large house in Harley Street, +where he saw many patients daily. He was on the staff of more than one +of the big London hospitals, and one or two mornings in each week had to +be devoted to this public service, which occupies so much of the life of +a busy and popular doctor. Rumsey was not only a clever, all-round man, +but he was also a specialist. The word nerve—that queer complex word, +with its many hidden meanings, its daily and hourly fresh +renderings—that word, which belongs especially to the end of our +century, he seized with a grip of psychological intensity, and made it +his principal study. By slow degrees and years of patient toil he began +to understand the nerve power in man. From the study of the nerves to +the study of the source of all nerves, aches and pains, joys and +delights, the human brain, was an easy step. Rumsey was a brain +specialist. It began to be reported of him, not only in the profession, +but among that class of patients who must flock to such a man, when he +had performed wonderful and extraordinary cures, that to him was given +insight almost superhuman. It was said of Rumsey that he could read +motives and could also unravel the most complex problems of the +psychological world.</p> + +<p>Five years had passed since Margaret Douglas found herself the bride of +Robert Awdrey. These five years had been mostly spent by the pair in +London. Being well off, Awdrey had taken a good house in a fashionable +quarter. He and Margaret began to entertain, and were popular from the +very first, in their own somewhat large circle. They were now the +parents of one beautiful child, a boy, and the outside world invariably +spoke of them as a prosperous and a very happy couple.</p> + +<p>Everett did not expiate his supposed crime by death. The plea of the +jury for mercy resulted in fourteen years' penal servitude. Such a +sentence meant, of course, a living death; he had quite sunk out of +ken—almost out of memory. Except in the heart of his mother and in the +tender heart of Margaret Awdrey, this young man, whose career had +promised to be so bright, so satisfactory, such a blessing to all who +knew him, was completely forgotten.</p> + +<p>In his mother's heart, of course, he was safely enshrined, and Margaret +also, although she had never spoken to him, and never saw his face until +the day of the trial, still vividly remembered him.</p> + +<p>When her honeymoon was over and she found herself settled in London, one +of her first acts was to seek out Mrs. Everett, and to make a special +friend of the forlorn and unhappy widow.</p> + +<p>Both Margaret and Mrs. Everett soon found that they had a strong bond of +sympathy between them. They both absolutely believed in Frank Everett's +innocence. The subject, however, was too painful to the elder woman to +be often alluded to, but knowing what was in Margaret's heart she took a +great fancy to her, always spoke to her with affection, took a real +interest in her concerns, and was often a visitor at her home.</p> + +<p>Four years after the wedding the elder Squire died. He was found one +morning dead in his bed, having passed peacefully and painlessly away. +Awdrey was now the owner of Grandcourt, but for some reason which he +could not explain, even to himself, he did not care to spend much time +at the old place—Margaret was often there for months at a time, but +Awdrey preferred London to the Court, and a week at a time was the +longest period he would ever spend under the old roof. Both his sisters +were now married and had homes of their own—the place in consequence +began to grow a little into disuse, although Margaret did what she could +for the tenantry, and whenever she was at the Court was extremely +popular with her neighbors. But she did not think it right to leave her +husband long alone—he clung to her a good deal, seeking her opinion +more and more as the months and years went by, and leaning upon her to +an extraordinary extent for a young and clever man.</p> + +<p>Awdrey had grown exceptionally old for his age in the five years since +his marriage. He was only twenty-six, but some white streaks were +already to be found in his thick hair, and several wrinkles were +perceptible round his dark gray eyes. He had not gone into +Parliament—he had not distinguished himself by any literary work. His +own ambitious dreams and his wife's longings for him faded one by one +out of sight. He was a gentle, kindly mannered man—generous with his +money, sympathetic up to a certain point over every tale of woe, but +there was a curious want of energy about him, and as the days and months +flew by, Margaret's sense of trouble, which always lay near her heart, +unaccountably deepened.</p> + +<p>The great specialist, Arthur Rumsey, was about to give a dinner. It was +his custom to give one once a fortnight during the London season. To +these dinners he not only invited his own friends and the more favored +among his patients, but many celebrated men of science and literature; a +few also of the better sort of the smart people of society were to be +met on these occasions. Although there was no hostess, Rumsey's dinners +were popular, his invitations were always eagerly accepted, and the +people who met each other at his house often spoke afterward of these +occasions as specially delightful.</p> + +<p>In short, the dinners partook of that intellectual quality which makes, +to quote an old-world phrase, "the feast of reason and the flow of +soul." On Rumsey's evenings, the forgotten art of conversation seemed +once again to struggle to re-assert itself.</p> + +<p>Robert Awdrey and his wife were often among the favored guests, and were +to be present at this special dinner. Margaret was a distant cousin of +the great physician, and shortly after her arrival in London had +consulted him about her husband. She had told him all about the family +history, and the curious hereditary taint which had shown itself from +generation to generation in certain members of the men of the house. He +had listened gravely, and with much interest, saying very little at the +time, and endeavoring by every means in his power to soothe the +anxieties of the young wife.</p> + +<p>"The doom you dread may never fall upon your husband," he said finally. +"The slight inertia of mind which he complains of is probably more due +to nervous fear than to anything else. It is a pity he is so well off. +If he had to work for his living, he would soon use his brain to good +and healthy purpose. That fiat which fell upon Adam is in reality a +blessing in disguise. There is no surer cure for most of the fads and +fancies of the present day than the command which ordains to man that +'In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.'"</p> + +<p>Margaret's anxious eyes were fixed upon the great doctor while he was +speaking.</p> + +<p>"Your husband must make the best of his circumstances," he continued, in +a cheerful tone. "Crowd occupation upon him; get him to take up any good +intellectual work with strength and vigor. If you see he is really tired +out, do not over-worry him. Get him to travel with you; get him to read +books with real stuff in them; occupy his mind at any risk. When he +begins to forget serious matters it will be time enough to come to the +conclusion that the hereditary curse has descended upon him. Up to the +present he has never forgotten anything of consequence, has he?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing that I know of," answered Margaret. Then she added, with a +half-smile, "The small lapse of memory which I am about to mention, you +will probably consider beneath your notice, nevertheless it has +irritated my husband to a strange degree. You have doubtless heard of +the tragic murder of Horace Frere, which took place on Salisbury Plain a +few weeks before our wedding?"</p> + +<p>Rumsey nodded.</p> + +<p>"On the night of the murder my husband lost his favorite walking-stick. +He has worried ceaselessly over that small fact, referring to it +constantly and always complaining of a certain numbness in the back of +his head when he does so. The fact is he met the unfortunate man who was +murdered early in the afternoon. At that time he had his stick with him. +He can never recall anything about it from that moment, nor has he seen +it from then to now."</p> + +<p>The doctor laughed good-humoredly.</p> + +<p>"There is little doubt," he said, "that the fear that the doom of his +house may fasten upon him has affected your husband's nerves. The lapse +of memory to which you refer means nothing at all. Keep him occupied, +Mrs. Awdrey, keep him occupied. That is my best advice to you."</p> + +<p>Margaret went away feeling reassured and almost happy, but since the +date of that conversation Rumsey never forgot Awdrey's queer case. He +possessed that extraordinary and perfect memory himself, which does not +allow the smallest detail, however apparently unimportant, to escape +observation, and often as he talked to his guest across his dinner +table, he observed him with a keenness of interest which he could +himself scarcely account for.</p> + +<p>On this particular evening more guests than usual were assembled at the +doctor's house. Sixteen people had sat down to dinner and several fresh +arrivals were expected in the evening. Among the dining guests was Mrs. +Everett. She was a tall, handsome woman of about forty-five years of +age. Her hair was snow-white and was piled high up over her head—her +face was of a pale olive hue, with regular features, and very large, +piercing, dark eyes. The eyebrows were well arched and somewhat thickly +marked—they were still raven black, and afforded a striking contrast to +the lovely thick hair which shone like a mass of silver above her brow.</p> + +<p>Everett's mother always wore black, but, curious to relate, she had +discarded widow's weeds soon after her son's incarceration. Before that +date she had been in character, and had also lived the life of an +ordinary, affectionate, and thoroughly amiable woman. Keen as her sorrow +in parting with the husband of her youth was, she contrived to weave a +happy nest in which her heart could take shelter, in the passionate love +which she gave to her only son. But from the date of his trial and +verdict, the woman's whole character, the very expression on her face, +had altered. Her eyes had now a watchful and intent look. She seemed +like some one who had set a mission before herself. She had the look of +one who lived for a hidden purpose. She no longer eschewed society, but +went into it even more frequently than her somewhat slender means +afforded. She made many new acquaintances and was always eager to win +the confidence of those who cared to confide in her. Her own story she +never touched upon, but she gave a curious kind of watchful sympathy to +others which was not without its charm.</p> + +<p>On this particular night, the widow's eyes were brighter and more +restless than usual. Dr. Rumsey knew all about her story, and had often +counselled her with regard to her present attitude toward society at +large.</p> + +<p>"My boy is innocent," she had said many times to the doctor. "The object +of my life is to prove this. I will quietly wait, I will do nothing +rash, but it is my firm conviction that I shall yet be permitted to find +and expose the man who killed Horace Frere."</p> + +<p>Rumsey had warned her as to the peril which she ran in fostering too +keenly a fixed idea—he had taken pains to give her psychological +reasons for the danger which she incurred—but nothing he could say or +do could alter the bias of her mind. Her fixed and unwavering assurance +that her boy was absolutely innocent could not be imperilled by any +words which man could speak.</p> + +<p>"If I had even seen my boy do the murder I should still believe it to be +a vision of my own brain," she had said once, and after that Rumsey had +ceased to try to guide her thoughts into a healthier channel.</p> + +<p>On this particular night when the doctor came upstairs after wine, +accompanied by the rest of the men of the party, Mrs. Everett seemed to +draw him to her side by her watchful and excited glances.</p> + +<p>There was something about the man which could never withstand an appeal +of human need—he went straight now to the widow's side as a needle is +attracted to a magnet.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, drawing a chair forward, and seating himself so as +almost to face her.</p> + +<p>"You guessed that I wanted to see you?" she said eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I looked at you and that was sufficient," he said.</p> + +<p>"When can you give me an interview?" she replied.</p> + +<p>"Do you want to visit me as a patient?"</p> + +<p>"I do not—that is, not in the ordinary sense. I want to tell you +something. I have a story to relate, and when it is told I should like +to get your verdict on a certain peculiar case—in short, I believe I +have got a clue, if only a slight one, to the unravelling of the mystery +of my life—you quite understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand," replied Dr. Rumsey in a gentle voice, "but, my dear +lady, I am not a detective."</p> + +<p>"Not in the ordinary sense, but surely as far as the complex heart is +concerned."</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey held up his hand.</p> + +<p>"We need not go into that," he said.</p> + +<p>"No, we will not. May I see you to-morrow for a few minutes?"</p> + +<p>The doctor consulted his note-book.</p> + +<p>"I cannot see you as a patient," he said, "but as a friend it is +possible. Can you be here at eight o'clock to-morrow morning? I +breakfast at eight—my breakfast generally occupies ten minutes—that +time is at your disposal."</p> + +<p>"I will be with you. Thank you a thousand times," she replied.</p> + +<p>Her eyes grew bright with exultation. The doctor favored her with a keen +glance and moved aside. A few minutes later he found himself in Margaret +Awdrey's vicinity. Margaret was now a very beautiful woman. As a girl +she had been lovely, but her early matronhood had developed her charms, +had added to her stateliness, and had brought out many new and fresh +expressions in her mobile and lovely face.</p> + +<p>As Rumsey approached her side, she was in the act of taking leave of an +old friend of her husband's, who was going away early. The Doctor was +therefore able to watch her for a minute without her observing him—then +she turned slightly, saw him, flushed vividly, and went eagerly and +swiftly to his side.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Rumsey," said Margaret, "I know this is not the place to make +appointments, but I am anxious to see you on the subject of my husband's +health. How soon can you manage——"</p> + +<p>"I can make an appointment for to-morrow," he interrupted. "Be with me +at half-past one. I can give you half an hour quite undisturbed then."</p> + +<p>She did not smile, but her eyes were raised fully to his face. Those +dark, deep eyes so full of the noblest emotions which can stir the human +soul, looked at him now with a pathos that touched his heart. He moved +away to talk to other friends, but the thought of Margaret Awdrey +returned to him many times during the ensuing night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + + +<p>At the appointed hour on the following morning Mrs. Everett was shown +into Dr. Rumsey's presence. She found him in his cosy breakfast-room, in +the act of helping himself to coffee.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he said, as he placed a chair for her, "what an excellent thing +this punctuality is in a woman. Sit down, pray. You shall have your full +ten minutes—the clock is only on the stroke of eight."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Everett looked too disturbed and anxious even to smile. She untied +her bonnet-strings, threw back her mantle, and stared straight at Dr. +Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"No coffee, thank you," she said. "I breakfasted long ago. Dr. Rumsey, I +am nearly wild with excitement and anxiety. I told you long ago, did I +not, that a day would come when I should get a clue which might lead to +establishing my boy's"—she wet her lips—"my only boy's innocence? +Nothing that can happen now will ever, of course, repair what he has +lost—his lost youth, his lost healthy outlook on life—but to set him +free, even now! To give him his liberty once again! To feel the clasp of +his hand on mine! Ah, I nearly go mad at times with longing, but thank +God, thank the Providence which is above us all, I do believe I have +found a clue at last."</p> + +<p>"Tell me what it is," said the doctor, in a kind voice. "I know," he +added, "you will make your story as brief as possible."</p> + +<p>"I will, my good friend," she replied. She stood up now, her somewhat +long arms hung at her sides, she turned her face in all its intense +purpose full upon the doctor.</p> + +<p>"You know my restless nature," she continued. "I can seldom or never sit +still—even my sleep is broken by terrible dreams. All the energy which +I possess is fixed upon one thought, and one only—I want to find the +real murderer of Horace Frere."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Dr. Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"A fortnight ago I made up my mind to do a queer thing. I determined to +visit Grandcourt—I mean the village of that name."</p> + +<p>The doctor started.</p> + +<p>"You are surprised?" said Mrs. Everett; "nevertheless I can account for +my longings."</p> + +<p>"You need not explain. I quite understand."</p> + +<p>"I believe you do. I felt drawn to the place—to the Inn where my son +stayed, to the neighborhood. I travelled down to Grandcourt without +announcing my intention to any one, and arrived at the Inn just as the +dusk was setting in. The landlord, Armitage by name, came out to +interview me. I told him who I was. He looked much disturbed, and by no +means pleased. I asked him if he would take me in. He went away to +consult his wife. She followed him after a moment into the porch with a +scared face.</p> + +<p>"'I wonder, ma'am, that you like to come here,' she said.</p> + +<p>"'I come for one purpose,' I replied. 'I want to see the spot where +Horace Frere met his death. I am drawn to this place by the greatest +agony which has ever torn a mother's heart. Will you take me in, and +will you give me the room in which my son slept?'</p> + +<p>"The landlady looked at me in anything but a friendly manner. Her +husband whispered something to her—after a time her brow cleared—she +nodded to him, and the next moment I was given to understand that my +son's old room would be at my disposal. I took possession of it that +evening, and my meals were served to me in the little parlor where my +boy and the unfortunate Horace Frere had lived together.</p> + +<p>"The next day I went out alone at an early hour to visit the Plain. I +had never ventured on Salisbury Plain before. The day was a gloomy and +stormy one. There were constant showers of rain, and I was almost wet +through by the time I reached my destination. I had just got upon the +borders of the Plain when I saw a young woman walking a little ahead of +me. There was something in the gait which I seemed to recognize, +although at first I had only a dim idea that I had ever seen her before. +Hurrying my footsteps I came up to her, passed her, and as I did so +looked her full in the face. I started then and stopped short. She was +the girl who had seen the murder committed, and who had given evidence +of the most damnatory kind against my son on the day of the trial. In +that one swift glance I saw that she was much altered. She had been a +remarkably pretty girl. She had now nearly lost all her comeliness of +appearance. Her face was thin, her dress negligent and untidy, on her +brow there was a sullen frown. When she saw me she also stood still, her +eyes dilated with a curious expression of fear.</p> + +<p>"'Who are you?' she said, with a pant.</p> + +<p>"'I am Mrs. Everett,' I replied, slowly. 'I am the mother of the man who +once lodged in your uncle's house, and who is now expiating the crime of +another at Portland prison.'</p> + +<p>"She had turned red at first, now she became white.</p> + +<p>"'And your name,' I continued, 'is Hetty Armitage.'</p> + +<p>"'Why do you say that your son is expatiating the crime of another?' she +asked.</p> + +<p>"'Because I am his mother. I have looked into his heart, and there is no +murder there. But tell me, is not your name Hetty Armitage?'</p> + +<p>"'It is not Armitage now,' she answered. 'I am married. I live about +three miles from Grandcourt, over in that direction. I am going home +now. My husband's name is Vincent. He is a farmer.'</p> + +<p>"'You don't look too well off,' I said, for I noticed her shabby dress +and run-to-seed appearance.</p> + +<p>"'These are hard times for farmers,' she answered.</p> + +<p>"'Have you children?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'No,' she replied fiercely, 'I am glad to say I have not.'</p> + +<p>"'Why are you glad?' I asked. 'Surely a child is the crown of a married +woman's bliss.'</p> + +<p>"'It would not be to me,' she cried. 'My heart is full to the brim. I +have no room for a child in it.'</p> + +<p>"'A full heart generally means happiness,' I said. 'Are you happy?'</p> + +<p>"She gave me a queer glance.</p> + +<p>"'No, ma'am,' she answered, 'my heart is full of bitterness, of sorrow.' +Her eyes looked quite wild. She pressed one of her hands to her +forehead,—then stepping out, she half turned round to me.</p> + +<p>"'I wish you good-morning, Mrs. Everett,' she said. 'My way lies across +here.'</p> + +<p>"'Stay a moment before you leave me,' I said. 'I am coming to this plain +on a mission which you perhaps can guess. If you are poor you will not +despise half a sovereign. I'll give you half a sovereign if you'll show +me the exact spot where the murder was committed.'</p> + +<p>"She turned from white to red, and from red to white again.</p> + +<p>"'I don't like that spot,' she said. 'That night was a terrible night to +me; my nerves ain't what they were—I sleep bad, and sometimes I dream. +Many and many a time I've seen that murder committed over again. I have +seen the look on the face of the murdered man, and the look on the face +of the man who did it—Oh, my God, I have seen——'</p> + +<p>"She pressed her two hands hard against her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I waited quietly until she had recovered her emotion; then I held out +the little gold coin.</p> + +<p>"'You will take me to the spot?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"She clutched the coin suddenly in her hand.</p> + +<p>"'This will buy what I live for,' she cried, with passion. 'I can drown +thought with this. Come along, ma'am, we are not very far from the place +here. I'll take you, and then go on home.'</p> + +<p>"She started off, walking in front of me, and keeping well ahead. She +went quickly, and yet with a sort of tremulous movement, as though she +were not quite certain of herself. We crossed the Plain not far from the +Court. I saw the house in the distance, and the curling smoke which rose +up out of the trees.</p> + +<p>"'Don't walk so fast,' I said. 'I am an old woman, and you take my +breath away.' She slackened her steps, but very unwillingly.</p> + +<p>"'The family are not often at the Court?' I queried.</p> + +<p>"'No,' she answered with a start—'since the old Squire died the place +has been most shut up.'</p> + +<p>"'I happen to know the present Squire and his wife,' I said.</p> + +<p>"She flushed when I said this, gave me a furtive glance, and then +pressing one hand to her left side, said abruptly:</p> + +<p>"'If you know you can tell me summ'at—he is well, is he?'</p> + +<p>"'They are both well,' I answered, surprised at the tone of her voice. +'I should judge them to be a happy couple.'</p> + +<p>"'I thank the good God that Mr. Robert is happy,' she said, in a hoarse +whisper.</p> + +<p>"Once again she hurried her footsteps; at last she stood still on a +rising knoll of ground.</p> + +<p>"'Do you see this clump of alders?' she said. 'It was here I stood, just +on this spot—I was sheltered by the alders, and even if the night had +not been so dark they would never have noticed me. Over there to your +right it was done. You don't want me to stay any longer now, ma'am, do +you?'</p> + +<p>"'You can go when I have asked you one or two questions. You stood here, +you say—just here?'</p> + +<p>"'Just here, ma'am,' she answered.</p> + +<p>"'And the murder was committed there?'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, where the grass seems to grow a bit greener—you notice it, don't +you, just there, to your right.'</p> + +<p>"'I see,' I replied with a shudder, which I could not repress. 'Do you +mind telling me how it was that you happened to be out of your bed at +such a late hour at night?'</p> + +<p>"She looked very sullen, and set her lips tightly. I gazed full at her, +waiting for her to speak.</p> + +<p>"'The man whose blood was shed was my lover—we had just had a quarrel,' +she said, at last.</p> + +<p>"'What about?'</p> + +<p>"'That's my secret,' she replied.</p> + +<p>"'How is it you did not mention the fact of the quarrel at the trial?' I +asked.</p> + +<p>"She looked full up at me.</p> + +<p>"'I was not asked,' she answered; 'that's my secret, and I don't tell it +to anybody. It was here I stood, just where your feet are planted, and I +saw it done—the moon came out for a minute, and I saw everything—even +to the look on the dead man's face and the look on the face of the man +who took his life. I saw it all. I ain't been the same woman since.'</p> + +<p>"'I am not surprised,' I replied. 'You may leave me when I have said one +thing.'</p> + +<p>"'What is that, ma'am?'</p> + +<p>"She raised her dark eyes. I saw fear in their depths.</p> + +<p>"'You saw two men that night, Hetty Vincent,' I said—'one, the man who +was murdered, was Horace Frere, but the other man, as there is a God +above, was not Frank Everett. I am speaking the truth—you can go now.'</p> + +<p>"My words seemed forced from me, Dr. Rumsey, but the effect was +terrifying. The wretched creature fell on her knees—she clung to my +dress, covering her face with a portion of the mantle which I was +wearing.</p> + +<p>"'Good God, why do you say that?' she gasped. 'How do you know? Who has +told you? Why do you say awful words of that sort?'</p> + +<p>"Her excitement made me calm. I stood perfectly silent, but with my +heart beating with the queerest sense of exultation and victory.</p> + +<p>"'Get up,' I said. She rose trembling to her feet. I laid my hand on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"'You have something to confess,' I said.</p> + +<p>"She looked at me again and burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>"'What a fool I made of myself just now!' she said. 'I have nothing to +confess; what could I have? You spoke so solemn and the place is +queer—it always upsets me. I'll go now.' She backed a few steps away.</p> + +<p>"'I saw two men on the Plain,' she said then, raising her voice, 'one +was Horace Frere—the other was your son, Frank Everett.' Before I could +add another word she took to her heels and was quickly out of sight.</p> + +<p>"I returned to the Inn and questioned Armitage and his wife. I did not +dare to tell them what Hetty had said in her excitement, but I asked for +her address and drove out early the following morning to Vincent's farm +to visit her. I was told on my arrival that she had left home that +morning; that she often did so to visit a relation at a distance. I +asked for the address, which was given me somewhat unwillingly. That +night I went there, but Hetty had not arrived and nothing was known +about her. Since then I have tried in vain to get any clue to her +present whereabouts. That is my story, Dr. Rumsey. What do you think of +it? Are the wild stories of an excited and over-wrought woman worthy of +careful consideration? Is her sudden flight suspicious, or the reverse? +I anxiously await your verdict."</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey remained silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I am inclined to believe," he said, then very slowly, "that the words +uttered by this young woman were merely the result of overstrung nerves; +remember, she was in all probability in love with the man who met his +death in so tragic a manner. From the remarkable change which you speak +of in her appearance, I should say that her nerves had been considerably +shattered by the sight she witnessed, and also by the prominent place +she was obliged to take in the trial. She has probably dreamt of this +thing, and dwelt upon it year in and year out, since it happened. Then, +remember, you spoke in a very startling manner and practically accused +her of having committed perjury at the time of the trial. Under such +circumstances and in the surroundings she was in at the time, she would +be very likely to lose her head. As to her sudden disappearance, I +confess I cannot quite understand it, unless her nervous system is even +more shattered than you incline me to believe; but, stay,—from words +she inadvertently let drop, she has evidently become addicted to drink, +to opium eating, or some such form of self-indulgence. If that is the +case she would be scarcely responsible for her actions. I do not think, +Mrs. Everett, unless you can obtain further evidence, that there is +anything to go upon in this."</p> + +<p>"That is your carefully considered opinion?"</p> + +<p>"It is—I am sorry if it disappoints you."</p> + +<p>"It does not do that, for I cannot agree with you." Mrs. Everett rose as +she spoke, fastened her cloak, and tied her bonnet-strings.</p> + +<p>"Your opinion is the cool one of an acute reasoner, but also of a person +who is outside the circumstances," she continued.</p> + +<p>Rumsey smiled.</p> + +<p>"Surely in such a case mine ought to be the one to be relied upon?" he +queried.</p> + +<p>"No, for there is such a thing as mother's instinct. I will not detain +you longer, Dr. Rumsey. You have said what I expected you would say."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + + +<p>Rumsey began the severe routine of his daily work. He was particularly +busy that day, and had many anxious cases to consider; it was also one +of his hospital mornings, and his hospital cases were, he considered, +some of the most important in his practice. Nevertheless Mrs. Everett's +face and her words of excitement kept flashing again and again before +his memory.</p> + +<p>"There is a possibility of that woman losing her senses if her mind is +not diverted into another channel, and soon too," he thought to himself. +"If she allows her thoughts to dwell much longer on this fixed idea, she +will see her son's murderer in the face of each man and woman with whom +she comes in contact. Still there is something queer in her story—the +young woman whom she addressed on Salisbury Plain was evidently the +victim of nervous terror to a remarkable extent—can it be possible that +she is concealing something?"</p> + +<p>Rumsey thought for a moment over his last idea. Then he dismissed it +from his mind.</p> + +<p>"No," he said to himself, "a village girl could not stand +cross-examination without betraying herself. I shall get as fanciful as +Mrs. Everett if I dwell any longer upon this problem. After all there is +no problem to consider. Why not accept the obvious fact? Poor Everett +killed his friend in a moment of strong irritation—it was a very plain +case of manslaughter."</p> + +<p>At the appointed hour Margaret Awdrey appeared on the scene. She was +immediately admitted into Dr. Rumsey's presence. He asked her to seat +herself, and took a chair facing her. It was Margaret's way to be always +very direct. She was direct now, knowing that her auditor's time was of +extreme value.</p> + +<p>"I have not troubled you about my husband for some years," she began.</p> + +<p>"You have not," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember what I last told you about him?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly. But excuse me one moment; to satisfy you I will look up his +case in my casebook. Do you remember the year when you last spoke to me +about him?"</p> + +<p>Margaret instantly named the date, not only of year, but of month. Dr. +Rumsey quickly looked up the case. He laid his finger on the open page +in which he had entered all particulars, ran his eyes rapidly over the +notes he had made at the time, and then turned to Mrs. Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"I find, as I expected, that I have forgotten nothing," he said. "I was +right in my conjectures, was I not? Your husband's symptoms were due to +nervous distress?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I could say so," replied Margaret.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey slightly raised his brows.</p> + +<p>"Are there fresh symptoms?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"He is not well. I must tell you exactly how he is affected."</p> + +<p>The doctor bent forward to listen. Margaret began her story.</p> + +<p>"Since the date of our marriage there has been a very gradual, but also +a marked deterioration in my husband's character," she said. "But until +lately he has been in possession of excellent physical health, his +appetite has been good, he has been inclined for exercise, and has slept +well. In short, his bodily health has been without a flaw. Accompanying +this state of physical well-being there has been a very remarkable +mental torpor."</p> + +<p>"Are you not fanciful on that point?" asked Dr. Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"I am not. Please remember that I have known him since he was a boy. As +a boy he was particularly ambitious, full of all sorts of schemes for +the future—many of these schemes were really daring and original. He +did well at school, and better than well at Balliol. When we became +engaged his strong sense of ambition was quite one of the most +remarkable traits of his character. He always spoke of doing much with +his life. The idea was that as soon as possible he was to enter the +House, and he earnestly hoped that when that happy event took place he +would make his mark there. One by one all these thoughts, all these +hopes and aims, have dropped away from his mind; each year has robbed +him of something, until at last he has come to that pass when even books +fail to arouse any interest in him. He sits for many hours absolutely +doing nothing, not even sleeping, but gazing straight before him into +vacancy. Our little son is almost the only person who has any power to +rouse him. He is devoted to the child, but his love even for little +Arthur is tempered by that remarkable torpor—he never plays with the +boy, who is a particularly strong-willed, spirited child, but likes to +sit with him on his knee, the child's arms clasped round his neck. He +has trained the little fellow to sit perfectly still. The child is +devoted to his father, and would do anything for him. As the years have +gone on, my husband has become more and more a man of few words—I now +believe him to be a man of few thoughts—of late he has been subject to +moods of deep depression, and although he is my husband, I often feel, +truly as I love him, that he is more like a log than a man."</p> + +<p>Tears dimmed Margaret's eyes; she hastily wiped them away.</p> + +<p>"I would not trouble you about all this," she continued, "but for a +change which has taken place within the last few months. That change +directly affects my husband's physical health, and as such is the case I +feel it right to consult you about it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, speak—take your own time—I am much interested," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"The change in my husband's health of body has also begun gradually," +continued Mrs. Awdrey. "You know, of course, that he is now the owner of +Grandcourt. He has taken a great dislike to the place—in my opinion, an +unaccountable dislike. He absolutely refuses to live there. Now I am +fond of Grandcourt, and our little boy always seems in better health and +spirits there than anywhere else. I take my child down to the old family +place whenever I can spare a week from my husband. Last autumn I +persuaded Mr. Awdrey with great difficulty to accompany me to Grandcourt +for a week. I have never ceased to regret that visit."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, what occurred?" asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Apparently nothing, and yet evidently a great deal. When we got into +the country Robert's apathy seemed to change; he roused himself and +became talkative and even excitable. He took long walks, and was +particularly fond of visiting Salisbury Plain, that part which lies to +the left of the Court. He invariably took these rambles alone, and often +went out quite late in the evening, not returning until midnight.</p> + +<p>"On the last of these occasions I asked him why he was so fond of +walking by himself. He said with a forced laugh, and a very queer look +in his eyes, that he was engaged trying to find a favorite walking-stick +which he had lost years ago. He laid such stress upon what appeared such +a trivial subject that I could scarcely refrain from smiling. When I did +so he swore a terrific oath, and said, with blazing eyes, that life or +death depended upon the matter which I thought so trivial. Immediately +after his brief blaze of passion he became moody, dull, and more inert +than ever. The next day we left the Court. It was immediately after that +visit that his physical health began to give way. He lost his appetite, +and for the last few months he has been the victim of a very peculiar +form of sleeplessness."</p> + +<p>"Ah, insomnia would be bad in a case like his," said Dr. Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"It has had a very irritating effect upon him. His sleeplessness, like +all other symptoms, came on gradually. At the same time he became +intensely sensitive to the slightest noise. Against my will he tried +taking small doses of chloral, but they had the reverse of a beneficial +effect upon him. During the last month he has, toward morning, dropped +off into uneasy slumber, from which he awakens bathed in perspiration +and in a most curious state of terror. Night after night the same sort +of thing occurs. He seizes my hand and asks me in a voice choking with +emotion if I see anything in the room. 'Nothing,' I answer.</p> + +<p>"'Am I awake or asleep?' he asks next.</p> + +<p>"'Wide awake,' I say to him.</p> + +<p>"'Then it is as I fear,' he replies. 'I see it, I see it distinctly. +Can't you? Look, you must see it too. It is just over there, in the +direction of the window. Don't you see that sphere of perfect light? +Don't you see the picture in the middle?' He shivers; the drops of +perspiration fall from his forehead.</p> + +<p>"'Margaret,' he says, 'for God's sake look. Tell me that you see it +too.'</p> + +<p>"'I see nothing,' I answer him.</p> + +<p>"'Then the vision is for me alone. It haunts me. What have I done to +deserve it? Margaret, there is a circle of light over there—in the +centre a picture—it is the picture of a murder. Two men are in it—yes, +I know now—I am looking at the Plain near the Court—the moon is hidden +behind the clouds—there are two men—they fight. God in heaven, one man +falls—the other bends over him. I see the face of the fallen man, but I +cannot see the face of the other. I should rest content if I could only +see his face. Who is he, Margaret, who is he?'</p> + +<p>"He falls back on his pillow half-fainting.</p> + +<p>"This sort of thing goes on night after night, Dr. Rumsey. Toward +morning the vision which tortures my unhappy husband begins to fade, he +sinks into heavy slumber, and awakens late in the morning with no memory +whatever of the horrible thing which has haunted him during the hours of +darkness.</p> + +<p>"The days which follow are more full than ever of that terrible inertia, +and now he begins to look what he really is, a man stricken with an +awful doom.</p> + +<p>"The symptoms you speak of are certainly alarming," said Dr. Rumsey, +after a pause. "They point to a highly unsatisfactory state of the nerve +centres. These symptoms, joined to what you have already told me of the +peculiar malady which Awdrey inherits, make his case a grave one. Of +course, I by no means give up hope, but the recurrence of this vision +nightly is a singular symptom. Does Awdrey invariably speak of not being +able to see the face of the man who committed the murder?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he always makes a remark to that effect. He seems every night to +see the murdered man lying on the ground with his face upward, but the +man who commits the murder has his back to him. Last night he shrieked +out in absolute terror on the subject:</p> + +<p>"'Who is the man? That man on the ground is Horace Frere—he has been +hewn down in the first strength of his youth—he is a dead man. There +stands the murderer, with his back to me, but who is he? Oh, my God!' he +cried out with great passion, 'who is the one who has done this deed? +Who has murdered Horace Frere? I would give all I possess, all that this +wide world contains, only to catch one glimpse of his face.'</p> + +<p>"He sprang out of bed as he spoke, and went a step or two in the +direction where he saw the peculiar vision, clasping his hands, and +staring straight before him like a person distraught, and almost out of +his mind. I followed him and tried to take his hand.</p> + +<p>"'Robert!' I said, 'you know, don't you, quite well, who murdered Horace +Frere? Poor fellow, it was not murder in the ordinary sense. Frank +Everett is the name of the man whose face you cannot see. But it is an +old story now, and you have nothing to do with it, nothing +whatever—don't let it dwell any longer on your mind.'</p> + +<p>"'Ha, but he carries my stick,' he shrieked out, and then he fell back +in a state of unconsciousness against the bed."</p> + +<p>"And do you mean to tell me that he remembered nothing of this agony in +the morning?" queried Dr. Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever. At breakfast he complained of a slight headache and +was particularly dull and moody. When I came off to you he had just +started for a walk in the Park with our little boy."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see your husband, and to talk to him," said Dr. +Rumsey, rising abruptly. "Can you manage to bring him here?"</p> + +<p>"I fear I cannot, for he does not consider himself ill."</p> + +<p>"Shall you be at home this evening?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we are not going out to-night."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll drop in between eight and nine on a friendly visit. You must +not be alarmed if I try to lead up to the subject of these nightly +visions, for I would infinitely rather your husband remembered them than +that they should quite slip from his memory."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," answered Margaret. "I will leave you alone with him when +you call to-night."</p> + +<p>"It may be best for me to see him without anyone else being present."</p> + +<p>Margaret Awdrey soon afterward took her leave.</p> + +<p>That night, true to his appointment, Dr. Rumsey made his appearance at +the Awdreys' house in Seymour Street. He was shown at once into the +drawing-room, where Awdrey was lying back in a deep chair on one side of +the hearth, and Margaret was softly playing a sonata of Beethoven's in +the distance. She played with great feeling and power, and did not use +any notes. The part of the room where she sat was almost in shadow, but +the part round the fire where Awdrey had placed himself was full of +bright light.</p> + +<p>Margaret's dark eyes looked full of painful thought when the great +doctor was ushered into the room. She did not see him at first, then she +noticed him and faltered in her playing. She took her fingers from the +piano, and rose to meet him.</p> + +<p>"Pray go on, Margaret. What are you stopping for?" cried her husband. +"Nothing soothes me like your music. Go on, go on. I see the moonlight +on the trees, I feel the infinite peace, the waves are beating on the +shore, there is rest." He broke off abruptly, starting to his feet. "I +beg your pardon, Dr. Rumsey, I assure you I did not see you until this +moment."</p> + +<p>"I happened to have half-an-hour at my disposal, and thought I would +drop in for a chat," said Dr. Rumsey in his pleasant voice.</p> + +<p>Awdrey's somewhat fretful brow relaxed.</p> + +<p>"You are heartily welcome," he said. "Have you dined? Will you take +anything?"</p> + +<p>"I have dined, and I only want one thing," said Dr. Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"Pray name it; I'll ring for it immediately."</p> + +<p>"You need not do that, for the person to give it to me is already in the +room."</p> + +<p>The doctor bowed to Margaret as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I love the 'Moonlight Sonata' beyond all other music," he said. "Will +you continue playing it, Mrs. Awdrey? Will you rest a tired physician as +well as your husband with your music?"</p> + +<p>"With all the pleasure in the world," she replied. She returned at once +to her shady corner, and the soothing effects of the sonata once more +filled the room. For a short time Awdrey sat upright, forced into +attention of others by the fact of Dr. Rumsey's presence, but he soon +relaxed the slight effort after self-control, and lay back in his chair +once again with his eyes half shut.</p> + +<p>Rumsey listened to the music and watched his strange patient at the same +time.</p> + +<p>Margaret suddenly stopped, almost as abruptly as if she had had a +signal. She walked up the room, and stood in the bright circle of light. +She looked very lovely, and almost spiritual—her face was pale—her +eyes luminous as if lit from within—her pathetic and perfect lips were +slightly apart. Rumsey thought her something like an angel who was about +to utter a benediction.</p> + +<p>"I am going up now to see little Arthur," she said. She glanced at her +husband, and left the room.</p> + +<p>Rumsey had not failed to observe that Awdrey did not even glance at his +wife when she stood on the hearth. There was a full moment's pause after +she left the room. Awdrey's eyes were half closed, they were turned in +the direction of the bright blaze. Rumsey looked full at him.</p> + +<p>"Strange case, strange man," he muttered under his breath. "There is +something for me to unravel here. The man who is insensate enough not to +see the beauty in that woman's face, not to revel in the love she +bestows on him—he is a log, not a man—and yet——"</p> + +<p>"Are you well?" cried the doctor abruptly. He spoke on purpose with +great distinctness, and his words had something the effect of a +pistol-shot.</p> + +<p>Awdrey sat bolt upright and stared full at him.</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask me that question?" he replied, irritation in his tone.</p> + +<p>"Because I wish to question you with regard to your health," said Dr. +Rumsey. "Whether you feel it or not, you are by no means well."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! What do I look like?"</p> + +<p>"Like a man who sees more than he ought," replied the doctor with +deliberation. "But before we come to that may I ask you a question?"</p> + +<p>Awdrey looked disturbed—he got up and stood with his back to the fire.</p> + +<p>"Ask what you please," he said, rubbing up his hair as he spoke. "As +there is a heaven above, Dr. Rumsey, you see a wretched man before you +to-night."</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, what strong words! Surely, you of all people——"</p> + +<p>Awdrey interrupted with a hollow laugh.</p> + +<p>"Ah," he said, "it looks like it, does it not? In any circle, among any +concourse of people, I should be pointed out as the fortunate man. I +have money—I have a very good and beautiful wife—I am the father of as +fine a boy as the heart of man could desire. I belong to one of the old +and established families of our country, and I also, I suppose, may +claim the inestimable privilege to youth, for I am only twenty-six years +of age—nevertheless——" He shuddered, looked down the long room, and +then closed his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I am glad I came here," said Dr. Rumsey. "Believe me, my dear sir, the +symptoms you have just described are by no means uncommon in the cases +of singularly fortunate individuals like yourself. The fact is, you have +got too much. You want to empty yourself of some of your abundance in +order that contentment and health of mind may flow in."</p> + +<p>Awdrey stared at the doctor with lack-lustre eyes. Then he shook his +head.</p> + +<p>"I am past all that," he said. "I might at the first have managed to +make a superhuman effort; but now I have no energy for anything. I have +not even energy sufficient to take away my own life, which is the only +thing on all God's earth that I crave to do."</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Awdrey, you must not allow yourself to speak like that. Now +sit down. Tell me, if you possibly can, exactly what you feel."</p> + +<p>"Why should I tell you? I am not your patient."</p> + +<p>"But I want you to be."</p> + +<p>"Is that why you came here this evening?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey paused before he replied; he had not expected this question.</p> + +<p>"I will answer you frankly," he said, with a pause. "Your wife came to +see me about you. She did not wish me to mention the fact of her visit, +but I believe I am wise in keeping nothing back from you. You love your +wife, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I do; that is, if I love anybody."</p> + +<p>"Of course, you love her. Don't sentimentalize over a fact. She came to +see me because her love for you is over-abundant. It makes her anxious; +you have given her, Awdrey, a great deal of anxiety lately.</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine how. I have done nothing."</p> + +<p>"That is just it. You have done too little. She is naturally terribly +anxious. She told me one or two things about your state which I do not +consider quite satisfactory. I said it would be necessary for me to have +an interview with you, and asked her to beg of you to call at my house. +She said you did not consider yourself ill, and might not be willing to +come to me. I then resolved to come to you, and here I am."</p> + +<p>"It is good of you, Rumsey, but you can do nothing; I am not really ill. +It is simply that something—I have not the faintest idea what—has +killed my soul. I believe, before heaven, that I have stated the case in +a nutshell. You may be, and doubtless are, a great doctor, but you have +not come across living men with dead souls before."</p> + +<p>"I have not Awdrey; nor is your soul dead. You state an impossibility."</p> + +<p>Awdrey started excitedly. His face, which had been deadly pale, now +blazed with animation and color.</p> + +<p>"Learned as you are," he cried, "you will gain some fresh and valuable +experience from me to-night. I am the strangest patient you ever +attempted to cure. You have roused me, and it is good to be roused. +Perhaps my soul is not dead after all—perhaps it is struggling with a +demon which crushes it down."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + +<p>Dr. Rumsey did not reply to this for a moment, then he spoke quietly.</p> + +<p>"Tell me everything," he said. "Nothing you can say will startle me, but +if there is any possibility of my helping you I must know the case as +far as you can give it me."</p> + +<p>"I have but little to say," replied Awdrey. "I am paralyzed day after +day simply by want of feeling. Even a sense of pain, of irritation, is a +relief—the deadness of my life is so overpowering. Do you know the +history of my house?"</p> + +<p>"Your wife has told me. It is a queer story."</p> + +<p>"It is a damnable story," said Awdrey. "With such a fate hanging over +me, why was I born? Why did my father marry? Why did my mother bring a +man-child into the world? Men with dooms like mine ought never to have +descendants. I curse the thought that I have a child myself. It is all +cruel, monstrous."</p> + +<p>"But the thing you fear has not fallen upon you," said Dr. Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"Has it not? I believe it has."</p> + +<p>"How can you possibly imagine what is not the case?"</p> + +<p>"Dr. Rumsey," said Awdrey, advancing a step or two to meet him, "I don't +imagine what I know. Look at me. I am six-and-twenty. Do I look that +age?"</p> + +<p>"I must confess that you look older than your years."</p> + +<p>"Aye, I should think so. See my hair already mingled with gray. Feel +this nerveless hand. Is this the hand of the English youth of +six-and-twenty? Look at my eyes—how dull they are; are they the eyes of +a man in his prime? No, no, I am going down to the grave as the other +men of my house have gone, simply because I cannot help it. Like those +who have gone before me I slip, and slip, and slip, and cannot get a +grip of life anywhere, and so I go out, or go over the precipice into +God knows what—anyhow I go."</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow, he is far worse than I had any idea of," thought the +doctor. He took his patient's hand, and led him to a seat.</p> + +<p>"You are quite ill enough to see a doctor," he said, "and ought to have +had advice long ago. I mean to take you up, Awdrey. From this moment you +must consider yourself my patient."</p> + +<p>"If you can do anything for me I shall be glad—that is, no, I shall not +be glad, for I am incapable of the sensation, but I am aware it is the +right thing to put myself into your hands. What do you advise?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you until I know more. My present impression is that you +are simply the victim of nerve terrors. You have dwelt upon the doom of +your house for so long a time that you are now fully convinced that you +are one of the victims. But you must please remember that the special +feature of the tragedy, for tragedy it is, has not occurred in your +case, for you have never forgotten anything of consequence."</p> + +<p>"Only one thing—it sounds stupid even to speak of it, but it worries me +inconceivably. There was a murder committed on Salisbury Plain the night +before I got engaged to Margaret. On that night I lost a walking-stick +which I was particularly fond of."</p> + +<p>"Your wife mentioned to me that you were troubled on that point," broke +in Dr. Rumsey. "Pray dismiss it at once and forever from your mind. The +fact of your having forgotten such a trifle is not of the slightest +consequence."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so? The fret about it has fastened itself very deeply into +my mind."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't think of it again—the next time it occurs to torment you, +just remember that I, who have made brain troubles like yours my special +study, think nothing at all about it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I'll try to remember."</p> + +<p>"Do so. Now, I wish to talk to you about another matter. You sleep +badly."</p> + +<p>"Do I?" Awdrey raised his brows. "I cannot recall that fact."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless you do. Your wife speaks of it. Now in your state of +health it is most essential that you should have good nights."</p> + +<p>"I always feel an added sense of depression when I am going to bed," +said Awdrey, "but I am unconscious that I have bad nights—what can +Margaret mean?"</p> + +<p>"I trust that your wife's natural nervousness with regard to you makes +her inclined to exaggerate your symptoms, but I may as well say frankly +that some of the things she has mentioned, as occurring night after +night, have given me uneasiness. Now I should like to be with you during +one of your bad nights."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Come home with me to-night, my good fellow," said the doctor, laying +his hand on Awdrey's shoulder—"we will pass this night together. What +do you say?"</p> + +<p>"Your request surprises me very much, but it would be a relief—I will +go," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>He turned and rang the bell as he spoke—a servant appeared, who was +sent with a message to Mrs. Awdrey. She came to the drawing-room in a +few minutes. Her face of animation, wakefulness of soul and feeling, +made a strong contrast to Awdrey's haggard, lifeless expression.</p> + +<p>He went up to his wife and put his hand on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You have been telling tales of me, Maggie," he said. "You complain of +something I know nothing about—my bad nights."</p> + +<p>"They are very bad, Robert, very terrible," she replied.</p> + +<p>"I cannot recall a single thing about them."</p> + +<p>"I wish you could remember," she said.</p> + +<p>"I have made a suggestion to your husband," interrupted Dr. Rumsey, +"which I am happy to say he approves of. He returns with me to my house +to-night. I will promise to look after him. If he does happen to have a +bad night I shall be witness to it. Now pray go to bed yourself and +enjoy the rest you sorely need."</p> + +<p>Margaret tried to smile in reply, but her eyes filled with tears. Rumsey +saw them, but Awdrey took no notice—he was staring straight into +vacancy, after his habitual fashion.</p> + +<p>A moment later he and Rumsey left the house together. Ten minutes +afterward Rumsey opened his own door with a latchkey.</p> + +<p>"It is late," he said to his guest. He glanced at the clock as he spoke. +"At this hour I always indulge in supper—it is waiting for me now. Will +you come and have a glass of port with me?"</p> + +<p>Awdrey murmured something in reply—the two men went into the +dining-room, where Rumsey, without apparently making any fuss, saw that +his guest ate and drank heartily. During the meal the doctor talked, and +Awdrey replied in monosyllables—sometimes, indeed, not replying at all. +Dr. Rumsey took no notice of this. When the meal, which really only took +a few minutes, was over, he rose.</p> + +<p>"I am going to take you to your bedroom now," he said.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," answered Awdrey. "The whole thing seems extraordinary," he +added. "I cannot make out why I am to sleep in your house."</p> + +<p>"You sleep here as my patient. I am going to sit up with you."</p> + +<p>"You! I cannot allow it, doctor!"</p> + +<p>"Not a word, my dear sir. Pray don't overwhelm me with thanks. Your case +is one of great interest to me. I shall certainly not regret the few +hours I steal from sleep to watch it."</p> + +<p>Awdrey made a dull reply. The two men went upstairs. Rumsey had already +given orders, and a bedroom had been prepared. A bright fire burned in +the grate, and electric light made the room cheerful as day. The bed was +placed in an alcove by itself. In front of the fire was drawn up a deep, +easy chair, a small table, a reading-lamp ready to be lighted, and +several books.</p> + +<p>"For me?" said Awdrey, glancing at these. "Excuse me, Dr. Rumsey, but I +do not appreciate books. Of late months I have had a difficulty in +centring my thoughts on what I read. Even the most exciting story fails +to arouse my attention."</p> + +<p>"These books are for me," said the doctor. "You are to go straight to +bed. You will find everything you require for the night in that part of +the room. Pray undress as quickly as possible—I shall return at the end +of a quarter of an hour."</p> + +<p>"Will you give me a sleeping draught? I generally take chloral."</p> + +<p>"My dear sir, I will give you nothing. It is my impression you will have +a good night without having recourse to sedatives. Get into bed now—you +look sleepy already."</p> + +<p>The doctor left the room. When he came back at the end of the allotted +time, Awdrey was in bed—he was lying on his back, with his eyes already +closed. His face looked very cadaverous and ghastly pale; but for the +gentle breathing which came from his partly opened lips he might almost +have been a dead man.</p> + +<p>"Six-and-twenty," muttered the doctor, as he glanced at him, +"six-and-forty, six-and-fifty, rather. This is a very queer case. There +is something at the root of it. I can no longer make light of Mrs. +Awdrey's fears—something is killing that man inch by inch. He has +described his own condition very accurately. He is slipping out of life +because he has not got grip enough to hold it. Nevertheless, at the +present moment, no child could sleep more tranquilly."</p> + +<p>The doctor turned off the electric light, and returned to his own bright +part of the room. The bed in which Awdrey lay was now in complete +shadow. Dr. Rumsey opened a medical treatise, but he did not read. On +the contrary, the book lay unnoticed on his knee, while he himself +stared into the blaze of the fire—his brows were contracted in anxious +thought. He was thinking of the sleeper and his story—of the tragedy +which all this meant to Margaret. Then, by a queer chain of connection, +his memory reverted to Mrs. Everett—her passionate life quest—her +determination to consider her son innocent. The queer scene she had +described as taking place between Hetty and herself returned vividly +once more to the doctor's retentive memory.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible that Awdrey can in any way be connected with that +tragedy?" he thought. "It looks almost like it. According to his own +showing, and according to his wife's showing, the strange symptoms which +have brought him to his present pass began about the date of that +somewhat mysterious murder. I have thought it best to make light of that +lapse of memory which worries the poor fellow so much in connection with +his walking-stick, but is there not something in it after all? Can he +possibly have witnessed the murder? Would it be possible for him to +throw any light upon it and save Everett? If I really thought so? But +no, the hypothesis is too wild."</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey turned again to his book. He was preparing a lecture of some +importance. As he read he made many notes. The sleeper in the distant +part of the room slept on calmly—the night gradually wore itself +away—the fire smouldered in the grate.</p> + +<p>"If this night passes without any peculiar manifestation on Awdrey's +part, I shall begin to feel assured that the wife has overstated the +case," thought the doctor. He bent forward as this thought came to him +to replenish the fire. In the act of doing so he made a slight noise. +Whether this noise disturbed the sleeper or not no one can say—Awdrey +abruptly turned in bed, opened his eyes, uttered a heavy groan, and then +sat up.</p> + +<p>"There it is again," he cried. "Margaret, are you there?—Margaret, come +here."</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey immediately approached the bed.</p> + +<p>"Your wife is not in the room, Awdrey," he said—"you remember, don't +you, that you are passing the night with me."</p> + +<p>Awdrey rubbed his eyes—he took no notice of Dr. Rumsey's words. He +stared straight before him in the direction of one of the windows.</p> + +<p>"There it is," he said, "the usual thing—the globe of light and the +picture in the middle. There lies the murdered man on his back. Yes, +that is the bit of the Plain that I know so well—the moon drifts behind +the clouds—now it shines out, and I see the face of the murdered +man—but the murderer, who is he? Why will he keep his back to me? Good +God! why can't I see his face? Look, can't you see for yourself? +Margaret, can't you see?—do you notice the stick in his hand?—it is my +stick—and—the scoundrel, he wears my clothes. Yes, those clothes are +mine. My God, what does this mean?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + + +<p>"Come, Awdrey, wake up, you don't know what you are talking about," said +the doctor. He grasped his patient firmly by one arm, and shook him +slightly. The dazed and stricken man gazed at the doctor in +astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Where am I, and what is the matter?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"You are spending the night in my house, and have just had a bad dream," +said Dr. Rumsey. "Don't go back to bed just yet. Come and sit by the +fire for a few minutes."</p> + +<p>As the doctor spoke, he put a warm padded dressing-gown of his own over +his shivering and cowed-looking patient.</p> + +<p>Awdrey wrapped himself in it, and approached the fire. Dr. Rumsey drew a +chair forward. He noticed the shaking hands, thin almost to emaciation, +the sunken cheeks, the glazed expression of the eyes, the look of age +and mental irritation which characterized the face.</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow? no wonder that he should be simply slipping out of life if +this kind of thing continues night after night," thought the doctor. +"What is to be done with him? His is one of the cases which baffle +Science. Well, at least, he wants heaps of nourishment to enable him to +bear up. I'll go downstairs and prepare a meal for him."</p> + +<p>He spoke aloud.</p> + +<p>"You shiver, Awdrey, are you cold?"</p> + +<p>"Not very," replied Awdrey, trying to smile, although his lips +chattered. He looked into the fire, and held out one hand to the +grateful blaze.</p> + +<p>"You'll feel much better after you have taken a prescription which I +mean to make up for you. I'll go and prepare it now. Do you mind being +left alone?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. Why should I?"</p> + +<p>"He has already forgotten his terrors," thought Dr. Rumsey. "Queer case, +incomprehensible. I never met one like it before. In these days, it is +true, one comes across all forms of psychological distress. Nothing now +ought to be new or startling to medical science, but this certainly is +marvellous."</p> + +<p>The doctor speedily returned with a plate of cold meat, some bread and +butter, and a bottle of champagne.</p> + +<p>"As we are both spending the night other than it should be spent," he +said, "we must have nourishment. I am going to eat, will you join me?"</p> + +<p>"I feel hungry," answered Awdrey. "I should be glad of something."</p> + +<p>The doctor fed him as though he were an infant. He drank off two glasses +of champagne, and then the color returned to his cheeks, and some +animation to his sunken eyes.</p> + +<p>"You look better," said the doctor. "Now, you will get back to bed, +won't you? After that champagne a good sleep will put some mettle into +you. It is not yet four o'clock. You have several hours to devote to +slumber."</p> + +<p>The moment Rumsey began to speak, Awdrey's eyes dilated.</p> + +<p>"I remember something," he said.</p> + +<p>"I dare say you do—many things—what are you specially alluding to?"</p> + +<p>"I saw something a short time ago in this room. The memory of it comes +dimly back to me. I struggle to grasp it fully. Is your house said to be +haunted, Dr. Rumsey?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey laughed.</p> + +<p>"Not that I am aware of," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Well, haunted or not, I saw something." Awdrey rose slowly as he +spoke—he pointed in the direction of the farthest window.</p> + +<p>"I was sleeping soundly but suddenly found myself broad awake," he +began—"I saw over there"—he pointed with his hand to the farthest +window, "what looked like a perfect sphere or globe of light—in the +centre of this light was a picture. I see the whole thing now in +imagination, but the picture is dim—it worries me, I want to see it +better. No, I will not get back to bed."</p> + +<p>"You had a bad dream and are beginning to remember it," said Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"It was not a dream at all. I was wide awake. Stay—don't question +me—my memory becomes more vivid instant by instant. I was wide awake as +I said—I got up—I approached the thing. It never swerved from the one +position—it was there by the window—a sphere of light and the picture +in the middle. There were two men in the picture."</p> + +<p>"A nightmare, a nightmare," said the doctor. "What did you eat for +dinner last night?"</p> + +<p>"It was not an ordinary nightmare—my memory is now quite vivid. I +recall the whole vision. I saw a picture of something that happened. +Years ago, Dr. Rumsey—over five years ago now—there was a murder +committed on the Plain near my place. Two men, undergraduates of Oxford, +were staying at our village inn—they fought about a girl with whom they +were both in love. One man killed the other. The murder was committed in +a moment of strong provocation and the murderer only got penal +servitude. He is serving his time now. It seems strange, does it not, +that I should have seen a complete picture of the murder! The whole +thing was very vivid and distinct—it has, in short, burnt itself into +my brain."</p> + +<p>Awdrey raised his hand as he spoke and pressed it to his forehead. "My +pulse is bounding just here," he said—he touched his temple. "I have +only to shut my eyes to see in imagination what I saw in reality half an +hour ago. Why should I be worried with a picture of a murder committed +five years ago?"</p> + +<p>"It probably made a deep impression on you at the time," said Dr. +Rumsey. "You are now weak and your nerves much out of order—your brain +has simply reverted back to it. If I were you I would only think of it +as an ordinary nightmare. Pray let me persuade you to go back to bed."</p> + +<p>"I could not—I am stricken by the most indescribable terror."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! You a man!"</p> + +<p>"You may heap what opprobrium you like on me, but I cannot deny the +fact. I am full of cowardly terror. I cannot account for my sensations. +The essence of my torture lies in the fact that I am unable to see the +face of the man who committed the murder."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, why should you see his face—you know who he was?"</p> + +<p>"That's just it, doctor. I wish to God I did know." Awdrey approached +close to Dr. Rumsey, and stared into his eyes. His own eyes were queer +and glittering. He seemed instinctively to feel that he had said too +much, for he drew back a step, putting his hand again to his forehead +and staring fixedly out into vacancy.</p> + +<p>"You believe that I am talking nonsense," he said, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"I believe that you are a sad victim to your own nervous fears. You need +not go to bed unless you like. Dress yourself and sit here by the fire. +You will very likely fall asleep in this arm-chair. I shall remain close +to you."</p> + +<p>"You are really good to me, and I would thank you if I were capable of +gratitude. Yes, I'll get into my clothes."</p> + +<p>Rumsey turned on the electric light, and Awdrey with trembling fingers +dressed himself. When he came back to his easy-chair by the warm fire he +said suddenly:</p> + +<p>"Give me a sheet of paper and a pencil, will you?"</p> + +<p>The doctor handed him a blank sheet from his own note-paper, and +furnished him with a pencil.</p> + +<p>"Now I will sketch what I saw for you," he said.</p> + +<p>He drew with bold touches a broad sphere of light. In the centre was a +picture, minute but faithful.</p> + +<p>At one time Awdrey had been fond of dabbling in art. He sketched a night +scene now, with broad effects—a single bar of moonlight lit up +everything with vivid distinctness. A man lay on the ground stretched +out flat and motionless—another man bent over him in a queer +attitude—he held a stick in his hand—he was tall and slender—there +was a certain look about his figure! Awdrey dropped his pencil and +stared furtively with eyes dilated with horror at his own production. +Then he put his sketch face downward on the table, and turned a white +and indescribably perplexed countenance to Dr. Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"What I have drawn is not worth looking at," he said, simulating a yawn +as he spoke. "After all I cannot quite reproduce what I saw. I believe I +shall doze off in this chair."</p> + +<p>"Do so," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, when the patient was sound asleep, Dr. Rumsey +lifted the paper on which Awdrey had made his sketch. He looked fixedly +at the vividly worked-up picture.</p> + +<p>"The man whose back is alone visible has an unmistakable likeness to +Awdrey," he muttered. "Poor fellow, what does this mean!—diseased +nerves of course. The next thing he will say is that he committed the +murder himself. He certainly needs immediate treatment. But what to do +is the puzzle."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + + +<p>When he awoke Awdrey felt much better. He expressed surprise at finding +himself sitting up instead of in bed, and Rumsey saw that he had once +more completely forgotten the occurrence of the night. The doctor +resolved that he should not see the sketch he had made—he put it +carefully away therefore in one of his own private drawers, for he knew +that it might possibly be useful later on. At the present moment the +patient was better without it.</p> + +<p>The two men breakfasted together, and then Rumsey spoke.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, "I won't conceal the truth from you. I watched you last +night with great anxiety—I am glad I sat up with you, for I am now able +to make a fairly correct diagnosis of your case. You are certainly very +far from well—you are in a sort of condition when a very little more +might overbalance your mind. I tell you this because I think it best for +you to know the exact truth—at the same time pray do not be seriously +alarmed, there is nothing as yet in your case to prevent you from +completely recovering your mental equilibrium, but, in my opinion, to do +so you must have complete change of air and absolutely fresh +surroundings. I recommend therefore that you go away from home +immediately. Do not take your child nor yet your wife with you. If you +commission me to do so, I can get you a companion in the shape of a +clever young doctor who will never intrude his medical knowledge on you, +but yet will be at hand to advise you in case the state of your nerves +requires such interference. I shall put him in possession of one or two +facts with regard to your nervous condition, but will not tell him too +much. Make up your mind to go away at once, Awdrey, within the week if +possible. Start with a sea voyage—I should recommend to the Cape. The +soothing influence of the sea on nerves like yours could not but be +highly beneficial. Take a sea voyage—to the Cape by preference, but +anywhere. It does not greatly matter where you go. The winter is on us, +don't spend it in England. Keep moving about from one place to another. +Don't over-fatigue yourself in any way, but at the same time allow heaps +of fresh impressions to filter slowly through your brain. They will have +a healthy and salutary effect. It is my opinion that by slow but sure +degrees, if you fully take my advice in this matter, you will forget +what now assumes the aspect of monomania. In short, you will forget +yourself, and other lives and other interests mingling with yours will +give you the necessary health and cure. I must ask you to leave me now, +for it is the hour when my patients arrive for consultation, but I will +call round at your house late this evening. Do you consent to my scheme?</p> + +<p>"I must take a day to think it over—this kind of thing cannot be +planned in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"In your case it can and ought to be. You have heaps of money, which is, +as a rule, the main difficulty. Go home to your wife, tell her at once +what I recommend. This is Wednesday, you ought to be out of London on +Saturday. Well, my dear fellow, if you have not sufficient energy to +carry out what I consider essential to your recovery, some one else must +have energy in your behalf and simply take you away. Good-by—good-by."</p> + +<p>Awdrey shook hands with the doctor and slowly left the house. When he +had gone a dozen yards down the street he had almost forgotten the +prescription which had been given to him. He had a dull sort of wish, +which scarcely amounted to a wish in his mind, to reach home in time to +take little Arthur for his morning walk. Beyond that faint desire he had +no longing of any sort.</p> + +<p>He had nearly reached his own house when he was conscious of footsteps +hurrying after him. Presently they reached his side, and he heard the +hurried panting of quickened breath. He turned round with a vague sort +of wonder to see who had dared to come up and accost him in this way. To +his surprise he saw that the intruder was a woman. She was dressed in +the plain ungarnished style of the country. She wore an old-fashioned +and somewhat seedy jacket which reached down to her knees, her dress +below was of a faded summer tint, and thin in quality. Her hat was +trimmed with rusty velvet, she wore a veil which only reached half way +down her face. Her whole appearance was odd, and out of keeping with her +surroundings.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Awdrey, you don't know me?" she cried, in a panting voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," said Awdrey. He stopped in his walk and stared at her.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible," he continued, "that you are little Hetty Armitage?"</p> + +<p>"I was, sir, I ain't now; I'm Hetty Vincent now. I ventured up to town +unbeknown to any one to see you, Mr. Awdrey. It is of the greatest +importance that I should have a word with you, sir. Can you give me a +few minutes all alone?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I can, Hetty," replied Awdrey, in a kind voice. A good deal +of his old gentleness and graciousness of manner returned at sight of +Hetty. He overlooked her ugly attire—in short, he did not see it. She +recalled old times to him—gay old times before he had known sorrow or +trouble. She belonged to his own village, to his own people. He was +conscious of a grateful sense of refreshment at meeting her again.</p> + +<p>"You shall come home with me," he said. "My wife will be glad to welcome +you. How are all the old folks at Grandcourt?"</p> + +<p>"I believe they are well, sir, but I have not been to Grandcourt lately. +My husband's farm is three miles from the village. Mr. Robert," dropping +her voice, "I cannot go home with you. It would be dangerous if I were +to be seen at your house."</p> + +<p>"Dangerous!" said Awdrey in surprise. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"What I say, sir; I must not be seen talking to you. On no account must +we two be seen together. I have come up to London unbeknown to anybody, +because it is necessary for me to tell you something, and to ask you—to +ask you—Oh, my God!" continued Hetty, raising her eyes skyward as she +spoke, "how am I to tell him?"</p> + +<p>She turned white to her lips now; she trembled from head to foot.</p> + +<p>"Sir," she continued, "there's some one who suspects."</p> + +<p>"Suspects?" said Awdrey, knitting his brows, "Suspects what? What have +suspicious people to do with me? You puzzle me very much by this +extraordinary talk. Are you quite well yourself? I recall now that you +always were a mysterious little thing; but you are greatly changed, +Hetty." He turned and gave her a long look.</p> + +<p>"I know I am, sir, but that don't matter now. I did not run this risk to +talk about myself. Mr. Robert, there's one living who suspects."</p> + +<p>"Come home with me and tell me there," said Awdrey—he was conscious of +a feeling of irritation, otherwise Hetty's queer words aroused no +emotion of any sort within him.</p> + +<p>"I cannot go home with you, sir—I came up to London at risk to myself +in order to warn you."</p> + +<p>"Of what—of whom?"</p> + +<p>"Of Mrs. Everett, sir."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Everett! my wife's friend!—you must have taken leave of your +sense. See, we are close to the Green Park; if you won't come to my +house, let us go there. Then you can tell me quickly what you want to +say."</p> + +<p>Awdrey motioned to Hetty to follow him. They crossed the road near Hyde +Park Corner, and soon afterward were in the shelter of the Green Park.</p> + +<p>"Now, speak out," said the Squire. "I cannot stay long with you, as I +want to take my little son for his customary walk. What extraordinary +thing have you to tell me about Mrs. Everett?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Robert, you may choose to make light of, but in your heart ... +there, I'll tell you everything. Mrs. Everett was down at Grandcourt +lately—she was stopping at uncle's inn in the village. She walked out +one day to the Plain—by ill-luck she met me on her road. She got me to +show her the place where the murder was committed. I stood just by the +clump of elders where—but of course you have forgotten, sir. Mrs. +Everett stood with me, and I showed her the very spot. I described the +scene to her, and showed her just where the two men fought together."</p> + +<p>The memory of his dream came back to Awdrey. He was very quiet now—his +brain was quite alert.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Hetty," he said. "Do you know this interests me vastly. I have +been troubled lately with visions of that queer murder. Only last night +I had one. Now why should such visions come to one who knows nothing +whatever about it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, they do say——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"It is the old proverb," muttered Hetty. "'Murder will out.'"</p> + +<p>"I know the proverb, but I don't understand your application," replied +Awdrey, but he looked thoughtful. "If you were troubled with these bad +visions or dreams I should not be surprised," he continued, "for you +really witnessed the thing. By the way, as you are here, perhaps you can +help me. I lost my stick at the time of the murder, and never found it +since. I would give a good deal to find it. What is that you say?"</p> + +<p>"You'll never find it, sir. Thank the good God above, you'll never find +it."</p> + +<p>"I am glad that you recognize the loss not to be a trifle. Most people +laugh when I speak of anything so trivial as a stick. You say I shall +never find it again—perhaps so. The forgetting it so completely +troubles me, however. Hetty, I had a bad dream last night—no, it was +not really a dream, it was a vision. I saw that murder—I witnessed the +whole thing. I saw the dead man, and I saw the back of the man who +committed the murder. I tried hard, but I could not get a glimpse of his +face. I wanted to see his face badly. What is the matter, girl? How +white you look."</p> + +<p>"Don't say another word, sir. I have borne much for you and for your +people, but there are limits, and if you say another word, I shall lose +my self-control."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry my talk has such an effect upon you, Hetty. You don't look +too happy, my little girl. Your face is old—I hope your husband is good +to you."</p> + +<p>"He is as good as I deserve, Mr. Awdrey. I never had any love to give +him—he knew that from the first. He married me five years ago because I +was pretty, and Aunt Fanny thought I'd best be married—she thought it +would make things safer—but it is a mistake to marry when your heart is +given to another."</p> + +<p>"Ah yes, poor Frere—you were in love with him, were you not?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, that I was not."</p> + +<p>"I forgot—it was with Everett—poor girl, no wonder you look old."</p> + +<p>Awdrey gave Hetty a weary glance—his attention was already beginning to +flag.</p> + +<p>"It was not with Mr. Everett," whispered Hetty in a low tone which +thrilled with passion.</p> + +<p>Awdrey took no notice. His apathy calmed her, and saved her from making +a terrible avowal.</p> + +<p>"I'll just tell you what I came to say and then leave you, sir," she +said in a broken voice. "It is all about Mrs. Everett. She stood with me +close to the alders, and I described the scene of the murder and how it +took place, and all of a sudden she looked me in the eyes and said +something. She said that Mr. Horace Frere was the man who was +murdered—but the man who committed the murder was not her son, Mr. +Everett. She spoke in an awful sort of voice, and said she knew the +truth—she knew that her son was innocent. Oh, sir, I got so awfully +frightened—I nearly let the truth out."</p> + +<p>"You nearly let the truth out—the truth? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Robert, is it possible that you do not know?"</p> + +<p>"I only know what all the rest of the world knows—that Everett is +guilty."</p> + +<p>"I see, sir, that you still hold to that, and I am glad of it, but Mrs. +Everett is the sort of woman to frighten a body. Her eyes seem to pierce +right down to your very heart—they seem to read your secret. Mr. +Awdrey, will you do what I ask you? Will you leave England for a bit? It +would be dreadful for me to have done all that I have done and to find +it useless in the end."</p> + +<p>Whatever reply Awdrey might have made to this appeal was never uttered. +His attention was at this moment effectually turned into another +channel. He saw Mrs. Everett, his wife, and boy coming to meet him. The +boy, a splendid little fellow with rosy cheeks and vigorous limbs, ran +down the path with a glad cry to fling himself into his father's arms. +He was a princely looking boy, a worthy scion of the old race. Awdrey, +absorbed with his son, took no notice of Hetty. Unperceived by him she +slipped down a side path and was lost to view.</p> + +<p>"Dad," cried the child, in a voice of rapture.</p> + +<p>Margaret and Mrs. Everett came up to the pair.</p> + +<p>"I hope you are better, Robert," said his wife.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am," he answered. "I had a fairly good night. How well +Arthur looks this morning."</p> + +<p>"Poor little boy, he was fretting to come to meet you," said Mrs. +Awdrey.</p> + +<p>Awdrey turned to speak to Mrs. Everett. There was a good deal of color +in her cheeks, and her dark eyes looked brighter and more piercing than +ever.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," she said, "for interrupting this conversation. I want to +ask you a question. Mr. Awdrey, I saw you walking just now with a woman. +Who was she?"</p> + +<p>Awdrey laughed.</p> + +<p>"Why, she has gone," he said, glancing round. "Who do you think my +companion was?" he continued, glancing at Margaret. "None other than an +old acquaintance—pretty little Hetty Armitage. She has some other name +now, but I forget what it is. She said she came up to town on purpose to +see me, but I could not induce her to come to the house. What is the +matter, Mrs. Everett?"</p> + +<p>"I should like to see Hetty Armitage. Did she give you her address?"</p> + +<p>"No, I did not ask her. I wonder why she hurried off so quickly; but she +seemed in a queer, excitable state. I don't believe she is well."</p> + +<p>"I want to see her again," continued Mrs. Everett. "I may as well say +frankly that I am fully convinced there is something queer about that +woman—a very little more and I should put a detective on her track. I +suspect her. If ever a woman carried a guilty secret she does."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come," said Margaret, "you must not allow your prejudices to run +away with you. Please remember that Hetty grew up at Grandcourt. My +husband and I have known her almost from her birth."</p> + +<p>"A giddy little thing, but wonderfully pretty," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"Well, never mind about her now," interrupted Margaret, a slight touch +of impatience in her manner. "Please, Robert, tell me exactly what Dr. +Rumsey ordered for you."</p> + +<p>"Nothing very alarming," he replied; "the doctor thinks my nerves want +tone. No doubt they do, although I feel wonderfully better this morning. +He said something about my leaving England for a time and taking a sea +voyage. I believe he intends to call round this evening to talk over the +scheme. Now, little man, are you ready for your walk?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the child. He stamped his sturdy feet with impatience. +Awdrey took his hand and the two went off in the direction of the +Serpentine. Mrs. Everett and Margaret followed slowly in the background.</p> + +<p>Awdrey remained out for some time with the boy. The day, which had begun +by being mild and spring-like, suddenly changed its character. The wind +blew strongly from the north—soon it rose to a gale. Piles of black +clouds came up over the horizon and covered the sky, then heavy sleet +showers poured down with biting intensity. Awdrey and the child were +quite in the open when they were caught by one of these, and before they +could reach any shelter they were wet through. They hurried into the +first hansom they met, but not before the mischief was done. Awdrey took +a chill, and before the evening was over he was shivering violently, +huddled up close to the fire. The boy, whose lungs were his weak point, +seemed, however, to have escaped without any serious result—he went to +bed in his usual high spirits, but his mother thought his pretty baby +voice sounded a little hoarse. Early the next morning the nurse called +her up; the child had been disturbed in the night by the hoarseness and +a croupy sensation in his throat; his eyes were now very bright and he +was feverish. The nurse said she did not like the look of the little +fellow; he seemed to find it difficult to breathe, and he was altogether +very unlike himself.</p> + +<p>"I'll send a messenger immediately for Dr. Rumsey," said Margaret.</p> + +<p>She returned to her bedroom and awoke her husband, who was in a heavy +sleep. At Margaret's first words he started up keen and interested.</p> + +<p>"What are you saying, Maggie? The boy—little Arthur—ill?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he seems very ill; I do not like his look at all," she replied. +"It is I know, very early, but I think I'll send a messenger round at +once to ask Dr. Rumsey to call."</p> + +<p>"We ought not to lose a minute," said Awdrey. "I'll go for him myself."</p> + +<p>"You!" she exclaimed in surprise. "But do you feel well enough?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do, there's nothing the matter with me."</p> + +<p>He sprang out of bed, and rushed off to his dressing-room, hastily put +on his clothes, and then went out. As he ran quickly downstairs Margaret +detected an almost forgotten quality in his steps.</p> + +<p>"Why, he is awake again," she cried. "How strange that this trouble +about the child should have power to give him back his old vigorous +health!"</p> + +<p>Rumsey quickly obeyed Awdrey's summons, and before eight o'clock that +morning he was bending over the sick child's cot.</p> + +<p>It needed but a keen glance and an application of the stethoscope to +tell the doctor that there was grave mischief at work.</p> + +<p>"It is a pity I was not sent for last night," he said. Then he moved +away from the cot, where the bright eyes of the sick baby were fixing +him with a too penetrating stare.</p> + +<p>He walked across the large nursery. Awdrey followed him.</p> + +<p>"The child is very ill," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" replied Awdrey. "Very ill—do you infer that the +child is in danger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Awdrey, he is undoubtedly in danger. Double pneumonia has set in. +Such a complaint at his tender age cannot but mean very grave danger. I +only hope we may pull him through."</p> + +<p>"We must pull him through, doctor. Margaret," continued her husband, his +face was white as death, "Dr. Rumsey says that the child is in danger."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Margaret. She was as quiet in her manner as he was +excited and troubled. She laid her hand now with great tenderness on his +arm. The touch was meant to soothe him, and to assure him of her +sympathy. Then she turned her eyes to fix them on the doctor.</p> + +<p>"I know you will do what you can," she said. There was suppressed +passion in her words.</p> + +<p>"Rest assured I will," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Of course," cried Awdrey. "Listen to me, Dr. Rumsey, not a stone must +be left unturned to pull the child through. You know what his life means +to us—to his mother and me. We cannot possibly spare him—he must be +saved. Had we not better get other advice immediately?"</p> + +<p>"It is not necessary, but you must please yourselves," answered Rumsey. +"I am not a specialist as regards lung affections, although this case is +perfectly straightforward. If you wish to have a specialist I shall be +very glad to consult with Edward Cowley."</p> + +<p>"What is his address? I'll go for him at once," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey sat down, wrote a short note and gave it to Awdrey, who +hurried off with it.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey looked at Mrs. Awdrey after her husband had left the room.</p> + +<p>"It is marvellous," he said, "what a change for the better this illness +has made in your husband's condition."</p> + +<p>Her eyes filled slowly with tears.</p> + +<p>"Is his health to be won back at such a price?" she asked—she turned +once again to the sick child's bed.</p> + +<p>"God grant not," said the doctor—"rest satisfied that what man can do +to save him I will do."</p> + +<p>"I know that," she replied.</p> + +<p>In an hour's time the specialist arrived and the two doctors had their +consultation. Certain remedies were prescribed, and Dr. Rumsey hurried +away promising to send in two trained nurses immediately. He came back +again himself at noon to find the boy, as he expected, much worse. The +child was now delirious. All during that long dreadful day the fever +rose and rose. The whole aspect of the house in Seymour Street was +altered. There were hushed steps, anxious faces, whispered +consultations. As the hours flew by the prognostications of the medical +men became graver and graver. Margaret gave up hope as the evening +approached. She knew that the little life could not long stand the +strain of that all-consuming fever. Awdrey alone was full of bustle, +excitement, and confidence.</p> + +<p>"The child will and must recover," he said to his wife several times. +When the night began Dr. Rumsey resolved not to leave the child.</p> + +<p>"A man like Rumsey must save him," cried the father. He forgot all about +his own nervous symptoms—he refused even to listen to his wife's words +of anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" he said, "when children are ill they are always very bad. I was +at death's door once or twice myself as a child. Children are bad one +moment and almost themselves the next. Is not that so, doctor?"</p> + +<p>"In some cases," replied the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Well, in this case? You think the boy will be all right in the +morning—come now, your honest opinion."</p> + +<p>"My honest opinion is a grave one, Mr. Awdrey."</p> + +<p>Awdrey laughed. There was a wild note in his merriment.</p> + +<p>"You and Cowley can't be up to much if between you you can't manage to +keep the life in a little mite like that," he said.</p> + +<p>"The issues of life and death belong to higher than us," answered the +doctor slowly.</p> + +<p>Awdrey looked at him again, gave an incredulous smile, and went into the +sick-room.</p> + +<p>During the entire night the father sat up with the boy. The sick child +did not know either parent. His voice grew weaker and weaker—the +struggle to breathe became greater. When he had strength to speak, he +babbled continually of his playthings, of his walk by the Serpentine the +previous day, and the little ships as they sailed on the water. +Presently he took a fancy into his head that he was in one of the tiny +ships, and that he was sailing away from shore. He laughed with feeble +pleasure, and tried to clap his burning hands. Toward morning his baby +notes were scarcely distinguishable. He dozed off for a little, then +woke again, and began to talk—he talked now all the time of his father.</p> + +<p>"'Ittle boy 'ove dad," he said. "'Ittle Arthur 'oves dad best of +anybody—best of all."</p> + +<p>Awdrey managed to retain one of the small hands in his. The child +quieted down then, gave him a look of long, unutterable love, and about +six in the morning, twenty-four hours after the seizure had declared +itself, the little spirit passed away. Awdrey, who was kneeling by the +child's cot, still holding his hand, did not know when this happened. +There was a sudden bustle round the bed, he raised his head with a +start, and looked around him.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter? Is he better?" he asked. He looked anxiously at the +sunken face of the dead child. He noticed that the hurried breathing had +ceased.</p> + +<p>"Come away with, me, Robert," said his wife.</p> + +<p>"Why so?" he asked. "Do you think I will leave the child?"</p> + +<p>"Darling, the child is dead."</p> + +<p>Awdrey tottered to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Dead!" he cried. "You don't mean it—impossible." He bent over the +little body, pulled down the bedclothes, and put his hand to the heart, +then bending low he listened intently for any breath to come from the +parted lips.</p> + +<p>"Dead—no, no," he said again.</p> + +<p>"My poor fellow, it is too true," said Dr. Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"Then before God," began Awdrey—he stepped back, the words were +arrested on his lips, and he fell fainting to the floor.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey had him removed to his own room, and with some difficulty the +unhappy man was brought back to consciousness. He was now lying on his +bed.</p> + +<p>"Where am I?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"In your room, on your bed. You are better now, dearest," said Margaret. +She bent over him, trying valiantly to conceal her own anguish in order +to comfort him.</p> + +<p>"But what has happened?" he asked. He suddenly sat up. "Why are you +here, Rumsey? Margaret, why are your eyes so red?"</p> + +<p>Margaret Awdrey tried to speak, but the words would not come to her +lips.</p> + +<p>Rumsey bent forward and took Awdrey's hand.</p> + +<p>"It has pleased Providence to afflict you very sorely, my poor fellow," +he said, "but I know for your wife's sake you will be man enough to +endure this fearful blow with fortitude."</p> + +<p>"What blow, doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Your child," began the doctor.</p> + +<p>"My child?" said Awdrey. He put his feet on the floor, and stood up. +There was a strange note of query in his tone.</p> + +<p>"My child?" he repeated. "What child?"</p> + +<p>"Your child is dead, Awdrey. We did what we could to save him."</p> + +<p>Awdrey uttered a wild laugh.</p> + +<p>"Come, this is too much," he exclaimed. "You talk of a child of mine—I, +who never had a child. What are you dreaming about?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + + +<p>On the evening of that same day Awdrey entered the room where his wife +was silently giving way to her bitter anguish. She was quite overcome by +her grief—her eyelids were swollen by much weeping, her dress was +disarranged, the traces of a sleepless night, and the fearful anguish +through which she was passing, were visible on her beautiful face. +Awdrey, who had come into the room almost cheerfully, started and +stepped back a pace or two when he saw her—he then knit his brows with +marked irritation.</p> + +<p>"What can be the matter with you, Margaret?" he cried. "I cannot imagine +why you are crying in that silly way."</p> + +<p>"I'll try not to cry any more, Robert," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you look in such dreadful distress; I assure you, it affects +me most disagreeably, and in my state of nerves!—you know, don't you, +that nothing ever annoys me more than weak, womanish tears."</p> + +<p>"It is impossible for me to be cheerful to-night," said the wife. "The +pain is too great. He was our only child, and such—such a darling."</p> + +<p>Awdrey laughed.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, my dear," he said, "I really would not hurt your feelings +for the world, but you must know, if you allow your common sense to +speak, that we never had a child. It has surely been one of our great +trials that no child has been given to us to carry on the old line. My +poor Maggie," he went up to her quite tenderly, put his arm round her +neck, and kissed her, "you must be very unwell to imagine these sort of +things."</p> + +<p>She suddenly took the hand which lay on her shoulder between both her +own.</p> + +<p>"Come with me, Robert," she said, an expression of the most intense +despair on all her features, "come, I cannot believe that this blight +which has passed over you can be final. I'll take you to the room where +the little body of our beautiful child is lying. When you see that sweet +face, surely you will remember."</p> + +<p>He frowned when she began to speak; now he disengaged his hand from her +clasp.</p> + +<p>"It would not be right for me to humor you," he said. "You ought to see +a doctor, Maggie, for you are really suffering from a strong delusion. +If you encourage it it may become fixed, and even assume the proportions +of a sort of insanity. Now, my dear wife, try and restrain yourself and +listen to me."</p> + +<p>She gazed at him with wide-open eyes. As he spoke she had difficulty in +believing her own ears. A case like his was indeed new to her. She had +never really believed in the tragedy of his house—but now at last the +suspected and dreaded blow had truly fallen. Awdrey, like his ancestors +before him, was forgetting the grave events of life. Was it possible +that he could forget the child, whose life had been the joy of his +existence, whose last looks of love had been directed to him, whose last +faltering words had breathed his name? Yes, he absolutely forgot all +about the child. The stern fact stared her in the face, she could not +shut her eyes to it.</p> + +<p>"You look at me strangely, Margaret," said Awdrey. "I cannot account for +your looks, nor indeed for your actions during the whole of to-day. Now +I wish to tell you that I have resolved to carry out Rumsey's advice—he +wants me to leave home at once. I spent a night with him—was it last +night? I really forget—but anyhow, during that time he had an +opportunity of watching my symptoms. You know, don't you, how nervous I +am, how full of myself? You know how this inertia steals over me, and +envelops me in a sort of cloud. The state of the case is something like +this, Maggie; I feel as if a dead hand were pressed against my heart; +sometimes I have even a difficulty in breathing, at least in taking a +deep breath. It seems to me as if the stupor of death were creeping up +my body, gradually day by day, enfeebling all my powers more and more. +Rumsey, who quite understands these symptoms, says that they are grave, +but not incurable. He suggests that I should leave London and at once. I +propose to take the eight o'clock Continental train. Will you come with +me?"</p> + +<p>"I?" she cried. "I cannot; our child's little body lies upstairs."</p> + +<p>"Why will you annoy me by referring to that delusion of yours? You must +know how painful it is to listen to you. Will you come, Maggie?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot. Under any other circumstances I would gladly, but to-night, +no, it is impossible."</p> + +<p>"Very well then, I'll go alone. I have just been up in my room packing +some things. I cannot possibly say how long I shall be absent—perhaps a +few weeks, perhaps a day or two—I must be guided in this matter by my +sensations."</p> + +<p>"If you come back in a day or two, Robert, I'll try and go abroad with +you, if you really think it would do you good," said Margaret.</p> + +<p>"I'll see about that," he replied. "I cannot quite tell you what my +plans are to-night. Meanwhile I find I shall want more money than I have +in the house. Have you any by you?"</p> + +<p>"I have twenty-five pounds."</p> + +<p>"Give it to me; it will be quite sufficient. I have about fifteen pounds +here." He touched his breast-pocket. "If I don't return soon I'll write +to you. Now good-by, Maggie. Try and conquer that queer delusion, my +dear wife. Remember, the more you think of it, the more it will feed +upon itself, until you will find it too strong for you. Good-by, +darling."</p> + +<p>She threw her arms round his neck.</p> + +<p>"I cannot describe what my feelings are at this awful moment," she said. +"Is it right for me to let you go alone?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly right, dearest. What possible harm can come to me?" he said +with tenderness. He pushed back the rich black hair from her brow as he +spoke.</p> + +<p>"You love me, Robert?" she cried suddenly—"at least your love for me +remains?"</p> + +<p>He knit his brows.</p> + +<p>"If there is any one I love, it is you," he said, "but I do not know +that I love any one—it is this inertia, dearest"—he touched his +breast—"it buries love beneath it, it buries all emotion. You are not +to blame. If I could conquer it my love for you would be as full, as +fresh, and strong as ever. Good-by now. Take care of yourself. If those +strange symptoms continue pray consult Dr. Rumsey."</p> + +<p>He went out of the room.</p> + +<p>Margaret was too stricken and stunned to follow him.</p> + +<p>A few days later a child's funeral left the house in Seymour Street. +Margaret followed her child to the grave. She then returned home, +wondering if she could possibly endure the load which had fallen upon +her. The house seemed empty—she did not think anything could ever fill +it again. Her own heart was truly empty—she felt as if there were a gap +within it which could never by any possibility be closed up again. Since +the night after her child's death she had heard nothing from her +husband—sometimes she wondered if he were still alive.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey tried to reassure her on this point—he did not consider +Awdrey the sort of man to commit suicide.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Everett came to see Margaret every day during this time of terrible +grief, but her excited face, her watchful attitude, proved the reverse +of soothing. She was sorry for Margaret, but even in the midst of +Margaret's darkest grief she never forgot the mission she had set before +herself.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the funeral she followed the procession at a little +distance. She stood behind the more immediate group of mourners as the +body of the beautiful child was laid in his long home. Had his father +been like other men, Margaret would never have consented to the child's +being buried anywhere except at Grandcourt. Under existing +circumstances, however, she had no energy to arrange this.</p> + +<p>About an hour after Mrs. Awdrey's return, Mrs. Everett was admitted into +her presence.</p> + +<p>Margaret was seated listlessly by one of the tables in the drawing-room. +A pile of black-edged paper was lying near her—a letter was begun. +Heaps of letters of condolence which had poured in lay near. She was +endeavoring to answer one, but found the task beyond her strength.</p> + +<p>"My poor dear!" said Mrs. Everett. She walked up the long room, and +stooping down by Margaret, kissed her.</p> + +<p>Margaret mechanically returned her embrace. Mrs. Everett untied her +bonnet-strings and sat by her side.</p> + +<p>"Don't try to answer those letters yet," she said. "You are really not +fit for it. Why don't you have a composing draught and go to bed?"</p> + +<p>"I would rather not; the awakening would be too terrible," said +Margaret.</p> + +<p>"You will knock yourself up and get really ill if you go on like this."</p> + +<p>"It does not matter, Mrs. Everett, whether I am ill or well. Nothing +matters," said Margaret, in a voice of despair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my poor love, I understand you," said the widow. "I do not know in +what words to approach your terribly grieved heart—there is only one +thing which I feel impelled to say, and which may possibly at some time +comfort you. Your beautiful boy's fate is less tragical than the fate +which has fallen upon my only son. When Frank was a little child, +Margaret, he had a dreadful illness—I thought he would die. I was +frantic, for his father had died not long before. I prayed earnestly to +God. I vowed a vow to train the boy in the paths of righteousness, as +never boy had been trained before. I vowed to do for Frank what no other +mother had ever done, if only God would leave him to me. My prayer was +answered, and my child was saved. Think of him now, Margaret. Margaret, +think of him now."</p> + +<p>"I do," answered Margaret. "I have always felt for you—my heart has +always been bitter with grief for you—don't you know it?"</p> + +<p>"I do, I do—you have been the soul of all that could be sweet and dear +to me. Except Frank himself, I love no one as I love you. Ah!"—Mrs. +Everett suddenly started to her feet—the room door had been slowly +opened and Awdrey walked in. His face was very pale and more emaciated +looking than ever—his eyes were bright, and had sunk into his head.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, with a sort of queer assumption of cheerfulness, "here +I am. I came back sooner than I expected. How are you Maggie?" He went +up to his wife and kissed her. "How do you do, Mrs. Everett?"</p> + +<p>"I am well," said Mrs. Everett. "How are you, are you better?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am much better—in fact, there is little or nothing the matter +with me."</p> + +<p>He sat down on a sofa as he spoke and stared at his wife with a puzzled +expression between his brows.</p> + +<p>"What in the world are you in that heavy black for?" he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I must wear it," she said. "You cannot ask me to take it off."</p> + +<p>"Why should I ask you?" he replied. "Do not excite yourself in that way, +Maggie. If you like to look hideous, do so. Black, heavy black, of that +sort, does not suit you—and you are absolutely in crêpe—what does all +this mean? It irritates me immensely."</p> + +<p>"People wear crêpe when those they love die," said Margaret.</p> + +<p>"Have you lost a relation?—Who?"</p> + +<p>She did not answer. A moment later she left the room.</p> + +<p>When she did so Awdrey got up restlessly, walked to the fire and poked +it, then he approached the window and looked out. After a time he +returned to his seat. Mrs. Everett sat facing him. It was her wont to +sit very still—often nothing seemed to move about her except her +watchful eyes. To-day she had more than ever the expression of a person +who is quietly watching and waiting. Awdrey, inert as he doubtlessly +was, seemed to feel her gaze—he looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Where have you been, Mr. Awdrey?" she asked gently. "Did you visit the +Continent?"</p> + +<p>He favored her with a keen, half-suspicious glance.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "I changed my mind about that. I did not wish the water +to divide me from my quest. I have been engaged on a most important +search."</p> + +<p>"And what was that?" she asked gently.</p> + +<p>"I have been looking for a stick which I missed some years ago."</p> + +<p>"I have heard you mention that before," said Mrs. Everett—the color +flushed hotly into her face. "You seem to attribute a great deal of +importance to that trifle."</p> + +<p>"To me it is no trifle," he replied. "I regard it as a link," he +continued slowly, "between me and a past which I have forgotten. When I +find that stick I shall remember the past."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he rose again and going to the hearth-rug stood with his +back to the fire.</p> + +<p>At that moment Margaret re-entered the room in white—she was in a soft, +flowing, white robe, which covered her from top to toe—it swept about +her in graceful folds, and exposed some of the lovely contour of her +arms. Her face was nearly as colorless as her dress; only the wealth of +thick dark hair, only the sombre eyes, relieved the monotony of her +appearance. Awdrey gave her a smile and a look of approval.</p> + +<p>"Come here," he said: "now you are good—how sweet you look. Your +appearance makes me recall, recall——" He pressed his hand to his +forehead. "I remember now," he said; "I recall the day we were +engaged—don't you remember it?—the picnic on Salisbury Plain; you were +all in white then, too, and you wore somewhat the same intense +expression in your eyes. Margaret, you are a beautiful woman."</p> + +<p>She stood close to him—he did not offer to kiss her, but he laid one +emaciated hand on her shoulder and looked earnestly into her face.</p> + +<p>"You are very beautiful," he said; "I wonder I do not love you." He +sighed heavily, and removed his gaze to look intently into the fire.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Everett rose.</p> + +<p>"I'll come again soon," she said to Margaret. Margaret took no notice of +her, nor did Awdrey see when she left the room.</p> + +<p>After a moment Margaret went up to her husband and touched him.</p> + +<p>"You must have something to eat," she said. "It is probably a long time +since you had a proper meal."</p> + +<p>"I don't remember," he replied, "but I am not hungry. By the way, +Maggie, I recall now what I came back for." His eyes, which seemed to be +lit from within, became suddenly full of excitement.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said as gently as she could.</p> + +<p>"I came back because I wanted you."</p> + +<p>Her eyes brightened.</p> + +<p>"I wanted you to come with me. I do not care to be alone, and I am +anxious to leave London again to-night."</p> + +<p>Before Margaret could reply the butler threw open the door and announced +Dr. Rumsey. The doctor came quickly forward.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have returned, Awdrey," he said, holding out his hand as +he spoke. "I called to inquire for your wife, and the man told me you +were upstairs."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I am better," said Awdrey. "I came back because I thought +perhaps Margaret—but by the way, why should I speak so much about +myself? My wife was not well when I left her. I hope, doctor, that she +consulted you, and that she is now much better."</p> + +<p>"Considering all things, Mrs. Awdrey is fairly well," said Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"And she has quite got over that delusion?"</p> + +<p>"Quite." The doctor's voice was full of decision.</p> + +<p>Margaret shuddered and turned away.</p> + +<p>Rumsey seated himself at a little distance from the fire, but Awdrey +remained standing. He stood in such a position that the doctor could get +a perfect view of him. Rumsey did not fail to avail himself of so +excellent a moment for studying this queer case. He observed the wasted +face of his patient; the unnaturally large and bright eyes; the lips +which used to be firm as a line, and which gave considerable character +to the face, but which had now become loose and had a habit of drooping +slightly open; the brows, too, worked at times spasmodically, and the +really noble forehead, which in old times betokened intelligence to a +marked degree, was now furrowed with many lines. While Rumsey watched he +also made up his mind.</p> + +<p>"I must tear the veil from that man's eyes at any cost," he said to +himself. He gave Margaret a glance and she left the room. The moment she +did so the doctor stood up.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have returned," he said.</p> + +<p>"How strange of you to say that," answered Awdrey. "Do you not remember +you were the man who ordered me away?"</p> + +<p>"I do remember that fact perfectly, but since I gave you that +prescription a very marked change has taken place in your condition."</p> + +<p>"Do you think me worse?"</p> + +<p>"In one sense you are."</p> + +<p>Awdrey laughed.</p> + +<p>"How queer that you should say that," he said, "for to tell you the +truth, I really feel better; I am not quite so troubled by inertia."</p> + +<p>"I must be frank with you, Awdrey. I consider you very ill."</p> + +<p>Awdrey started when Rumsey said this.</p> + +<p>"Pray speak out, doctor, I dislike riddles," he replied.</p> + +<p>"I mean to speak out very plainly. Awdrey, my poor fellow, I am obliged +to remind you of the strange history of your house."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" said Awdrey—"the history of my house?" he +continued; "there is a psychological history, which I dislike to think +of; is it to that you refer?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I refer to the queer condition of brain which men of your house +have inherited for several generations. It is a queer doom; I am forced +to say it is an awful doom. Robert Awdrey, it has fallen upon you."</p> + +<p>"I thought as much," said Awdrey, "but you never would believe it +before."</p> + +<p>"I had not cause to believe it before. Now I fully believe it. That +lapse of memory, which is one of its remarkable symptoms, has taken +place in your case. You have forgotten a very important fact in your +life."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are wrong there," said Awdrey. "I certainly have forgotten my +walking-stick. I know well that I am a queer fellow. I know too that at +times my condition is the reverse of satisfactory, but with this one +exception I have never forgotten anything of the least consequence. +Don't you remember telling me that the lapse of memory was not of any +moment?"</p> + +<p>"It was not, but you have forgotten something else, Awdrey, and it is my +duty now to remind you of it."</p> + +<p>"I have forgotten?" began Awdrey. "Well, speak."</p> + +<p>"You had a child—a beautiful child."</p> + +<p>Awdrey interrupted with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"I do declare you have got that delusion, too," he said. "I tell you, +Dr. Rumsey, I never had a child."</p> + +<p>"Your child is no longer with you, but you had a child. He lived for +four years but is now dead. This very afternoon he was laid in his +grave. He was a beautiful child—more lovely than most. He died after +twenty-four hours' illness. His mother is broken-hearted over his loss, +but you, his father, have forgotten all about it. Here is the picture of +your child—come to the light and look at it."</p> + +<p>Rumsey strode up to a table as he spoke, lifted a large photograph from +a stand, and held it before Awdrey's eyes.</p> + +<p>Awdrey favoured it with a careless glance.</p> + +<p>"I do not know that face," he said. "How did the photograph get here? Is +Margaret's delusion really so bad? Does she imagine for a moment that +the little boy represented in that picture has ever had anything to do +with us?"</p> + +<p>"The photograph is a photograph of your son," repeated Rumsey, in a +slow, emphatic voice. As he spoke he laid the picture back again on its +ebony stand. "Awdrey," he continued, "I cannot expect impossibilities—I +cannot expect you to remember what you have absolutely forgotten, but it +is my duty to tell you frankly that this condition of things, if not +immediately arrested, will lead to complete atrophy of your mental +system, and you, in short, will not long survive it. You told me once +very graphically that you were a man who carried about with you a dead +soul. I did not believe you then. Now I believe that nothing in your own +description of your case has been exaggerated. In some way, Awdrey, you +must get back your memory."</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Awdrey. He was impressed in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>"Whether you remember or not, you must act as though you remembered. You +now think that you never had a child. It is your duty to act as if you +had one."</p> + +<p>Awdrey shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"That is impossible," he said.</p> + +<p>"It is not. Weak as your will now is, it is not yet so inert that you +cannot bring it to bear upon the matter. I observe that Mrs. Awdrey has +taken off her mourning. She must put it on again. It would be the height +of all that is heartless for her to go about now without showing proper +respect to your beautiful child. You also, Awdrey, must wear mourning. +You must allow your wife to speak of the child. In short, even though +you have no belief, you must allow those who are in a healthy mental +condition to act for you in this matter. By doing so you may possibly +arrest the malady."</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean," said Awdrey, "but I do not know how it is +possible for me to act on your suggestions."</p> + +<p>"For your wife's sake you must try, and also because it is necessary that +you should show respect to the dead heir of your house."</p> + +<p>"Then I am to put a band on my hat and all that sort of thing?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"It is a trifle, doctor. If you and Margaret wish it, I cannot +reasonably refuse. To come back to myself, however, you consider that I +am quite doomed?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite yet, although your case is a bad one. I believe you can be +saved if only you will exert yourself."</p> + +<p>"Do wishes go for anything in a case like mine?"</p> + +<p>"Assuredly. To hear you express a wish is a capital sign. What do you +want to do?"</p> + +<p>"I have a strange wish to go down to the Court. I feel as if something +or some one, whether angel or demon I do not know, were drawing me +there. I have wished to be at the Court for some days. I thought at +first of taking Margaret with me."</p> + +<p>"Do so. She would be glad to accompany you. She is a wife in a +thousand."</p> + +<p>"But on second thoughts," continued Awdrey, "if I am obliged to listen +to her bitter distress over the death of a child who never, as far as I +can recall, existed, I should prefer not having her."</p> + +<p>"Very well then, go alone."</p> + +<p>"I cannot go alone. In the condition which I am now in, a complete +vacuum in all my thoughts may occur, and long before I reach the Court I +may forget where I am going."</p> + +<p>"That is possible."</p> + +<p>"Then, Rumsey, will you come with me?"</p> + +<p>The doctor thought a moment. "I'll go with you this evening," he said, +"but I must return to town early to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Awdrey. "I'll ring the bell. We shall be in time, if we +start at once, to catch the five o'clock train."</p> + +<p>"Remember, Awdrey, that I shall treat you as the child's father. You +will find all your tenantry in a state of poignant grief. That dear +little fellow was much loved."</p> + +<p>Awdrey pursed up his lips as if he would whistle. A smile dawned in his +eyes and vanished.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + + +<p>At a late hour that evening Rumsey and his patient arrived at +Grandcourt. A telegram had been sent to announce their visit, and all +was in readiness for their reception. The old butler, Hawkins, who had +lived in the family for nearly fifty years, came slowly down the steps +to greet his master. Hawkins' face was pale, and his eyes dim, as if he +had been indulging in silent tears. He was very much attached to little +Arthur. Awdrey gave him a careless nod.</p> + +<p>"I hope all is in readiness, Hawkins," he said, "I have brought my +friend, Dr. Rumsey, with me; we should like supper—has it been +prepared?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Robert—I beg your pardon, Squire—all is in readiness in the +library."</p> + +<p>"We'll go there after we have washed our hands," said Awdrey. "What room +have you got ready for Dr. Rumsey?"</p> + +<p>"The yellow room, Squire, in the west wing."</p> + +<p>"That will do nicely. Rumsey, you and I will inhabit the same wing +to-night. I suppose I am to sleep in the room I always occupy, eh, +Hawkins?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; Mrs. Burnett, the housekeeper, thought you would wish that."</p> + +<p>"It does not matter in the least where I sleep; now order up supper, we +shall be down directly. Follow me, doctor, will you?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Rumsey followed Awdrey to the west wing. A few moments later the two +men were seated before a cheerful meal in the library—a large fire +burned in the huge grate, logs had been piled on, and the friendly blaze +and the fragrance of the wood filled the room. The supper table was +drawn into the neighborhood of the fire, and Awdrey lifted the cover +from the dish which was placed before him with a look of appetite on his +face.</p> + +<p>"I am really hungry," he said—"we will have some champagne—Hawkins, +take some from"—he named a certain bin. The man retired, coming back +presently with some dusty-looking bottles. The cork was quickly removed +from one, and the butler began to fill the glasses.</p> + +<p>Supper came to an end. Hawkins brought in pipes and tobacco, and the two +men sat before the fire. Awdrey, who had taken from two to three glasses +of champagne, was beginning to feel a little drowsy, but Rumsey talked +in his usual pleasant fashion. Awdrey replied by fits and starts; once +he nodded and half fell asleep in his chair.</p> + +<p>"You are sleepy," said Rumsey suddenly; "if you go to bed now you may +have a really good night, which will do wonders for you—what do you +say?"</p> + +<p>"That I am quite agreeable," said Awdrey, rising as he spoke—"but is it +not too early for you, doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all—an undisturbed night will be a treat to me."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I'll take you to your room."</p> + +<p>They went upstairs together, and a moment later Rumsey found himself in +the palatial chamber which had been prepared for him. He was not really +sleepy and decided to sit up for a little. A fire burned in the grate, +some books lay about—he drew his easy-chair forward and taking up a +volume of light literature prepared to dip into it—he found that it was +Stevenson's "Treasure Island," a book which he had not yet happened to +read; the story interested him, and he read on for some time. Presently +he closed the book, and laying his head against the cushion of the chair +dropped fast asleep.</p> + +<p>The events of the day made him dream; all his dreams were about his +queer patient. He thought that he had followed Awdrey on to the +Plain—that Awdrey's excitement grew worse and worse, until the last +lingering doubt was solved, and the man was in very truth absolutely +insane.</p> + +<p>In the midst of his dream the doctor was awakened by a hand being laid +on his shoulder—he started up suddenly—Awdrey, half-dressed and +looking ghastly pale, stood before him.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" said Rumsey. "Do you want anything?"</p> + +<p>"I want you," said Awdrey. "Will you come with me?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly—where am I to go? Why are you not in bed?"</p> + +<p>Awdrey uttered a hollow laugh. There was a ring of horror in it.</p> + +<p>"You could not sleep if you were me," he said. "Will you come with me +now, at once?"</p> + +<p>"In a moment or two when you are better—sit down, won't you—here, take +my chair—where do you want me to go?"</p> + +<p>"Out with me, doctor—out of doors. I want you to accompany me on to the +Plain."</p> + +<p>"All right, my dear fellow—but just allow me to get on my boots."</p> + +<p>The doctor retired to a back part of the room to change his house shoes. +While he was doing so, Awdrey sank down on a chair and laid his hands on +his knees, took no notice of Rumsey, but stared straight before him into +the centre of the room.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd be quick, doctor," he said at last. "I don't want to go +alone, but I must follow it."</p> + +<p>"Follow what?" said Rumsey.</p> + +<p>"It—the queer vision—I have told you of it before."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, that bad dream you are subject to. Well, I am at your service +now."</p> + +<p>Awdrey rose slowly. He pointed with one of his hands.</p> + +<p>"Do you see that?" he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>Rumsey following the direction of his eyes perceived that he was staring +into the part of the room which was in deepest shadow.</p> + +<p>"I see nothing, Awdrey," he replied in a kind and soothing voice, "but I +perceive by your manner that you do. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"I wonder you cannot see it," replied Awdrey; "it is plain, too +plain—it seems to fill all that part of the room."</p> + +<p>"The old thing?" asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the old thing but with a certain difference. There is the immense +globe of light and the picture in the middle."</p> + +<p>"The old picture, Awdrey?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, but with a difference. The two men are fighting. As a rule +they stand motionless in the picture, but to-night they seem to have +come alive—they struggle, they struggle hard; one stands with his back +to me. The face of the other I can recognize distinctly. It is the face +of that young fellow who stayed a few years ago at the inn in our +village. Ah! yes, of course, I know his name, Frere—Horace Frere. He +has met some one on Salisbury Plain. It is night; the moon is hidden +behind clouds. Ha! now it comes out. Now I can see them distinctly. Dr. +Rumsey, don't you hear the blows? I do. They seem to beat on my brain. +That man who stands with his back to us carries my stick in his hand. I +know it is mine, for the whole thing is so intensely plain that I can +even see the silver tablet on which my name is engraved. My God! the man +also wears my clothes. I would give all that I possess to see his face. +Let us get on the Plain as fast as we can. I may be able to see the +reverse side of the picture from there. Come with me, come at once."</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow! matters get worse and worse," thought the doctor. "Well, I +must see this thing out."</p> + +<p>Aloud he said:</p> + +<p>"How soon did this vision come to torment you to-night?"</p> + +<p>Awdrey rubbed his eyes.</p> + +<p>"At first when I went to my room I was sleepy," he said. "I began to +take off my things. Then I saw a globe of light in the further end of +the room. At first it was merely light with no picture in the centre. +Then faint shadows began to appear, and by slow degrees the perfect and +intensely clear picture which I am now looking at became visible. I +stared at it quite motionless for a time. I was absorbed by the deepest +interest. Then a mad longing to see the face of the man who stands with +his back to us, came over me. I walked about the room trying hard to get +even a side view of him, but wherever I went he turned so as to keep his +face away; wherever I went the face of Frere was the only one I could +see. Then in a sort of despair, almost maddened in fact, I rushed from +the room.</p> + +<p>"Did you not leave the vision behind you?"</p> + +<p>"Not I—it went straight in front of me. When I reached your room and +opened the door it came in before me. I know now what I must do. I have +been always standing more or less to the right of the picture. I must +get to the left. I am going to follow it on to the Plain—I am going to +trace it to the exact spot where that murder was committed. Will you +come with me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, only first you must return to your room, and get into the rest of +your clothes. At present you are without a coat."</p> + +<p>"Am I? And yet I burn with heat. Well, I'll do what you want. I will do +anything which gives me a chance of seeing that man's face."</p> + +<p>A few moments later Rumsey and his patient found themselves in the white +moonlight of the outer world. Awdrey was now quite silent, but Rumsey +noticed that his footsteps faltered once or twice, and that he often +paused as if to get his breath. He appeared to be like a man in a +frantic hurry; he gazed straight before him, as if he were looking +intently at one fixed object.</p> + +<p>"It goes before me, and guides me to the spot," he said at last, in a +choking voice. He panted more violently than ever. Heavy sighs came from +him—these seemed to be wrung from his very heart.</p> + +<p>In about ten minutes the men got upon the borders of the Plain. Awdrey +then turned abruptly to his left; each moment he walked faster and +faster; the doctor had now almost to run to keep up with him. At last +they reached the rise of ground. A great clump of alder-trees stood to +the left; at the right, a little way off, was a dense belt of +undergrowth. On the rising ground itself was short grass and no other +vegetation. A little way off, nearly one hundred feet lower down, was a +pond. The light of the moon was fully reflected here; across the smooth +surface of the pond was a clear path as if of silver. When they reached +the brow of this slight elevation, Awdrey stood still.</p> + +<p>"There—it was done there," he said, pointing with his finger. "See, the +picture does not move any more, but settles down upon the ground. Now we +shall see the whole thing. Good God, Rumsey, fancy looking at a murder +which was committed five years ago! It is going on there now all over +again. There stand the two men life-size. Can't we stop them? Can we do +nothing?"</p> + +<p>"No, it is only a vision," said the doctor; "but tell me exactly what +you see."</p> + +<p>"It is too marvellous," said Awdrey. "The men move, and I hear the sound +of the blows. It is extraordinary how that fellow keeps his back to me. +I can't see his face if I stand here. Come, let us go downhill—if we +get near the pond we can look up, and I shall get a view of him in +another position."</p> + +<p>"Come," said Rumsey. He took Awdrey's arm, and they went down the slope +of ground until they almost reached the borders of the pond.</p> + +<p>"Now is it any better?" asked the doctor. "Can you see the man's face +now?"</p> + +<p>"No, he has turned; he still keeps his back to me, the scoundrel. But +oh, for God's sake see—he fights harder than ever. Ha! He has thrown +Horace Frere to the ground. Now Frere is up—what a strong chap he is! +Now the other man is down. No, he has risen again. Now they both stand +and fight, and—Dr. Rumsey, did you see that? The man with his back to +us uses his stick, straight in front of him like a bayonet, and—oh, my +God!"</p> + +<p>Awdrey covered his face with his shaking hands. In a moment he looked up +again.</p> + +<p>"Can't you see for yourself?" he cried. "Frere is on his back—in my +opinion he is dead. What has happened?"</p> + +<p>Awdrey swayed from side to side. His excitement was so intense that he +would have fallen if Dr. Rumsey had not caught him. The night was a +chilly one, but the terrified and stricken man was bathed in +perspiration.</p> + +<p>"Come, Awdrey, you have told me everything, and it is fully time to +return home," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"I vow I won't go back until I see that man's face, Dr. Rumsey. What +name did they give him at the trial? Frank—Frank Everett—was he the +man convicted of the murder?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, you must remember that—he is serving his time now in +Portland."</p> + +<p>Awdrey faced round suddenly, and looked into the doctor's eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is all a mistake then," he said, in a queer sort of whisper. "I +swear that before God. I saw Everett once—he was a thickly made +man—that fellow is slighter, taller, younger. He carries my stick and +wears my clothes. Why in the name of Heaven can't I see his face? What +are you saying, doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Only that I must take you home, my good fellow. You are my patient, and +I cannot permit this excitement any longer."</p> + +<p>"But the murder is still going on. Can't you see the whole thing for +yourself? That fellow with his back to us is the murderer. He uses his +stick as a bayonet. What did I once hear about that? Oh that I could +remember! There is a cloud before my mind—oh, God in Heaven, that I +could rend it! Do not speak to me for a moment, doctor, I am struggling +with a memory."</p> + +<p>Awdrey flung himself on the ground—he pressed his hands before his +eyes—he looked like a demented man. Suddenly he sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>"I have it," he said with a laugh, which sounded hollow. "If I look in +the pond I shall see the man's face. His face must be reflected in it. +Stay where you are, doctor, I'll be back with you in a minute. I am +getting at it—light is coming—it is all returning to me. He uses his +stick as a bayonet, prodding him in the mouth. Old, old—what am I +saying?—who told me that long ago? Yes I shall see his face in the +pond."</p> + +<p>Awdrey ran wildly to the edge of the water. He paused just where the +silver light fell full across the dark pond. Rumsey followed him in hot +haste. He knew that his patient was in the condition when he might leap +into the pond at any moment.</p> + +<p>Catching on to an alder-tree, Awdrey now bent forward until he caught +the reflection in the water—he slid down on his knees to examine it +more carefully.</p> + +<p>"Take care, Awdrey, you'll slip in if you are not careful," cried +Rumsey.</p> + +<p>Awdrey was silent for a moment—his own reflection greeted him—he +looked straight down at his own face and figure. Suddenly he rose to his +feet: a long shiver ran through his frame. He went up to Rumsey with a +queer unsteady laugh.</p> + +<p>"I have seen the man's face," he said.</p> + +<p>"It was your own face, my dear fellow," said the doctor. "I saw it +reflected distinctly in the water."</p> + +<p>"I am satisfied," said Awdrey, in a changed and yet steady voice. "We +can go home now."</p> + +<p>"Well, have you really seen what you wanted to see? Who was the +murderer?"</p> + +<p>"Frank Everett, who is serving his time in Portland prison. Dr. Rumsey, +I believe I have been the victim of the most horrible form of nightmare +which ever visited living man. Anyhow it has vanished—the vision has +completely disappeared."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear you say so, Awdrey."</p> + +<p>"I do not see it any longer—I know what I wanted to know. Let us go +back to the Court."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + + +<p>"Well, Het, what do you say to a bit o' news that'll wake you up?" said +Farmer Vincent one fine morning in the month of May to his young wife.</p> + +<p>Hetty was in her dairy with her sleeves turned up busily skimming cream. +She turned as her husband spoke and looked up into his face. He was a +roughly built man on a huge scale. He chucked her playfully under the +chin.</p> + +<p>"There are to be all kinds of doings," he said. "I've just been down to +the village and the whole place is agog. What do you say to an election, +and who do you think is to be put up for the vacant seat?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about elections, George," said Hetty, turning again +to her cream. "If that's all it won't interest me."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but 'tain't all—there's more behind it."</p> + +<p>"Well, do speak out and tell the news. I'm going down to see aunt +presently."</p> + +<p>"I wonder how many days you let pass without being off to see that aunt +of yours," said the farmer, frowning perceptibly. "Well, then, the news +is this. Squire and Mrs. Awdrey and a lot of company with them came back +to the Court this evening. Squire and Madam have been in foreign parts +all the winter, and they say that Squire's as well as ever a man was, +and he and madam mean to live at the Court in future. Why, you have +turned white, lass! What a lot you think of those grand folks!"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't, George, not more than anybody ought. Of course I'm fond of +Squire, seeing I know him since he was a little kid—and we was always +great, me and mine, for holding on to the Family."</p> + +<p>"I've nothing to say agin' the Fam'ly," said farmer Vincent, "and for my +part," he continued, "I'm glad Squire is coming to live here. I don't +hold with absentee landlords, that I don't. There are many things I'll +get him to do for me on the farm. I can't move Johnson, the bailiff, one +bit, but when Squire's to home 'twill be another matter. Then he's going +to stand for Grandcourt. He's quite safe to be returned. So, Het, what +with an election and the Fam'ly back again at the Court, there'll be gay +doings this summer, or I'm much mistook."</p> + +<p>"To be sure there will," said Hetty. She pulled a handkerchief out of +her pocket as she spoke and wiped some moisture from her brow.</p> + +<p>"You don't look too well, my girl. Now don't you go and overdo things +this morning—the weather is powerful hot for the time o' year, and you +never can stand heat. I thought it 'ud cheer you up to tell you about +Squire, for any one can see with half an eye that you are as proud of +him and the Fam'ly as woman can be."</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad to hear your news, George," replied Hetty. "Now if you +won't keep me any longer I'll make you some plum duff for dinner."</p> + +<p>"That's a good girl—you know my weakness."</p> + +<p>The man went up to her where she stood, and put one of his great arms +round her neck.</p> + +<p>"Look at me, Hetty," he said.</p> + +<p>"What is it, George?" She raised her full, dark eyes.</p> + +<p>He gazed down into their depths, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Are you a bit better, lass?" he asked, a tender intonation in his gruff +voice. "Pain in the side any less bad?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, George, I feel much better."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm glad of that," he said slowly. "Now you look well at me. +Don't you take your eyes off me while I'm a-speaking. I've been counting +the days. I mark 'em down on the back of the fowl-house door with a bit +of chalk; and it's forty days and more since you gave me the least +little peck of a kiss, even. Do you think you could give me one now?"</p> + +<p>She raised her lips, slowly. He could not but perceive her +unwillingness, and a wave of crimson swept up over his face.</p> + +<p>"I don't want that sort," he said, flinging his arm away and moving a +step or two back from her. "There, I ain't angry; I ain't no call to be +angry; you were honest with me afore we wed. You said plain as girl +could speak, 'I ain't got the least bit of love for you, George,' and I +took you at your word; but sometimes, Het, it seems as if it 'ud half +kill me, for I love you better every day and every hour."</p> + +<p>"I know you're as good a fellow as ever breathed," said Hetty; "and I +like you even though I don't love you. I'll try hard to be a good wife +to you, George, I will truly."</p> + +<p>"You're main pleased about Squire, I take it?"</p> + +<p>"I am main pleased."</p> + +<p>"'Tw'ere a pity the little chap were took so sudden-like."</p> + +<p>"I s'pose so," said Hetty.</p> + +<p>"You are a queer girl, Hetty. I never seed a woman less fond o' children +than you."</p> + +<p>"Well, I ain't got any of my own, you understand," said Hetty.</p> + +<p>"I understand." The farmer uttered a huge laugh. "I guess I do," he +said. "I wish to God you had a child, Hetty; maybe you'd love it, and +love its father for its sake."</p> + +<p>With a heavy sigh the man turned and left the dairy.</p> + +<p>The moment she found herself alone, Hetty flew to the door and locked +it. Then standing in the middle of the spotless room she pressed her two +hands wildly to her brow.</p> + +<p>"He's coming back," she said aloud; "back to live here; he'll be within +a mile of me to-night. Any day or any hour I may see him. He's coming +back to live. What do folks mean by saying he is well? If he is well, +does he remember? And if he remembers—oh, my God, I shall go mad if I +think much of that any longer! Squire back again at the Court and me +here, and I knowing what I know, and Aunt Fanny knowing what she knows! +I must go and speak to aunt to-day. To-night, too, so soon; he'll be +back to-night. My head is giddy with the thought. What does it all mean? +Is he really well, and does he remember? Oh, this awful pain in my side! +I vowed I'd not take another drop of the black medicine; but there's +nothing else keeps me steady."</p> + +<p>Glancing furtively behind her, although there was not a soul in sight, +Hetty opened a cupboard in the wall. From a back recess she produced a +small bottle; it was half full of a dark liquid. Taking up a spoon which +lay near she poured some drops into it, and adding a little water, drank +it off. She then put the bottle carefully back into its place, locked +the cupboard, and slipped the key into her pocket.</p> + +<p>"In a minute, dreams will come, and I'll be much better," she said to +herself. "It seems as if I could bear anything a'most after I'd taken a +little of that black stuff; it's a sight better than gin, and I know +what I'm doing all the time. I'll go and see aunt the minute I've +swallowed my dinner; but now I must hurry to make the plum duff for +George."</p> + +<p>She ran briskly off to attend to her numerous duties. She was now bright +and merry; the look of gloom and depression had completely left her +face; her eyes shone with a contented and happy light. As she bustled +about her kitchen opening and shutting her oven, and filling up the +different pots, which were necessary for cooking the dinner, with hot +water, her white teeth gleamed, and smiles came and went over her face.</p> + +<p>"To think of Aunt Fanny's toothache mixture doing this for me," she said +to herself. "Aunt Fanny 'ud put a bit on cotton wool and put it into the +hole of her tooth, and the pain 'ud be gone in a jiffy; and now I +swallow a few drops, and somehow it touches my heart, and my pain goes. +Aunt Fanny wonders where her toothache cure is; she ain't likely to hear +from me. Oh, it's quite wonderful how contented it makes me feel!"</p> + +<p>Hetty was a good housewife, and there was nothing slatternly nor +disorderly about her kitchen.</p> + +<p>The dinner, smoking hot and comfortable, was upon the table when Vincent +came in at twelve o'clock to partake of it. There was a great piece of +bacon and some boiled beans. These were immediately followed by the plum +duff. The farmer ate heartily, and Hetty piled up his plate whenever it +was empty.</p> + +<p>"You scarcely take a pick yourself, little girl," he said, seizing one +of her hands as she passed and squeezing it affectionately.</p> + +<p>"I ain't hungry, George."</p> + +<p>"Excited 'bout Squire, I guess."</p> + +<p>"Well, p'raps I am a bit; you don't mind if I go and talk it all over +with aunt?"</p> + +<p>"That I don't; when you smile at me so cheerful like that there's nought +I wouldn't give yer. Now you look here, Griffiths, the steward, is going +to get up a sort of display at the Court, and the villagers are going; +there is talk of a supper afterward in the barns, but that may or may +not be. What do you say to you and me going into the avenue and seeing +Squire and Madam drive in. What do you say, Het?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, I'd like it."</p> + +<p>"You would not think of giving a body a kiss for it, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that I would."</p> + +<p>She ran behind him, flung her soft arms round his neck, and pressed a +kiss against his cheek just above his whiskers.</p> + +<p>"That won't do," he said. "I won't take yer for that—I must have it on +my lips."</p> + +<p>She gave him a shy peck something like a robin. He caught her suddenly +in his arms, squeezed her to his heart, and kissed her over and over +again.</p> + +<p>"I love thee more than words can say," he cried. "I am mad to get your +love in return. Will the day ever come, Het?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, George; I'd like to say so to please you, but I can't +tell a lie about a thing like that."</p> + +<p>"To be sure, you can't," he said, rising as he spoke. "You'd soon be +found out."</p> + +<p>"I'd like well to love you," she continued, "for you're good to me; but +now I must be off to see Aunt Fanny."</p> + +<p>Vincent left the kitchen, and Hetty hurried to her room to dress herself +trimly. Ten minutes later she was on her way to the village.</p> + +<p>The pretty little place already wore a festive air. Bunting had been +hung across the streets, flags were flying gayly from many upper +windows. The shop-keepers stood at their doors chatting to one another; +several of them nodded to Hetty as she passed by.</p> + +<p>"That you, Hetty Vincent?" called out one woman. "You've heard the news, +I guess."</p> + +<p>"Yes, about Squire and Madam," said Hetty.</p> + +<p>"It has come unexpected," said the woman. "We didn't know until this +morning that Squire was to be back to-night. Mr. Griffiths got the +letter by the first post, and he's been nearly off his head since; there +ain't a man in the village though that hasn't turned to help him with a +will, and there are to be bonfires and all the rest. They say Squire and +Madam are to live at the Court now. Pity the poor child went off so +sudden. He were a main fine little chap; pity he ain't there to return +home with his father and mother. You look better, Hetty Vincent—not so +peaky like. Pain in the side less?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't," answered Hetty; "it's much +better to-day. I can't stay talking any longer though, Mrs. Martin, for +I want to catch Aunt Fanny."</p> + +<p>"Well, you'll find her at home, but as busy as a bee, the whole place is +flocking to the inn to learn the latest news. We're a-going up to the +Court presently to welcome 'em home. You and your good man will come, +too, eh, Hetty?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, for sure," answered Hetty. She continued her walk up the village +street.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage was cooling herself in the porch of the little inn when +she saw her niece approaching.</p> + +<p>Hetty hurried her steps, and came panting to her side.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Fanny, is it true?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"True? Yes, child, it's true," said Mrs. Armitage. "They're coming home. +You come along in and stand in the shelter, Hetty. Seems to me you grow +thinner and thinner."</p> + +<p>"Oh, aunt, never mind about my looks just now; have you heard anything +else? How is he?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage looked behind her and lowered her voice.</p> + +<p>"They do say that Squire's as well as ever he wor," she remarked. "Why, +he's going to stand for Grandcourt. In one way that's as it should be. +We always had Awdreys in the House—we like to be represented by our own +folk."</p> + +<p>"Will any one oppose him?" asked Hetty.</p> + +<p>"How am I to say? there's nothing known at present. He is to be +nominated to-morrow; and that's what's bringing 'em home in double quick +time."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to the Court to-night, aunt?"</p> + +<p>"I thought I'd run round for an hour just to see the carriage roll by, +and get a glimpse of Squire and Madam, but I must hurry back, for +there'll be a lot to be done here."</p> + +<p>"Shall I come and help you and uncle to-night?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Armitage looked her niece all over.</p> + +<p>"That's a good thought," she said, "if your man will spare you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can ask him; I don't think he'll refuse."</p> + +<p>"Well, you're spry enough with your fingers and legs when you like. I +can't stay out here talking any more, Het."</p> + +<p>Hetty came up close to her aunt, and lowered her voice to a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Fanny," she said, "one word afore you goes in—Do you think it is +safe, him coming back like this?"</p> + +<p>"Safe," echoed the elder woman in a tone hoarse with a queer mixture of +crossness and undefined fear. "Squire's safe enough ef you can keep +things to yourself."</p> + +<p>"Me?" echoed Hetty. "Do you think I can't hold my tongue?"</p> + +<p>"Your tongue may be silent, but there are other ways of letting out a +secret. Ef ever there was a tell-tale face yours is one. You're the +terror of my life with your aches and your pains, and your startings, as +if you saw a shadow behind yer all the time. It's a good thing you don't +live in the village. As to Vincent, pore man, he's as blind as a bat; he +don't see, or he won't see, what's staring him in the face."</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Aunt Fanny, what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean this, girl. Vincent's wife carries a secret, and she loves one +she ought not to love."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Aunt Fanny, you rend my heart when you talk like that."</p> + +<p>"I won't again," said Mrs. Armitage, "but I had to speak out when you +came to-day. It was my opportunity, and I had to take it. Queer stories +will be spread ef you ain't very careful. You've nought to do with the +Squire, Hetty. Go and see him to-night with the rest of 'em, and then be +satisfied. You keep quiet at the farm now he's at the Court; don't you +be seen a-talking to him or a-follerin' him about."</p> + +<p>"I won't, I won't."</p> + +<p>"Well, I thought I'd warn yer—now I must get back to my work."</p> + +<p>"One minute first, aunt—you know there ain't a soul I can speak to but +you, and I'm near mad with the weight of my secret at times."</p> + +<p>"You should take it quiet, girl—you fret o'er much. I really must leave +you, Hetty; there's your uncle calling out to me."</p> + +<p>"One minute—you must answer my question first."</p> + +<p>"Well, well—what a girl you are! I'm glad you ain't my niece. Coming, +Armitage. Now, Hetty, be quick. My man's temper ain't what it wor and I +daren't cross 'im. Now what is it you want to say?"</p> + +<p>"It's this Aunt Fanny. Ef Mr. Robert is quite well—as well as ever he +wor in his life—do you think he remembers?"</p> + +<p>"Not he. He'll never remember again. They never do."</p> + +<p>"But, aunt, they never get well, either."</p> + +<p>"That's true enough."</p> + +<p>"And they say he's quite well—as well as ever he was in all his life."</p> + +<p>"Well, Hetty I can say no more. We'll see to-night—you and me. You keep +alongside of me in the avenue, and when he passes by in the carriage +we'll look at him straight in the face and we'll soon know. You noticed, +didn't you, how queer his eyes got since that dark night. It'll be fully +light when they drive up to the Court, and you and me we'll look at him +straight in the face and we'll know the worst then."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Aunt Fanny. Yes, I'll keep close to you."</p> + +<p>"Do, girl. Now I must be off. You can sit in the porch awhile and rest +yourself. Coming, Armitage."</p> + +<p>Hetty stayed down at the inn through the remainder of the day.</p> + +<p>In the course of the evening Vincent strode in. She was in the humor to +be sweet to him, and he was in high spirits at her unwonted words and +looks of affection.</p> + +<p>The village presented a gayer and gayer spectacle as the hours went by. +High good humor was the order of the day. Squire and Madam were +returning. Things must go well in the future.</p> + +<p>Griffiths was seen riding up and down altering the plan of the +decorations, giving orders in a stentorian voice. At last the time came +when the villagers were to assemble, some of them outside their houses, +some along the short bit of road which divided the village from the +Court, some to line the avenue up to the Court itself.</p> + +<p>Hetty and Mrs. Armitage managed to keep together. George Vincent and +Armitage preceded them at a little distance. They walked solemnly +through the village street, Armitage pleased but anxious to return to +the inn, Vincent thinking of Hetty, and vaguely wondering by what subtle +means he could get her to love him, Hetty and Mrs. Armitage weighed down +by the secret which had taken the sunshine out of both their lives. They +made straight for the avenue, and presently stationed themselves just on +the brow of a rising slope which commanded a view of the gates on one +side and of the Court itself on the other.</p> + +<p>Hetty's excitable heart beat faster and faster. Dreadful as her secret +was, she was glad, she rejoiced, at the fact that the Squire was coming +home. She would soon see him again. To look at him was her pleasure; it +was the breath of her highest life; it represented Paradise to her +ignorant and unsophisticated mind. Her eyes grew bright as stars. A +great deal of her old loveliness returned to her. Vincent, who with +Armitage had taken up his position a few steps further down the avenue, +kept looking back at her from time to time.</p> + +<p>"Why, man," said the landlord of the village inn, with a hoarse laugh, +"you're as much in love with that wife of your'n as if you hadn't been +wedded for the last five years."</p> + +<p>"Ay, I am in love with her," said Vincent. "I've got to win her yet, +that's why. Strikes me she looks younger and more spry than I've seen +her for many a year, to-night."</p> + +<p>"She's mortal fond of Squire and Madam," said the landlord. "She always +wor."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," replied Vincent, in a thoughtful tone. He looked again at his +wife's blooming face; a queer uncomfortable sense of suspicion began +slowly to stir in his heart.</p> + +<p>The sound of wheels was at last distinctly audible; bonfires were lit on +the instant; cheers echoed up from the village. The welcoming wave of +sound grew nearer and nearer, each face was wreathed with smiles. Into +the avenue, with its background of eager, welcoming faces, dashed the +spirited grays, with their open landau.</p> + +<p>Awdrey and his wife sat side by side. Other carriages followed, but no +one noticed their occupants. All eyes were turned upon Awdrey. He was +bending forward in the carriage, his hat was off, he was smiling and +bowing; now and then he uttered a cheerful word of greeting. Some of the +men, as he passed, darted forward to clasp his out-stretched hand. No +one who saw him now would have recognized him for the miserable man who +had come to the Court a few months back. His youth sat well upon him; +his athletic, upright figure, his tanned face, his bright eyes, all +spoke of perfect health, of energy both of mind and body. The Squire had +come home, and the Squire was himself again. The fact was patent to all.</p> + +<p>Margaret, who was also smiling, who also bowed and nodded, and uttered +words of welcome, was scarcely glanced at. The Squire was the centre of +attraction; he belonged to the people, he was theirs—their king, and he +was coming home again.</p> + +<p>"Bless 'im, he's as well as ever he wor," shouted a sturdy farmer, +turning round and smiling at his own wife as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Welcome, Squire, welcome home! Glad to see yer so spry, Squire. We're +main pleased to have yer back again, Squire," shouted hundreds of +voices.</p> + +<p>Hetty and her aunt, standing side by side, were pushed forward by the +smiling, excited throng.</p> + +<p>Awdrey's smiles were arrested on his lips, for a flashing instant +Hetty's bright eyes looked full into his; he contracted his brows in +pain, then once again he repeated his smiling words of welcome. The +carriage rolled by.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Fanny, he remembers!" whispered Hetty in a low voice.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + + +<p>A hasty supper had been got up in some large barns at the back of the +Court. When the Squire's carriage disappeared out of sight, Griffiths +rode hastily down to invite the villagers to partake of the hospitality +which had been arranged for them. He passed Hetty, was attracted by her +blooming face, and gave her a warm invitation.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Mrs. Vincent," he said, "we can't do without you. Your +husband has promised to stay. I'll see you in the west barn in a few +minutes' time."</p> + +<p>Vincent came up at this moment and touched Hetty on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I thought we might as well go in for the whole thing," he said, "and +I'm a bit peckish. You'd like to stay, wouldn't you, Het?"</p> + +<p>"That I would," she replied. "You'll come too, aunt?" she continued, +glancing at Mrs. Armitage.</p> + +<p>"No, I can't be spared," replied Mrs. Armitage; "me and Armitage must +hurry back to the inn. We've been away too long as it is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, I promised to help Aunt Fanny to-night," said Hetty, torn +by her desire to remain in the Squire's vicinity and the remembrance of +her promise.</p> + +<p>"We'll let you off, Het," said the old uncle, laying his heavy hand on +her shoulder. "Go off with your good man, my girl, and enjoy yourself."</p> + +<p>Armitage and his wife hurried down the avenue, and Hetty and Vincent +followed the train of villagers who were going along by the shrubbery in +the direction of the west barn. There were three great barns in all, and +supper had been laid in each. The west barn was the largest and the most +important, and by the time the Vincents reached it the building was full +from end to end. Hetty and her husband, with a crowd of other people, +remained outside. They all stood laughing and joking together. The +highest good humor was prevalent. The Squire's return—the pleasure it +gave the villagers—his personal appearance, the look of health and +vigor which had been so lamentably absent from him during the past +years, and which now to the delight of every one had so fully +returned—the death of the child—the look on Margaret's face—were the +only topics of the hour. But it was the subject of the Squire himself to +whom the people again and again returned. They were all so unaffectedly +glad to have him back again. Had he ever looked so well before? What a +ring of strength there was in his voice! And then that tone with which +he spoke to them all, the tone of remembrance, this it was which went +straight to the hearts of the men and women who had known him from his +boyhood. Yes, the Squire was back, a strong man in his prime, and the +people of Grandcourt had good reason for rejoicing.</p> + +<p>"He'll be as good a Squire as his father before him," said an old man of +nearly eighty years, hobbling up close to Hetty as he spoke. "They did +whisper that the curse of his house had took 'im, but it can't be +true—there ain't no curse on his face, bless 'im. He's good to the +heart's core, and strong too and well. He'll be as good a Squire as his +father; bless 'im, say I, bless 'im."</p> + +<p>"Het, you look as white as a sheet," said Vincent, turning at that +moment and catching his wife's eye. "There girl, eat you must. I'll +squeeze right into the barn and you come in ahind me. I'm big enough to +make way for a little body like you."</p> + +<p>Vincent squared his shoulders and strode on in front. After some pushing +he and Hetty found themselves inside the barn. The tables which had been +laid from one end to the other, were crowded with eager, hungry faces. +Griffiths and other servants from the Court were flying here and there, +pressing hospitality on every one. Vincent was just preparing to +ensconce himself in a vacant corner, and to squeeze room for Hetty close +to him, when the door at the other end of the long barn was opened, and +Awdrey, Margaret, and some visitors came in.</p> + +<p>Immediately all the villagers rose from their seats, and an enthusiastic +cheer resounded among the rafters of the old barn. Hetty standing on +tiptoe, and straining her neck, could see Awdrey shaking hands right and +left. Presently he would come to her, he would take her hand in his. She +could also catch a glimpse of Margaret's stately figure, of her pale, +high-bred face, of the dark waves of her raven black hair. Once again +she looked at the Squire. How handsome he was, how manly, and yet—and +yet—something seemed to come up in Hetty's throat and almost to choke +her.</p> + +<p>"You ain't well, Het," said her husband. He had also risen from his +seat, and pushing out, had joined Hetty in the crowd. "The air in this +place is too close for you, Hetty. Drat that supper, we'll get into the +open air once again."</p> + +<p>"No, we won't," answered Hetty. "I must wait to speak to Squire, happen +what may."</p> + +<p>"Why, it'll be half an hour before he gets as far as here," said +Vincent. "Well," he added, looking back regretfully at his plate, which +was piled with pie and other good things; "if we must stay I'm for a bit +of supper. There's a vacant seat at last; you slip in by me, Het. Ah, +that cold pie is just to my taste. What do you say to a tiny morsel, +girl?"</p> + +<p>"I could not eat, George, it would choke me," said Hetty, "I'm not the +least bit hungry. I had tea an hour ago down at the inn. You eat, +George, do, George; do go down and have some supper. I'll stand her and +wait for Squire and Madam."</p> + +<p>"You are daft on Squire and Madam," said the man angrily.</p> + +<p>Hetty did not answer. It is to be doubted if she heard him. One fact +alone was filling her horizon She felt quite certain now that the Squire +remembered. What then was going to happen? Was he going to be an +honorable man? Was he going to use the memory which had returned to him +to remove the cruel shame and punishment from another? If so, if indeed +so, Hetty herself would be lost. She would be arrested and charged with +the awful crime of perjury. The horrors of the law would fall upon her; +she would be imprisoned, she would——</p> + +<p>"No matter," she whispered stoutly to herself, "it is not of myself I +think now, it is of him. He also will be tried. Public disgrace will +cling to his name. The people who love him so will not be able to help +him; he would suffer even, even to death: the death of the gallows. He +must not tell what he knew. He must not be allowed to be carried away by +his generous impulses. She, Hetty, must prevent this. She had guarded +his secret for him during the long years when the cloud was over his +mind. He must guard it now for himself. Doubtless he would when she had +warned him. Could she speak to him to-night? Was it possible?"</p> + +<p>"Hetty, how you do stand and stare," said George Vincent; he was +munching his pie as he spoke. Hetty had been pressed up against the +table where he was eating.</p> + +<p>"I'm all right, George," she said, but she spoke as if she had not heard +the words addressed to her.</p> + +<p>"If you're all right, come and have a bit of supper."</p> + +<p>"I don't want it. I'm not hungry. Do eat while you can and let me be."</p> + +<p>"I'll let you be, but not out of my sight," muttered the man. He helped +himself to some more pie, but he was no longer hungry. The jealous fiend +which had always lain dormant in his heart from the day when he had +married pretty Hetty Armitage and discovered that she had no love to +give to him was waking up now into full strength and vigor. What was the +matter with Hetty? How queer she looked to-night. She had always been +queer after a certain fashion—she had always been different from other +girls, but until to-night, Vincent, who had watched her well, had never +found anything special to lay hold of. But to-night things were +different. There must be a reason for Hetty's undue excitement, for her +changing color, for her agitation, for the emotion on her face. Now what +was she doing?</p> + +<p>Vincent started from his seat to see his wife moving slowly up the room, +borne onward by the pressure of the crowd. Several of the villagers, +impatient at the long delay, had struggled up the barn to get a +hand-shake from the Squire and his wife. Hetty was carried with the rest +out of her husband's sight. Vincent jumped on a bench in order to get a +view. He saw Hetty moving forward, he had a good glimpse of her profile, +the color on the cheek nearest to him was vivid as a damask rose. Her +whole little figure was alert, full of determination, of a queer +impulsive longing which the man saw without understanding. Suddenly he +saw his wife fall backward against some of the advancing crowd; she +clasped her hands together, then uttered a shrill, piercing cry.</p> + +<p>"Take me out of this for the love of God, Squire," she panted.</p> + +<p>"Is that young woman Mrs. Vincent?" suddenly cried another voice. "Then, +if so, I've something to say to her."</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Everett who had spoken. Hetty had not seen her until this +moment. She was walking up the room accompanied by Awdrey's sisters, Ann +and Dorothy.</p> + +<p>"I can't stay—I won't meet her—take me away, take me away, into the +air, Squire," said Hetty. "Oh, I am suffocating," she continued, "the +room is rising up as if it would choke me."</p> + +<p>"Open that door there to your right, Griffiths," said Awdrey, in a tone +which rose above the tumult. "Come, Mrs. Vincent, take my arm."</p> + +<p>He drew Hetty's hand into his, and led her out by a side door. The crowd +made way for them. In another instant the excited girl found the cool +evening air blowing on her hot cheeks.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you found the room too close," began Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was not that, sir, not really. Just wait a minute, please, Mr. +Robert, until I get my breath. I did not know that she—that she was +coming here."</p> + +<p>"Who do you mean?" asked Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Everett. I can't bear her. It was the sight of her, sudden-like, +that took the breath from me."</p> + +<p>Awdrey did not speak for a moment.</p> + +<p>"You are better now," he said then, in a stony tone. "Is your husband +here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I don't want him."</p> + +<p>Hetty, in her excitement, laid both hands on the Squire's arm.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Robert, I must see you, and alone," she panted.</p> + +<p>Awdrey stepped back instinctively.</p> + +<p>"You don't want me to touch you, you don't want to have anything to do +with me, and yet—and yet, Mr. Robert, I must see you by yourself. When +I can see you alone?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot stay with you now," said Awdrey, in a hurried voice. "Come up +to the house to-morrow. No, though, I shall have no time to attend to +you to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"It must be to-morrow, sir. It is life or death; yes, it is life or +death."</p> + +<p>"Well, to-morrow let it be," said Awdrey, after a pause, "six o'clock in +the evening. Don't call at the house, come round to the office. I'll be +there and I'll give you a few minutes. Now I see you are better," he +continued, "I'll go back to the barn and fetch Vincent."</p> + +<p>He turned abruptly. On the threshold of the door by which he had gone +out he met Mrs. Everett.</p> + +<p>"Where is that young woman?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"You seem to have frightened her," said Awdrey. "You had better not go +to her now, she was half-fainting, but I think the fresh air has put her +right again."</p> + +<p>His face looked cool and composed.</p> + +<p>"Fainting or not," said Mrs. Everett, "I must see her, for I have +something to say to her. The fact is, I don't mind telling you, Mr. +Awdrey, that I accepted your wife's kind invitation more with the hope +of meeting that young woman than for any other reason."</p> + +<p>Awdrey raised his brows as if in slight surprise.</p> + +<p>"I left Mrs. Vincent outside," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"Then pray let me pass."</p> + +<p>"If you want my wife I'll take you to her," said Vincent's voice at that +moment.</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you again, Vincent," said Awdrey. He held out his hand to +the farmer, who stepped back a pace as if he did not see it.</p> + +<p>"Obliged, I'm sure, sir," he said awkwardly. "You'll excuse me now, +Squire, I want to get to my wife."</p> + +<p>"Is that young woman really your wife?" demanded Mrs. Everett, in an +eager voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Then I've something very important I wish to say to her."</p> + +<p>"I'll find out if she's well enough to see you, ma'am. Hetty is not to +say too strong."</p> + +<p>The man pushed by, elbowing his way to right and left. Mrs. Everett +followed him. He quickly reached the spot where Awdrey had left Hetty. +She was no longer there.</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" asked Mrs. Everett, in an eager tone.</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you, ma'am. She is not here."</p> + +<p>"Do you think she has gone home?"</p> + +<p>"That's more'n I can say. May I ask what your business is with my wife?"</p> + +<p>"Your wife is in possession of a secret which I mean to find out."</p> + +<p>Vincent's face flushed an angry red.</p> + +<p>"So others think she has a secret," he muttered to himself.</p> + +<p>Aloud he said, "May I ask what yer name is, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>"My name is Mrs. Everett. I am the mother of the man who was accused of +murdering Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain six years ago."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Vincent, "it's a good way back since that 'appened; we've +most forgot it now. I'm main sorry for yer, o' course, Mrs. Everett. +T'were a black day for yer when your son——"</p> + +<p>"My son is innocent, my good sir, and it is my belief that your wife can +help me to prove it."</p> + +<p>"No, you're on a wrong tack there," said Vincent slowly. "What can Hetty +know?"</p> + +<p>"Then you won't help me?"</p> + +<p>"I say nought about that. The hour is late, and my wife ain't well. +You'll excuse me now, but I must foller 'er."</p> + +<p>Vincent walked quickly away. He strode with long strides across the +grass. After a time he stopped, and looked to right and left of him. +There was a rustling sound in a shrub near by. Hetty stole suddenly out +of the deep shadow.</p> + +<p>"Take me home, George, I've been waiting for you," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, these are queer goings-on," said the man. "There was a lady, Mrs. +Everett, and she said—never mind now what she said. Tell me, Het, as +you would speak the truth ef you were a-dying, what did yer want with +Squire?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. What should I want with him? I was just glad to see him +again."</p> + +<p>"Why did you turn faint?"</p> + +<p>"It was the heat of the room."</p> + +<p>"Come on. Take my arm. Let's go out o' this."</p> + +<p>The farmer's tone was very fierce. He dragged Hetty's hand through his +big arm, and strode away so quickly that she could scarcely keep up with +him.</p> + +<p>"It hurts my side," she said, at last panting.</p> + +<p>"You think nothing hurts but your side," said the man. "There are worse +aches than that."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, George? How queer and rough you speak!"</p> + +<p>"Maybe I know more'n you think, young woman."</p> + +<p>"Know more than I think," she said. "There's nothing more to know."</p> + +<p>"Ain't there? P'raps I've found out the reason why your 'eart's been +closed to me—p'raps I've got the key to that secret."</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, George, you know I'd love you ef I could."</p> + +<p>"P'raps I've got the key to that secret," repeated the farmer. "I'm not +a bad feller—not bad to look at nor bad to live with—and I gived yer +all I got—but never, God above is witness, never from the day I took +yer to church, 'ave yer kissed me of your own free will. No, nor ever +said a lovin' word to me—the sort of words that come so glib to the +lips o' other young wives. You're like one who carries sum'mat at her +heart. Maybe I guess to-night."</p> + +<p>"But there's nothing to guess," said Hetty. She was trembling, a sick +fear took possession of her.</p> + +<p>"Ain't there? Why did you make an appointment to meet Squire alone?"</p> + +<p>"What in the world do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"None o' your soft sawder, now, Hetty. I know what I'm a-talking of. I +crep' out of barn t'other way, and I 'eard what you said."</p> + +<p>"You heard," said Hetty, with a little scream. Then she suppressed it, +and gave a little hysterical laugh. "You're welcome to hear," she +continued. "There was nothing in it."</p> + +<p>"Worn't there? You seemed mighty eager to have a meetin' with 'im; much +more set on it, I take it, than he wor to have a meetin' wi' you. Gents +o' that sort don't care to be reminded o' the follies o' their youth. I +seed a big frown coming up between his eyes when you wor so masterful, +and when you pressed and pressed to see 'im. Why did yer say t'was life +or death? I've got my clue at last, and look you 'ere, you meet Squire +at your peril. There, that's my last word. You understand me?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + + +<p>The next day Vincent got up early. It was his wont to rise betimes. +Small as his farm was he managed it well, superintended everything that +went on in it, and did, when possible, the greater part of the work +himself. He rose now from the side of his sleeping wife, looked for a +moment at her fair, flower-like face, clenched his fist at a memory +which came over him, and then stole softly out of the room.</p> + +<p>The morning was a lovely one, warm for the time of year, balmy with the +full promise of spring. The trees were clothed in their tenderest green; +there was a faint blue mist near the horizon which would pass into +positive heat later on.</p> + +<p>Vincent strode along with his hands deep in his pockets. He looked like +a man who was struggling under a heavy weight. In truth he was; he was +unaccustomed to thought, and he now had plenty of that commodity to +worry him. What was the matter with Het? What was her secret? Did Mrs. +Everett's queer words mean anything or nothing? Why did Het want to see +the Squire? Was it possible that the Squire—? The man dashed out one of +his great hands suddenly into space.</p> + +<p>"Drat it," he muttered, "ef I thought it I'd kill 'im."</p> + +<p>At this moment the sound of footsteps approaching caused him to raise +his head; he had drawn up close to a five-barred gate. He saw a woman's +bonnet above the hedgerow—a woman dressed in black was coming in his +direction—she turned the corner and he recognized Mrs. Everett. He +stared at her for a full moment without opening his lips. He felt he did +not like her; a queer sensation of possible danger stirred at his heart. +What was she doing at this hour? Vincent knew nothing of the ways of +women of quality; but surely they had no right to be out at this hour in +the morning.</p> + +<p>The moment Mrs. Everett saw him she quickened her footsteps. No smile +played round her lips, but there was a look of welcome and of gratified +longing in her keen, dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"I had a presentiment that I should find you," she said. "I wanted to +have a talk with you when no one was by. Here you are, and here am I."</p> + +<p>"Mornin', ma'am," said Vincent awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning," answered, Mrs. Everett. "The day is a beautiful one," +she continued; "it will be hot by and by."</p> + +<p>Vincent did not think it necessary to reply to this.</p> + +<p>"I'm due in the five-acre field," he said, after a long pause. "I beg +pardon, ma'am, but I must be attending to my dooties."</p> + +<p>"If you wish to cross that field," said Mrs. Everett, "I have not the +least objection to accompanying you."</p> + +<p>Vincent hesitated. He glanced at the five-barred gate as if he meant to +vault over it, then he looked at the lady; she was standing perfectly +motionless, her arms hanging straight at her sides; she came a step or +two nearer to him.</p> + +<p>"Look you 'ere," he said then, suddenly. "I'm a plain body—a man, so to +speak, of one idee. There are the men yonder waitin' to fall to with the +spring turnips, and 'ere am I waitin' to give 'em orders, and 'ere you +are, ma'am, waitin' to say sum'mat. Now I can't attend to the men and to +you at the same time, so p'raps you'll speak out, ma'am, and go."</p> + +<p>"I quite understand your position," said Mrs. Everett. "I would much +rather speak out. I have come here to say something about your wife."</p> + +<p>"Ay," said Vincent, folding his arms, "it's mighty queer what you should +'ave to say 'bout Hetty."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, for I happen to know something about her."</p> + +<p>"And what may that be?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you if you will give me time to speak. I told you last night +who I am—I am Mrs. Everett, the mother of a man who has been falsely +accused of murder."</p> + +<p>"Falsely!" echoed Vincent, an incredulous expression playing round his +lips.</p> + +<p>"Yes, falsely. Don't interrupt me, please. Your wife witnessed that +murder."</p> + +<p>"That's true enough, and it blackened her life, poor girl."</p> + +<p>"I'm coming to that part in a minute. Your wife witnessed the murder. +She was very young at the time. It was well known that the murdered man +wanted to make her his wife. It was supposed, quite falsely, but it was +the universal supposition, that my son was also one of her lovers. This +latter was not the case. It is just possible, however, that she had +another lover—she was a very pretty girl, the sort of girl who would +attract men in a station above her own."</p> + +<p>Vincent's face grew black as night.</p> + +<p>"I have my reason," continued Mrs. Everett, "for supposing it possible +that your wife had another lover. There is, at least, not the slightest +doubt that the man who killed Mr. Frere did so in a fit of jealousy."</p> + +<p>"P'raps so," said Vincent. "It may be so. I loved Het then—I longed to +make her my wife then. I'm in her own station—it's best for girls like +Het to marry in their own station. She told me that the man who was +murdered wanted to make her his wife, but she never loved him, that I +will say."</p> + +<p>"She may have loved the murderer."</p> + +<p>"The man who is suffering penal servitude?" cried Vincent. "Your son, +ma'am? Then ef you think so he'd better stay where he is—he'd best stay +where 'e is."</p> + +<p>"I am not talking of my son, but of the real murderer," said Mrs. +Everett slowly.</p> + +<p>Vincent stared at her. He thought she was slightly off her head.</p> + +<p>"I was in court when your son was tried," he said, at last. "'Twas a +plain case. He killed his man—it was brought in manslaughter, worn't +it? And he didn't swing for it. I don't know what you mean, ma'am, an' +I'd like to be away now at my work."</p> + +<p>"I have something more to say, and then I'll go. I met your wife about a +year ago. We met on Salisbury Plain."</p> + +<p>"Ay, she's fond o' the Plain, Hetty is."</p> + +<p>"I told her then what I now tell you. She fell on her knees in +terror—she clasped my dress, and asked me how I had found out. Then she +recovered herself, tried to eat her own words, and left me. Since then +she has avoided me. It was the sight of me last night that made your +wife turn faint. I repeat that she carries a secret. If that secret were +known it might clear my son. I want to find it out. If you will help me +and if we succeed, I'll give you a thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"'Taint to be done, ma'am," said Vincent. "Het is nervous, and a bit +given to the hysterics, but she knows no more 'bout that murder than all +the rest of the world knows; and what's more, I wouldn't take no money +to probe at my wife's heart. Good-mornin', ma'am, I must be attending to +my turnips."</p> + +<p>Vincent vaulted the five-barred gate as he spoke, and walked across the +field.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Everett watched him until he was out of sight. Then she turned +slowly, and went back to the Court. She entered the grounds a little +before the breakfast hour. Ann, now Mrs. Henessey, was out in the avenue +gathering daffodils, which grew in clumps all along a great border. She +raised her head when she saw Mrs. Everett approaching.</p> + +<p>"You out?" she cried. "I thought I was the only early bird. Where have +you been?"</p> + +<p>"For a walk," replied the widow. "The morning is a lovely one, and I was +not sleepy." She did not wait to say anything more to Ann, but went into +the house.</p> + +<p>The breakfast-room at the Court had French windows. The day was so balmy +that, early as it was still in the year, these windows stood open. As +Mrs. Everett stepped across the threshold, she was greeted by Margaret.</p> + +<p>"How pale and tired you look!" said Mrs. Awdrey, in a compassionate +voice.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Everett glanced round her, she saw that there was no one else +present.</p> + +<p>"I am sick at heart, Margaret," she said, fixing her sad eyes on her +friend's face.</p> + +<p>Margaret went up to her, put her slender hand on her shoulder, and +kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Why won't you rest?" she said; "you never rest; even at night you +scarcely sleep; you will kill yourself if you go on as you have been +doing of late, and then——"</p> + +<p>"Why do you stop, Margaret?" said Mrs. Everett.</p> + +<p>"When he comes out you won't be there," said Margaret—tears brimming +into her eyes. "I often see the meeting between you and him," she +continued. "When he comes out; when it is all over; he won't be old, as +men go, and he'll want you. Try and think of the very worst that can +happen—his innocence never being proved; even at the worst he'll want +you sorely when he is a free man again."</p> + +<p>"He won't have me. I shall be dead long, long before then; but I must +prove his innocence. I have an indescribable sensation that I am near +the truth while I am here, and that is why I came. Margaret, my heart is +on fire—the burning of that fire consumes me."</p> + +<p>At this moment the Squire entered the room; he looked bright, fresh, +alert, and young. He was now a man of extremely rapid movements; he came +up to Mrs. Everett and shook hands with her.</p> + +<p>"You have your bonnet on," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have been out for a walk," she replied.</p> + +<p>"And she has come in dead tired," said Margaret, glancing at her +husband. "Please go to your room now, Mrs. Everett," she continued, "and +take off your things. We are just going to breakfast, and I shall insist +on your taking a good meal."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Everett turned toward the door. When she had left the room Margaret +approached her husband's side.</p> + +<p>"I do believe she is right," she cried suddenly; "I believe her grief +will kill her in the end."</p> + +<p>"Whose grief, dearest?" asked Awdrey, in an absent-minded manner.</p> + +<p>"Whose grief, Robert? Don't you know? Mrs. Everett's grief. Can't you +see for yourself how she frets, how she wastes away? Have you no eyes +for her? In your own marvellous resurrection ought you, ought either of +us, to forget one who suffers so sorely?"</p> + +<p>"I never forget," said Awdrey. He spoke abruptly; he had turned his back +on his wife; a picture which was hanging slightly awry needed +straightening; he went up to it. Ann came in at the open window.</p> + +<p>"What possesses all you women to be out at cockcrow in this fashion?" +said her brother, submitting to her embrace rather than returning it.</p> + +<p>Ann laughed gleefully.</p> + +<p>"It's close on nine o'clock," she replied; "here are some daffodils for +you, Margaret"—she laid a great bunch by Mrs. Awdrey's plate. "You have +quite forgotten your country manners, Robert; in the old days breakfast +was long over at nine o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Well, let us come to table now," said the Squire.</p> + +<p>The rest of the party trooped in by degrees. Mrs. Everett was the last +to appear. Awdrey pulled out a chair near himself; she dropped into it. +He began to attend to her wants; then entered into conversation with +her. He talked well, like the man of keen intelligence and education he +really was. As he spoke the widow kept watching him with her bright, +restless eyes. He never avoided her glance. His own eyes, steady and +calm in their expression, met hers constantly. Toward the end of +breakfast the two pairs of eyes seemed to challenge each other. Mrs. +Everett's grew fuller than ever of puzzled inquiry; Awdrey's of a queer +defiance. In the end she looked away with a sigh. He was stronger than +she was; her spirit recognized this fact; it also began to be dimly +aware of the truth that he was her enemy.</p> + +<p>The Squire rose suddenly from his seat and addressed his wife.</p> + +<p>"I've just seen Griffiths pass the window," he said. "I'm going out now; +don't expect me to lunch."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + + +<p>About an hour after her husband had left her, Hetty Vincent awoke. She +rubbed her eyes, sat up in bed, and after a moment's reflection began to +dress. She was downstairs, bustling about as usual, just as the +eight-day clock struck seven. Hetty attended to the household work +itself, but there was a maid to help her with the dairy, to milk the +cows, and undertake the heavy part of the work. The girl's name was +Susan. Hetty and she went into the dairy as usual now and began to +perform their morning duties.</p> + +<p>There were several cows kept on the farm, and the Vincents largely lived +on the dairy produce. Their milk and butter and cream were famous in the +district. The great pails of foaming milk were now being brought in by +Susan and the man Dan, and the different pans quickly filled.</p> + +<p>The morning's milk being set, Hetty began to skim the pans which were +ready from the previous night. As she did so she put the cream at once +into the churn, and Susan prepared to make the butter.</p> + +<p>"Hold a bit, ma'am," she said suddenly, "we never scalded out this churn +properly, and the last butter had a queer taste, don't you remember?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do," said Hetty, "how provoking; all that cream is wasted +then."</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," answered Susan. "If we pour it out at once it won't +get the taste. Please hold that basin for me, ma'am, and I'll empty the +cream that is in the churn straight into it."</p> + +<p>Hetty did so.</p> + +<p>Susan set the churn down again on the floor.</p> + +<p>"If you'll give me that stuff in the bottle, ma'am," she said, "which +you keep in the cupboard, I'll mix some of it with boiling water and +wash out the churn, and it'll be as sweet as a nut immediately."</p> + +<p>"The water is already boiling in the copper," said Hetty.</p> + +<p>The girl went off to fill a large jug with some, and Hetty unlocked the +cupboard from which she had taken the bottle of laudanum the night +before. The chemical preparation required for sweetening the churn +should have stood close to the laudanum bottle. It was not there, and +Susan, who was anxious to begin her work, fetched a stepladder and +mounting it began to search through the contents of the cupboard.</p> + +<p>"I can't find the bottle," she cried, "but lor! ma'am, what is this +black stuff? It looks sum'mat like treacle."</p> + +<p>"No, it is not; let it alone," said Hetty in alarm.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to touch it, I'm sure," replied Susan. "It's got a good +big 'poison' marked on it, and I'm awful frightened of that sort o' +thing."</p> + +<p>"It's toothache cure," said Hetty. "Ef you swallowed a good lot of it it +'ud kill you, but it's a splendid thing to put on cotton-wool and stuff +into your tooth if it aches badly. Just you step down from the ladder, +and I'll have a look for the bottle we want, Susan."</p> + +<p>The bottle was nowhere to be found in the cupboard but was presently +discovered in another corner of the dairy; the morning's work then went +on without a hitch.</p> + +<p>At his accustomed hour Vincent came in to breakfast. He looked moody and +depressed. As he ate he glanced many times at Hetty, but did not +vouchsafe a single word to her.</p> + +<p>She was in the mood to be agreeable to him and she put on her most +fascinating airs for his benefit. Once as she passed his chair she laid +her small hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder. The man longed +indescribably to seize the little hand and press its owner to his hungry +heart, but he restrained himself. Mrs. Everett's words were ringing in +his ear: "Your wife holds a secret."</p> + +<p>Hetty presently sat down opposite to him. The sunshine was now streaming +full into the cheerful farm kitchen, and some of its rays fell across +her face. What a lovely face it was; pale, it is true, and somewhat +worn, but what pathetic eyes, so dark so velvety; what a dear rosebud +mouth, what an arch and yet sad expression!</p> + +<p>"She beats every other woman holler," muttered the man to himself. "It's +my belief that ef it worn't for that secret she'd love me. Yes, it must +be true, she holds a secret, and it's a-killing of her. She ain't what +she wor when we married. I'll get that secret out o' her; but not for no +thousand pounds, 'andy as it 'ud be."</p> + +<p>"Hetty," he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>"What in the world is the matter with you, George? You look so moody," +said Hetty.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, I may as well return the compliment," he replied, "so do +you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right," she answered, with a pert toss of her head. "Maybe, +George," she continued, "you're bilious; you ate summat that disagreed +wi' you last night."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did," he replied fiercely. "I swallered a powerful lot o' +jealousy, and it's bad food and hard to digest."</p> + +<p>"Jealousy?" she answered, bridling, and her cheeks growing a deep rose. +"Now what should make you jealous?"</p> + +<p>"You make me jealous, my girl," he answered.</p> + +<p>"I! what in the world did I do?"</p> + +<p>"You talked to Squire—you wor mad to see 'im. Het, you've got a secret, +and you may as well out wi' it."</p> + +<p>The imminence of the danger made Hetty quite cool and almost brave. She +uttered a light laugh, and bent forward to help herself to some more +butter.</p> + +<p>"You must be crazy to have thoughts o' that sort, George," she said. +"Ain't I been your wife for five years, and isn't it likely that ef I +had a secret you'd have discovered it, sharp feller as you are? No, I +was pleased to see Squire. I was always fond o' 'im; and I ain't got no +secret except the pain in my side."</p> + +<p>She turned very pale as she uttered the last words and pressed her hand +to the neighborhood of her heart.</p> + +<p>Vincent was at once all tenderness and concern.</p> + +<p>"I'm a brute to worry yer, my little gell," he said. "Secret or no +secret, you're all I 'as got. It's jest this way, Het, ef you'd love me +a bit, I wouldn't mind ef you had fifty secrets, but it's the feelin' +that you don't love me, mad as I be about you, that drives me stark, +staring wild at times."</p> + +<p>"I'll try hard to love you ef you wish it, George," she said.</p> + +<p>He left his seat and came toward her. The next moment he had folded her +in his arms. She shivered under his embrace, but submitted.</p> + +<p>"Now that's better," he said. "Tryin' means succeeding 'cording to my +way o' thinking of it. But you don't look a bit well, Het; you change +color too often—red one minute, white the next—you mustn't do no sort +o' work this morning. You jest put your feet up this minute on the +settle and I'll fetch that novel you're so took up with. You like +readin', don't yer, lass?"</p> + +<p>"At times I do," said Hetty, "but I ain't in the mood to read to-day, +and there's a heap to be done."</p> + +<p>"You're not to do it; Susan will manage."</p> + +<p>"George, she can't; she's got the dairy."</p> + +<p>"Dan shall manage the dairy. He's worth two Susans, and Susan can attend +to the housework. Now you lie still where I've put you and read your +novel. I'll be in to dinner at twelve o'clock, as usual, and ef you +don't look more spry by then I'll go and fetch Dr. Martin, that I will."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't see him for the world," said Hetty in alarm. "Well, I'll +stay quiet ef you wish me to."</p> + +<p>The rest of the morning passed quickly. Until her husband was quite out +of sight Hetty remained on the settle in the cosy kitchen; then she went +up to her room, and taking a hat out of the cupboard began to pull it +about and to re-arrange the trimming. She put it on once or twice to see +if it became her. It was a pretty hat, made of white straw with a broad +low brim. It was trimmed simply with a broad band of colored ribbon. On +Hetty's charming head it had a rustic effect, and suited her particular +form of beauty.</p> + +<p>"It don't matter what I wear," she murmured to herself. "'Taint looks +I'm a-thinking of now, but I may as well look my best when I go to him. +Once he thought me pretty. That awful evening down by the brook when I +gathered the forget-me-nots—I saw his thought in his eyes then—he +thought well of me then. Maybe he will again this evening. Anyhow I'll +wear the hat."</p> + +<p>At dinner time Hetty once more resumed the role of an invalid, and +Vincent was charmed to find her reclining on the settle and pretending +to read the yellow-backed novel.</p> + +<p>"Here's a brace of young pigeons," he said; "I shot 'em an hour ago. You +shall have 'em cooked up tasty for supper. You want fattening and +coaxing a bit. Ah, dinner ready; just what I like, corned beef and +cabbage. I am hungry and no mistake."</p> + +<p>Susan had now left the house to return to her ordinary duties, and the +husband and wife were alone. Hetty declared herself much better; in +fact, quite well. She drew her chair close to Vincent, and talked to him +while he ate.</p> + +<p>"Now I call this real cosy," he said. "Ef you try a bit harder you'll +soon do the real thing, Het; you'll love me for myself."</p> + +<p>"Seems like it," answered Hetty. "George, you don't mind my going down +to see aunt this afternoon, do you?"</p> + +<p>She brought out her words coolly, but Vincent's suspicions were +instantly aroused.</p> + +<p>"Turn round and look at me," he said.</p> + +<p>She did so bravely.</p> + +<p>"You don't go outside the farm to-day, and that's flat," he said. "We +won't argufy on that point any more; you stop at 'ome to-day. Ef you're +a good girl and try to please me I'll harness the horse to the gig this +evening, and take yer for a bit of a drive."</p> + +<p>"I'd like that," answered Hetty submissively. She bent down as she spoke +to pick up a piece of bread. She knew perfectly well that Vincent would +not allow her to keep her appointment with Squire. But that appointment +must be kept; if in no other way, by guile.</p> + +<p>Hetty thought and thought. She was too excited to do little more than +pick her food, and Vincent showered attentions and affectionate words +upon her. At last he rose from his seat.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've 'ad a hearty meal," he cried. "I'll be in again about four +o'clock; you might have a cup o' tea ready for me."</p> + +<p>"No, I won't," said Hetty; "tea is bad for you; you're up so early, and +you're dead for sleep, and it's sleep you ought to have. You come home +about four, and I'll give you a glass o' stout."</p> + +<p>"Stout?" said the farmer—he was particularly partial to that +beverage—"I didn't know there was any stout in the house," he +continued.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, laughing gayly, "the little cask which we didn't +open at Christmas; it's in the pantry, and you shall have a foaming +glass when you come in at four; go off now, George, and I'll have it +ready for you."</p> + +<p>"All right," he said; "why, you're turning into a model wife; quite +anxious about me—at least, it seems like it. Well, I'll turn up for my +stout, more particular ef you'll give me a kiss along wi' it."</p> + +<p>He went away, and Hetty watched him as he crossed the farmyard; her +cheeks were flushed, and her heart beat high. She had made up her mind. +She would drug the stout.</p> + +<p>Vincent was neither a lazy nor a sleepy man; he worked hard from early +morning until late at night, indulging in no excesses of any kind, and +preferring tea as a rule to any other beverage; but stout, good stout, +such as Hetty had in the little cask, was his one weakness; he did like +a big draught of that.</p> + +<p>"He shall have a sleep," said Hetty to herself. "It'll do him a power of +good. The first time I swallered a few drops of aunt's toothache cure I +slept for eight hours without moving. Lor! how bad I felt afore I went +off, and how nice and soothed when I awoke. Seemed as if I couldn't be +cross for ever so long. George shall sleep while I'm away. I'll put some +of the nice black stuff in his stout—the stuff that gives dreams—he'll +have a long rest, and I can go and return and he'll never know nothing +about it."</p> + +<p>She made all her preparations with promptitude and cunning. First, she +opened the cask, and threw away the first glass she drew from it. She +then tasted the beverage, which turned out, as she expected it would, to +be of excellent quality. Hetty saw in imagination her husband draining +off one or two glasses. Presently she heard his step in the passage, and +ran quickly to the pantry where the stout was kept, concealing the +little bottle of laudanum in her pocket. She poured what she thought a +small but safe dose into the jug, and then filled it up with stout. Her +face was flushed, and her eyes very bright, when she appeared in the +kitchen with the jug and glass on a tray. Vincent was hot and dead +tired.</p> + +<p>"Here you are, little woman," he cried. "Why, if you ain't a sort o' +ministering angel, I don't know who is. Well, I'm quite ready for that +ere drink o' your'n."</p> + +<p>Hetty filled his glass to the brim. It frothed slightly, and looked, as +Vincent expressed it, prime. He raised it to his lips, drained it to the +dregs, and returned it to her. She filled it again.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," he said, smiling, and half-winking at her, and then +casting a longing glance at the stout, "ain't two glasses o'er much."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it," she answered. "You're to go to sleep, you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, p'raps I can spare an hour, and I am a bit drowsy."</p> + +<p>"You're to lie right down on the settle, and go off to sleep. I'll wake +you when it is time."</p> + +<p>He drank off another glass.</p> + +<p>"You won't run away to that aunt o' your'n while I'm drowsing?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied. "I would not do a shabby sort of trick like that."</p> + +<p>He took her hand in his, and a moment later had closed his eyes. Once or +twice he opened them to gaze fondly at her, but presently the great, +roughly hewn face settled down into repose. Hetty bent over him, laid +her cheek against his, and felt his forehead. He never stirred. She then +listened to his breathing, which was perfectly quiet and light.</p> + +<p>"He's gone off like a baby. That's wonderful stuff in aunt's bottle," +muttered Hetty. Finally, she threw a shawl of her own over him, drew +down the blind of the nearest window, and went on tiptoe out of the +kitchen.</p> + +<p>"He'll sleep for hours. I did," she said to herself.</p> + +<p>She put the little bottle back into its place in the dairy and moved +softly about the house. She was to meet the Squire at six. It was now +five o'clock. It would take her the best part of an hour to walk to the +Court. She went up to her room, put on her hat, and as she was leaving +the house, once again entered the kitchen. Vincent's face was pale +now—he was in a dead slumber. She heard his breathing, a little quick +and stertorous, but he was always a heavy breather, and she thought +nothing about it. She left the house smiling to herself at the clever +trick she had played on her husband. She was going to meet the Squire +now. Her heart beat with rapture.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + + +<p>Awdrey's cure was complete; he had passed right through the doom of his +house, and got out on the other side. He was the first man of his race +who had ever done that; the others had forgotten as he forgot, and had +pined, and dwindled, and slipped and slipped lower and lower down in the +scale of life until at last they had dropped over the brink into the +Unknown beyond. Awdrey's downward career had been stopped just in time. +His recovery had been quite as marvellous as his complaint. When he saw +his own face reflected in the pond on Salisbury Plain the cloud had +risen from his brain and he remembered what he had done. In that instant +his mental sky grew clear and light. He himself had murdered Horace +Frere; he had not done it intentionally, but he had done it; another man +was suffering in his stead; he himself was the murderer. He knew this +absolutely, completely, clearly, but at first he felt no mental pain of +any sort. A natural instinct made him desirous to keep his knowledge to +himself, but his conscience sat light within him, and did not speak at +all. He was now anxious to conceal his emotions from the doctor; his +mind had completely recovered its balance, and he found this possible. +Rumsey was as fully astonished at the cure as he had been at the +disease; he accompanied Awdrey back to London next day, and told +Margaret what a marvellous thing had occurred. Awdrey remembered all +about his son; he was full of grief for his loss; he was kind and loving +to his wife; he was no longer morose; no longer sullen and apathetic; in +short, his mental and physical parts were once again wide awake; but the +strange and almost inexplicable thing in his cure was that his moral +part still completely slumbered. This fact undoubtedly did much to +establish his mental and physical health, giving him time to recover his +lost ground.</p> + +<p>Rumsey did not profess to understand the case, but now that Awdrey had +quite come back from the borderland of insanity, he advised that +ordinary remedies should immediately be resorted to; he told Margaret +that in a few months her husband would be as fully and completely able +to attend to the duties of life as any other man of his day and station. +He did not believe, he said, that the strange attack through which +Awdrey had passed was ever likely to return to him! Margaret and her +husband shut up their house in town, and went abroad; they spent the +winter on the continent, and day by day Awdrey's condition, both +physical and mental, became more satisfactory. He slept well, he ate +well; soon he began to devour books and newspapers; to absorb himself in +the events of the day; to take a keen interest in politics; the member +for Grandcourt died, and Awdrey put up for the constituency. He was +obliged to return suddenly to England on this account, and to Margaret's +delight elected to come back at once to live at the Court. The whole +thing was arranged quickly. Awdrey was to be nominated as the new +candidate for Grandcourt; he was to have, too, his rightful position as +the Squire on his own property. Friends from all round the country +rejoiced in his recovery, as they had sincerely mourned over his strange +and inexplicable illness. He was welcomed with rejoicing, and came back +something as a king would to take possession of his kingdom.</p> + +<p>On the night therefore, that he returned to the Court, the higher part +of his being began to stir uneasily within him. He had quite agreed to +Margaret's desire to invite Mrs. Everett to meet them on their return, +but he read a certain expression in the widow's sad eyes, and a certain +look on Hetty's face, which stirred into active remorse the conscience +which had suffered more severely than anything else in the ordeal +through which he had lived. It was now awake within him, and its voice +was very poignant and keen; its notes were clear, sharp, and +unremitting.</p> + +<p>In his excellent physical and mental health his first impulse was to +defy the voice of conscience, and to live down the deed he had +committed. His first wish was to hide its knowledge from all the world, +and to go down to his own grave in the course of time with his secret +unconfessed. He did not believe it possible, at least at first, that the +moral voice within could not be easily silenced; but even on the first +night of his awakening he was conscious of a change in himself. The +sense of satisfaction, of complete enjoyment in life and all its +surroundings which had hitherto done so much for his recovery, was now +absent; he was conscious, intensely conscious, of his own hypocrisy, and +he began vehemently to hate and detest himself. All the same, his wish +was to hide the thing, to allow Mrs. Everett to go down to the grave +with a broken heart—to allow Everett to drink the cup of suffering and +dishonor to the dregs.</p> + +<p>Awdrey slept little during the first night of his return home. In the +morning he arose to the full fact that he must either carry a terrible +secret to his grave, or must confess all and bear the punishment which +was now awarded to another. His strong determination on that first +morning was to keep his secret. He went downstairs, putting a full guard +upon himself. Margaret saw nothing amiss with him—his face was full of +alertness, keenness, interest in life, interest in his fellow-creatures. +Only Mrs. Everett, at breakfast that morning, without understanding it, +read the defiance, the veiled meaning in his eyes. He went away +presently, and spent the day in going about his property, seeing his +constituents, and arranging the different steps he must take to insure +his return at the head of the poll. As he went from house to house, +however, the new knowledge which he now possessed of himself kept +following him. On all hands he was being welcomed and rejoiced over, but +he knew in his heart of hearts he was a hypocrite of the basest and +lowest type. He was allowing another man to suffer in his stead. That +was the cruellest stab of all; it was that which harassed him, for it +was contrary to all the traditions of his house and name. His mental +health was now so perfect that he was able to see with a wonderfully +clear perception what would happen to himself if he refused to listen to +the voice of conscience. In the past, while the cloud was over his +brain, he had undergone terrible mental and physical deterioration; he +would now undergo moral deterioration. The time might come when +conscience would cease to trouble him, but then, as far as his soul was +concerned, he would be lost. He knew all this, and hated himself +profoundly, nevertheless his determination grew stronger and stronger to +guard his secret at all hazards. The possibility that the truth might +out, notwithstanding all his efforts to conceal it, had not occurred to +him, to add to his anxieties.</p> + +<p>The day, a lovely one in late spring, had been one long triumph. Awdrey +was assured that his election was a foregone conclusion. He tried to +think of himself in the House; he was aware of the keenness and +freshness of his own intellect; he thought it quite possible that his +name might be a power in the future government of England. He fully +intended to take his rightful position. For generations men of his name +and family had sat in the House and done good work there—men of his +name and family had also fought for their country both on land and sea. +Yes, it was his bounden duty now to live for the honor of the old name; +to throw up the sponge now, to admit all now would be madness—the worst +folly of which a man could be capable. It was his duty to think of +Margaret, to think of his property, his tenants, all that was involved +in his own life.</p> + +<p>Everett and Mrs. Everett would assuredly suffer; but what of that if +many others were saved from suffering? Yes, it was his bounden duty to +live now for the honor of the old name; he had also his descendants to +think of. True his child was gone, but other children would in all +probability yet be his—he must think of them. Yes, the future lay +before him; he must carry the burden of that awful secret, and he would +carry it so closely pressed to his innermost heart that no one should +guess by look, word, manner, by a gloomy eye, by an unsmiling lip, that +its weight was on him. He would be gay, he would be brave, he would +banish grief, he would try to banish remorse, he would live his life as +best he could.</p> + +<p>"I must pay the cost some day," he muttered to himself. "I put off the +payment, and that is best. There is a tribunal, at the bar of which I +shall doubtless receive full sentence; but that is all in the future; I +accept the penalty; I will reap the wages by and by. Yes, I'll keep my +secret to the death. The girl, Hetty, knows about it, but she must be +silenced."</p> + +<p>Awdrey rode quickly home in the sweet freshness of the lovely spring +evening. He remembered that he was to meet Hetty; the meeting would be +difficult and also of some importance, but he would be guarded, he would +manage to silence her, to quiet her evident fears. Hetty was a +guileless, affectionate, and pretty girl; she had been wonderfully true +to him; he must be good to her, for she had suffered for his sake. It +would be best to make an excuse to send Hetty and her husband to Canada; +Vincent, who was a poor man, would doubtless be glad to emigrate with +good prospects. Yes, they must go; it would be unpleasant meeting Hetty, +knowing what she knew. Mrs. Everett must also not again be his guest; +her presence irritated him, he disliked meeting her eyes; and yet he +knew that while she was in the house he dared not shirk their glance; +her presence and the knowledge that her pain was killing her made the +sharp voice within him speak more loudly than he could quite bear. Yes, +Mrs. Everett must go, and Hetty must go, and—what was this memory which +made him draw up his horse abruptly?—his lost walking-stick. Ridiculous +that such a trifle should worry a man all through his life; how it had +haunted him all during the six years when the cloud was over his brain. +Even now the memory of it came up again to torment him. He had murdered +his man with that stick; the whole thing was the purest accident, but +that did not greatly matter, for the man had died; the ferrule of +Awdrey's stick had entered his brain, causing instant death.</p> + +<p>"Afterward I hid it away in the underwood," thought Awdrey. "I wonder +where it is now—doubtless still there—but some day that part of the +underwood may be cut down and the stick may be found. It might tell +tales, I must find it."</p> + +<p>He jogged his horse, and rode slowly home under the arching trees of the +long avenue. He had a good view of the long, low, rambling house +there—how sweet it looked, how homelike! But for this secret what a +happy man he would be to-night. Ah, who was that standing at his office +door? He started and hastened his horse's steps. Hetty Vincent was +already there waiting for him.</p> + +<p>"I must speak to her at once," he said to himself. "I hope no one will +see her; it would never do for the people to think she was coming after +me. This will be a disagreeable interview and must be got over quickly."</p> + +<p>The Squire rode round the part of the avenue which led directly past the +front of the long house. His wife, sisters, and Mrs. Everett were all +seated near the large window. They were drinking tea and talking. +Margaret's elbow rested upon the window-ledge. She wore a silk dress of +the softest gray. Her lovely face showed in full profile. Suddenly she +heard the sound of his horse's steps and turned round to greet him.</p> + +<p>"There you are; we are waiting for you," she called out.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Robert, and have a cup," called out Dorothy, putting her head +out of the window.</p> + +<p>Dorothy was his favorite sister. Under other circumstances he would have +sprung from his horse, given it to the charge of a groom who stood near, +and joined his wife and friends. Now he called back in a clear, incisive +voice:</p> + +<p>"I have to attend to some business at my office, and will be in +presently. Here, Davies, take my horse."</p> + +<p>The man hurried forward and Awdrey strode round to the side entrance +where his office was.</p> + +<p>Hetty, looking flushed and pretty in her rustic hat with a bunch of +cowslips pinned into the front of her jacket, stood waiting for him.</p> + +<p>Awdrey took a key out of his pocket. The office had no direct +communication with the house, but was always entered from outside. He +unlocked the door and motioned Hetty to precede him into the room. She +did so, he entered after her, locked the door, and put the key into his +pocket. The next thing he did was to look at the windows. There were +three large windows to the office, and they all faced on to a grass lawn +outside. Any one passing by could have distinctly seen the occupants of +the room.</p> + +<p>Awdrey went and deliberately pulled down one of the blinds.</p> + +<p>"Come over here," he said to Hetty. "Take this chair." He took another +himself at a little distance from her. So seated his face was in shadow, +but the full light of the westering sun fell across hers. It lit up her +bright eyes until they shone like jewels, and gave a bronze hue to her +dark hair. The flush on her cheeks was of the damask of the rose; her +brow and the rest of her face was milky white.</p> + +<p>Long ago, as a young man, Awdrey had admired Hetty's real beauty, but no +thought other than that of simple admiration had entered his brain. His +was not the nature to be really attracted by a woman below himself in +station. Now, however, his pulse beat a little faster than its wont as +he glanced at her. He remembered with a swift, poignant sense of regret +all that she had done for him and suffered for him. He could see traces +of the trouble through which she had lived in her face; that trouble and +her present anxiety gave a piquancy to her beauty which differentiated +it widely from the ordinary beauty of the rustic village girl. As he +watched her he forgot for a moment what she had come to speak to him +about. Then he remembered it, and he drew himself together, but a pang +shot through his heart. He thought of the small deceit which he was +guilty of in drawing down the blind and placing himself and his auditor +where no one from the outside could observe them.</p> + +<p>"You want to speak to me," he said abruptly. "What about?"</p> + +<p>"You must know, Mr. Robert," began Hetty. Her coral lips trembled, she +looked like some one who would break down into hysterical weeping at any +moment.</p> + +<p>"This must be put a stop to," Awdrey bestowed another swift glance upon +her, and took her measure. "I cannot pretend ignorance," he said, "but +please try not to lose your self-control."</p> + +<p>Hetty gulped down a great sob; the tears in her eyes were not allowed to +fall.</p> + +<p>"Then you remember?" she said.</p> + +<p>Awdrey nodded.</p> + +<p>"You remember everything, Mr. Robert?"</p> + +<p>Awdrey nodded again.</p> + +<p>"But you forgot at the time, sir."</p> + +<p>Awdrey stood up; he put his hands behind him.</p> + +<p>"I forgot absolutely," he said. "I suffered from the doom of my house. A +cloud fell on me, and I knew no more than a babe unborn."</p> + +<p>"I guessed that, sir; I was certain of it. That was why I took your +part."</p> + +<p>Awdrey waited until she was silent. Then he continued in a monotonous, +strained tone.</p> + +<p>"I have found my memory again. Four or five months ago at the beginning +of this winter I came here. I visited the spot where the murder was +committed, and owing to a chain of remarkable circumstances, which I +need not repeat to you, the memory of my deed came back to me."</p> + +<p>"You killed him, sir, because he provoked you," said Hetty.</p> + +<p>"You were present and you saw everything?"</p> + +<p>"I was, sir, I saw everything. You killed him because he provoked you."</p> + +<p>"I killed him through an accident. I did so in self-defence."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>Hetty also stood up. She sighed deeply.</p> + +<p>"The knowledge of it has nearly killed me," she said at last, sinking +back again into her seat.</p> + +<p>"I am not surprised at that," said the Squire. "You did what you did out +of consideration for me, and I suppose I ought to be deeply indebted to +you"—he paused and looked fixedly at her—"all the same," he continued, +"I fully believe it would have been much better had you not sworn +falsely in court—had you not given wrong evidence."</p> + +<p>"Did you think I'd let you swing for it?" said the girl with flashing +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I should probably not have swung for it, as you express it. You could +have proved that the assault was unprovoked, and that I did what I did +in self-defence. I wish you had not concealed the truth at the time."</p> + +<p>"Sir, is that all the thanks you give me? You do not know what this has +been to me. Aunt Fanny and I——"</p> + +<p>"Does your aunt, Mrs. Armitage, know the truth?"</p> + +<p>"I had to tell Aunt Fanny or I'd have gone mad, sir. She and me, we +swore on the Bible that we would never tell mortal man or woman what I +saw done. You're as safe with Aunt Fanny and me, Mr. Robert, as if no +one in all the world knew. You were one of the Family—that was enough +for aunt—and you was to me——" she paused, colored, and looked down. +Then she continued abruptly, "Mr. Everett was nothing, nothing to me, +nothing to aunt. He was a stranger, not one of our own people. Aunt +Fanny kept me up to it, and I didn't make one single mistake in court, +and not a soul in all the world guesses."</p> + +<p>"One person suspects," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"You mean Mrs. Everett, sir. Yes, Mrs. Everett is a dreadful woman. She +frightens me. She seems to read right through my heart."</p> + +<p>The Squire did not reply. He began to pace up and down in the part of +the room which was lying in shadow. Hetty watched him with eyes which +seemed to devour him—his upright figure was slightly bent, his bowed +head had lost its look of youth and alertness. He found that conscience +could be troublesome to the point of agony. If it spoke like this often +and for long could he endure the frightful strain? There was a way in +which he could silence it. There was a path of thorns which his feet +might tread. Could they take it? That path would lead to the complete +martyrdom, the absolute ruin of his own life. But life, after all, was +short, and there was a beyond. Margaret—what would Margaret feel? How +would she bear the awful shock? He knew then, a flash of thought +convinced him, that he must never tell Margaret the truth if he wished +to keep this ghastly thing to himself, for Margaret would rather go +through the martyrdom which it all meant, and set his conscience and her +own free.</p> + +<p>Awdrey looked again at Hetty. She was ghastly pale, her eyes were almost +wild with fear—she seemed to be reading some of his thoughts. All of a +sudden her outward calm gave way, she left her seat and fell on her +knees—her voice rose in sobs.</p> + +<p>"I know what you're thinking of," she cried. "You think you'll tell—you +think you'll save him and save her, but for God's sake——"</p> + +<p>"Do not say that," interrupted Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"Then for the devil's sake—for any sake, for my sake, for your own, for +Mrs. Awdrey's, don't do it, Squire, don't do it."</p> + +<p>"Don't do——" began Awdrey. "What did you think I was going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you frightened me so awfully when you looked like that—I thought +you were making up your mind. Squire, don't tell what you know—don't +tell what I've done. I'll be locked up and you'll be locked up, and Mrs. +Awdrey's heart will be broke, and we'll all be disgraced forever, and, +Squire, maybe they'll hang you. Think of one of the family coming to +that. Oh, sir, you've no right to tell now. You'll have to think of me +now, if you'll think of nothing else. I've kept your secret for close on +six years, and if they knew what I had done they would lock me up, and I +couldn't stand it. You daren't confess now—for my sake, sir."</p> + +<p>"Get up, Mrs. Vincent," said Awdrey. "I can't talk over matters with you +while you kneel to me. You've done a good deal for me, and I'm bound to +consider your position. Now, I'm going to tell you something which +perhaps you will scarcely understand. I remembered the act of which I +was guilty several months ago, but until last night my conscience did +not trouble me about it. It is now speaking to me, and speaking loudly. +It is impossible for me to tell you at present whether I shall have +strength of mind to follow it and do the right—yes, the right, the only +right thing to do, or to reject its counsels and lead a life of deceit +and hypocrisy. Both paths will be difficult to follow, but one leads to +life, the highest life, and the other to death, the lowest death. It is +quite possible that I may choose the lowest course. If I do, you, Hetty +Vincent, will know the truth about me. To the outside world I shall +appear to be a good man, for whatever my sufferings, I shall endeavor to +help my people, and to set them an outward example of morality. I shall +apparently live for them, and will think no trouble too great to promote +their best interests. Only you, Hetty, will know me for what I am—a +liar—a man who has committed murder, and then concealed his crime—a +hypocrite. You will know that much as I am thought of in the county here +among my own people, I am allowing an innocent man to wear out his life +in penal servitude because I have not the courage to confess my deed. +You will also know that I am breaking the heart of this man's mother."</p> + +<p>"The knowledge won't matter to me, Squire. I'd rather you were happy and +all the rest of the world miserable. I'd far, far rather."</p> + +<p>"Do you think that I shall be happy?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," cried Hetty. "Perhaps you'll forget after a bit, and +that voice inside you won't speak so loud. It used to trouble me once, +but now—now it has grown dull."</p> + +<p>"It will never cease to speak. I know myself too well to have any doubt +on that point, but all the same I may take the downward course. I can't +say. Conscience has only just begun to trouble me. I may obey its +dictates, or I may deliberately lead the life of a hypocrite. If I +choose the latter, can you stand the test?"</p> + +<p>"I have stood it for five years."</p> + +<p>"But I have not been at home—the Court has been shut up—an absentee +landlord is not always to the front in his people's thoughts. In the +future, things will be different. Look at me for a moment, Hetty +Vincent. You are not well—your cheeks are hollow and your eyes are too +bright. Mrs. Everett is persuaded that you carry a secret. If she thinks +so, others may think the same. Your aunt also knows."</p> + +<p>"Aunt is different from me," said Hetty. "She didn't see it done. It +don't wear her like it wears me. But I think, sir, now that you have +come back, and I am quite certain that I know your true mind, and when I +know, too, that you are carrying the burden as well as me, and that we +two,"—she paused, her voice broke—"I think, sir," she added, "that it +won't wear me so much in the future."</p> + +<p>"You must on no account be tried. If I resolve to keep the secret of my +guilt from all the rest of the world, you must leave the country."</p> + +<p>"Me leave the country!" cried Hetty—her face became ghastly pale, her +eyes brimmed again with tears. "Then you would indeed kill me," she +said, with a moan—"to leave you—Mr. Robert, you must guess why I have +done all this."</p> + +<p>"Hush," he said in a harsh tone. He approached the window, where the +blind was drawn up. He saw, or fancied he saw—Mrs. Everett's dark +figure passing by in the distance. He retreated quickly into the shaded +part of the room.</p> + +<p>"I cannot afford to misunderstand your words," he said, after a pause, +"but listen to me, Hetty, you must never allude to that subject again. +If I keep this thing to myself I can only do it on condition that you +and your husband leave the country. I have not fully made up my mind +yet. Nothing can be settled to-night. You had better not stay any +longer."</p> + +<p>Hetty rose totteringly and approached the door. Awdrey took the key from +his pocket, and unlocked it for her. As he did so he asked her a +question.</p> + +<p>"You saw everything? You saw the deed done?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I saw the stick in your hand, and——"</p> + +<p>"That is the point I am coming to," said the Squire. "What did I do with +the stick?"</p> + +<p>"You pushed it into the midst of some underwood, sir, about twenty feet +from the spot where——" She could not finish her sentence.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Awdrey slowly. "I remember that. Has the stick ever been +found?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Robert, that couldn't be."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that? The underwood may be cut down at any moment. The +stick has my name on it. It may come to light."</p> + +<p>"It can't, sir—'tain't there. Aunt Fanny and me, we thought o' that, +and we went the night after the murder, and took the stick out from +where you had put it, and weighted it with stones, and threw it into the +deep pond close by. You need not fear that, Mr. Robert."</p> + +<p>Awdrey did not answer. His eyes narrowed to a line of satisfaction, and +a cunning expression came into them, altogether foreign to his face.</p> + +<p>He softly opened the door, and Hetty passed out, then he locked it +again.</p> + +<p>He was alone with his conscience. He fell on his knees and covered his +face.</p> + +<p>"God, Thy judgments are terrible," he groaned.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + + +<p>There was a short cut at the back of the office which would take Hetty +on to the high road without passing round by the front of the house. It +so happened that no one saw her when she arrived, and no one also saw +her go. When she reached the road she stopped still to give vent to a +deep sigh of satisfaction. Things were not right, but they were better +than she had dared hope. Of course the Squire remembered—he could not +have looked at her as he had done the night before, if memory had not +fully come back to him. He remembered—he told her so, but she was also +nearly certain that he would not confess to the world at large the crime +of which he was guilty.</p> + +<p>"I'll keep him to that," thought Hetty. "He may think nought o' +himself—it's in his race not to think o' theirselves—but he'd think o' +his wife and p'raps he'd think a bit o' me. There's Mrs. Everett and +there's her son, and they both suffer and suffer bad, but then agen +there's Mrs. Awdrey and there's me—there's two on us agen two," +continued Hetty, rapidly thinking out the case, and ranging the pros and +cons in due order in her mind, "yes, there's two agen two," she +repeated.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Everett and her son are suffering now—then it 'ud be Mrs. Awdrey +and me—and surely Mrs. Awdrey is nearer to Squire, and maybe I'm a bit +nearer to Squire than the other two. Yes, it is but fair that he should +keep the secret to himself."</p> + +<p>The sun had long set and twilight had fallen over the land. Hetty had to +walk uphill to reach the Gables, the name of her husband's farm. It +would therefore take her longer to return home than it did to come to +the Court. She was anxious to get back as quickly as possible. It would +never do for Vincent to find out that she had deceived him. If he slept +soundly, as she fully expected he would, there was not the least fear of +her secret being discovered. Susan never entered the house after four in +the afternoon. The men who worked in the fields would return to the yard +to put away their tools, but they would have nothing to do in connection +with the house itself—thus Vincent would be left undisturbed during the +hours of refreshment and restoration which Hetty hoped he was enjoying.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did well," she murmured to herself, quickening her steps as the +thought came to her. "I've seen Squire and there's nought to be dreaded +for a bit, anyway. The more he thinks o' it the less he'll like to see +himself in the prisoner's dock and me and Mrs. Awdrey and aunt as +witnesses agen 'im—and knowing, too, that me, and, perhaps, aunt, too, +will be put in the dock in our turn. He's bound to think o' us, for we +thought o' him—he won't like to get us into a hole, and he's safe not +to do it. Yes, things look straight enough for a bit, anyway. I'm glad I +saw Squire—he looked splendid, too, stronger than I ever see 'im. He +don't care one bit for me, and I—his eyes flashed so angry when I +nearly let out—yes, I quite let out. He said, 'I can't affect to +misunderstand you.' Ah, he knows at last, he knows the truth. I'm glad +he knows the truth. There's a fire inside o' me, and it burns and +burns—it's love for him—all my life it has consumed within me. There's +nought I wouldn't do for 'im. Shame, I'd take it light for his sake—it +rested me fine to see 'im, and to take a real good look at 'im. Queer, +ain't it, that I should care so much for a man what never give me a +thought, but what is, is, and can't be helped. Poor Vincent, he worships +the ground I walk on, and yet he's nought to me; he never can be +anything while Squire lives. I wonder if Squire thought me pretty +to-night. I wonder if he noticed the wild flowers in the bosom of my +jacket—I wonder. I'm glad I've a secret with 'im; he must see me +sometimes, and he must talk on it; and then he'll notice that I'm +pretty—prettier than most girls. Oh, my heart, how it beats!"</p> + +<p>Hetty was struggling up the hill, panting as she went. The pain in her +side got worse, owing to the exercise. She had presently to stop to take +breath.</p> + +<p>"He said sum'mat 'bout going away," she murmured to herself; "he wants +me and Vincent to leave the country, but we won't go. No, I draw the +line there. He thinks I'll split on 'im. I! Little he knows me. I must +manage to show him that I can hold my secret, so as no one in all the +world suspects. Oh, good God, I wish the pain in my side did not keep on +so constant. I'll take some of the black stuff when I get in; it always +soothes me; the pain will go soon after I take it, and I'll sleep like a +top to-night. Poor George, what a sleep he's havin'; he'll be lively, +and in the best o' humors when he wakes; you always are when you've +taken that black stuff. Now, I must hurry on, it's getting late."</p> + +<p>She made another effort, and reached the summit of the hill.</p> + +<p>From there the ground sloped away until it reached the Gables Farm. +Hetty now put wing to her feet and began to run, but the pain in her +side stopped her again, and she was obliged to proceed more slowly. She +reached home just when it was dark; the place was absolutely silent. +Susan, who did not sleep in the house, had gone away; the men had +evidently come into the yard, put their tools by, and gone off to their +respective homes.</p> + +<p>"That's good," thought Hetty. "Vincent's still asleep—I'm safe. Now, if +I hurry up he'll find the place lighted and cheerful, and everything +nice, and his supper laid out for him, and he'll never guess, never, +never."</p> + +<p>She unlatched the gate which led into the great yard; the fowls began to +rustle on their perches, and the house dog, Rover, came softly up to +her, and rubbed his head against her knee; she patted him abstractedly +and hurried on to the house.</p> + +<p>She had a latchkey with which she opened the side door; she let herself +in, and shut it behind her. The place was still and dark.</p> + +<p>Hetty knew her way well; she stole softly along the dark passage, and +opened the kitchen door. The fire smouldered low in the range, and in +the surrounding darkness seemed to greet her, something like an angry +eye. When she entered the room, she did not know why she shivered.</p> + +<p>"He's sound asleep," she murmured to herself; "that lovely black stuff +ha' done 'im a power o' good. I'll have a dose soon myself, for my heart +beats so 'ard, and the pain in my side is that bad."</p> + +<p>She approached the fireplace, opened the door of the range, and stirred +the smouldering coals into the semblance of a blaze. By this light, +which was very fitful and quickly expired, she directed her steps to a +shelf, where a candlestick and candle and matches were placed. She +struck a match, and lit the candle. With the candle in her hand she +then, softly and on tiptoe, approached the settle where her husband lay. +She did not want to wake him yet, and held the candle in such a way that +the light should not fall on his face. As far as she could tell he had +not stirred since she left him, two or three hours ago; he was lying on +his back, his arms were stretched out at full length at each side, his +lips were slightly open—as well as she could see, his face was pale, +though he was as a rule a florid man.</p> + +<p>"He's sleepin' beautiful," thought Hetty, "everything has been splendid. +I'll run upstairs now and take off my hat and jacket and make myself +look as trim as I can, for he do like, poor George do, to see me look +pretty. Then I'll come down and lay the supper on the table, and then +when everything is ready I think I'll wake him. He fell asleep soon +after four, and it's a good bit after eight now. I slept much longer +than four hours after my first dose of the nice black stuff, but I think +I'll wake 'im when supper is ready. It'll be real fun when he sees the +hour and knows how long he 'as slept."</p> + +<p>Holding her candle in her hand Hetty left the kitchen and proceeded to +light the different lamps which stood about in the passages. She then +went to her own nice bedroom and lit a pair of candles which were placed +on each side of her dressing glass. Having done this, she drew down the +blinds and shut the windows. She then carefully removed her hat, took +the cowslips out of the bosom of her dress, kissed them, and put them in +water.</p> + +<p>"Squire looked at 'em," she said to herself. "He didn't touch 'em, no, +but he looked at 'em, and then he looked at me and I saw in his eyes +that he knew I were pretty. I was glad then. Seemed as if it were worth +living just for Squire to know that I were really pretty."</p> + +<p>She placed the flowers in a jug of water, folded up her jacket and +gloves, and put them away with her hat in the cupboard in the wall. She +then, with the candle still in her hand, went downstairs.</p> + +<p>The kitchen felt chilly, and Hetty shivered as she entered it. All of a +sudden a great feeling of weakness seemed to tremble through her slight +frame; her heart fluttered too, seeming to bob up and down within her. +Then it quieted down again, but the constant wearing pain grew worse and +ached so perceptibly that she had to catch her breath now and then.</p> + +<p>"I'll be all right when I can have a good dose," she thought. She went +to the window, farthest from the one near which Vincent was lying, and +drew down the blind; then going to the coal cellar she brought out some +firewood and large knobs of coal. She fed the range and the fire soon +crackled and roared. Hetty stood close to it, and warmed her hands by +the blaze.</p> + +<p>"What a noise it do make," she said to herself. "It ought to wake him; +it would if he worn't sleepin' so sound from that lovely black stuff. +Well, he can keep on for a bit longer, for he were dead tired, poor man. +I'll get his supper afore I wake 'im."</p> + +<p>She went out to the scullery, turned on the tap and filled the kettle +with fresh cold water. She set it on the stove to boil, and then taking +a coarse white cloth from a drawer laid it on the centre table. She took +out plates, knives and forks and glasses for two, put them in their +places, laid a dish of cold bacon opposite Vincent's plate, and some +bread and a large square of cheese opposite her own. Having done this, +she looked at the sleeping man. He was certainly quiet; she could not +even hear him breathing. As a rule he was a stertorous breather, and +when first they were married Hetty could scarcely sleep with his +snoring.</p> + +<p>"He don't snore to-night—he's resting wonderful," she said to herself. +"Now, I just know what I'll do—he mayn't care when he wakes for nothing +but cold stuff—I'll boil some fresh eggs for his supper, and I'll make +some cocoa. I'll have a nice jug of milk cocoa and a plate of eggs all +ready by the time he wakes."</p> + +<p>She fetched a saucepan, some milk, and half-a-dozen new-laid eggs. Soon +the cocoa was made and poured into a big jug, the eggs just done to a +turn were put upon a plate; they were brown eggs, something the color of +a deep nut.</p> + +<p>"I could fancy one myself," thought Hetty; "I ain't eat nothing to speak +of for hours. Oh, I do wish the pain in my side 'ud get better."</p> + +<p>She pressed her hand to the region of her heart and looked around her. +The farm kitchen was now the picture of comfort—the fire blazed +merrily. Hetty had lit a large paraffin lamp and placed it in the centre +of the table; it lit up the cosy room, even the beams and rafters +glistened in the strong light; shadows from the fire leaped up and +reflected themselves on the sleeper's face.</p> + +<p>"He's very white and very still," thought Hetty; "maybe he has slept +long enough. I think I'll wake him now, for supper's ready."</p> + +<p>Then came a scratching at the window outside, and the fretful howl of a +dog.</p> + +<p>"There's Rover; what's the matter with him? I wish he wouldn't howl like +that," thought the wife. "I hate dogs that howl. Maybe I had best let +'im in."</p> + +<p>She ran to the kitchen door, flew down the passage, and opened the door +which led into the yard.</p> + +<p>"Rover, stop that noise and come along in," she called.</p> + +<p>The great dog shuffled up to her and thrust his head into her hand. She +brought him into the kitchen. The moment she did so he sat down on his +haunches, threw up his head, 'and began to howl again.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Rover, stop that noise," she said. She struck him a blow on +his forehead, he cowered, looked at her sorrowfully, and then tried to +lick her hand. She brought him to the fire; he came unwillingly, +slinking down at last with his back to the still figure on the settle.</p> + +<p>"Queer, what's the matter with him?" thought Hetty. "They say, folks do, +that dogs see things we don't; some folks say they see sperrits. Aunt +would be in a fuss if Rover went on like that. Dear, I am turning +nervous; fancy minding the howl of a dog. It's true my nerves ain't what +they wor. Well, cocoa will spoil, and eggs will spoil, and time has come +for me to wake Vincent. What a laugh we'll have together when I tell 'im +of his long sleep."</p> + +<p>She approached the sofa now, but her steps dragged themselves as she +went up to it and bent down over her husband and called his name.</p> + +<p>"George!" she said. "George!" He never moved. She went a little nearer, +calling him louder.</p> + +<p>"George, George, wake up!" she said. "Wake, George, you've slept for +over four hours. Supper is ready, George—cocoa and eggs, your favorite +supper. Wake! George, wake!"</p> + +<p>The dog howled by the fire.</p> + +<p>"Rover, I'll turn you out if you make that noise again," said Hetty. She +went on her knees now by the sleeping man, and shook him. His head moved +when she did so and she thought he was about to open his eyes, but when +she took her hands away there was not a motion, not a sound.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she said to herself. For the first time a very perceptible +fear crept into her heart. She bent low and listened for the breathing.</p> + +<p>"He do breathe gentle," she murmured. "I can scarcely hear; do I hear at +all. I think I'll fetch a candle."</p> + +<p>In shaking the farmer she had managed to dislodge one of his hands, +which had fallen forward over the edge of the settle. She took it up, +then she let it fall with a slight scream; it was cold, icy cold!</p> + +<p>"Good God! Oh, God in heaven! what is it?" muttered the wife.</p> + +<p>The real significance of the thing had not yet flashed upon her +bewildered brain, but a sick fear was creeping over her. She went for +the candle, and bringing it back, held it close to the ashen face. It +was not only white, it was gray. The lips were faintly open, but not a +breath proceeded from them. The figure was already stiff in the icy +embrace of death.</p> + +<p>Hetty had seen death before; its aspect was too unmistakable for her not +to recognize it again. She fell suddenly forward, putting out the candle +as she did so. Her face, almost as white as the face of the dead man, +was pressed against his breast. For a brief few moments she was +unconscious.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + + +<p>The twilight darkened into night, but Awdrey still remained in the +office. After a time he groped for a box of matches, found one, struck a +match, took a pair of heavy silver candlesticks from a cupboard in the +wall, lit the candles which were in them, and then put them on his +office table. The room was a large one, and the light of the two candles +seemed only to make the darkness visible. Awdrey went to the table, +seated himself in the old chair which his father and his grandfather had +occupied before him, and began mechanically to arrange some papers, and +put a pile of other things in order. His nature was naturally full of +system; from his childhood up he had hated untidiness of all sorts. +While he was so engaged there came a knock at the office door. He rose, +went across the room, and opened it; a footman stood without.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Awdrey has sent me to ask you, sir, if you are ready for dinner."</p> + +<p>"Tell your mistress that I am not coming in to dinner," replied Awdrey. +"Ask her not to wait for me; I am particularly busy, and will have +something later."</p> + +<p>The man, with an immovable countenance, turned away. Awdrey once more +locked the office door. He now drew down the remaining blinds to the +other two windows, and began to pace up and down the long room. The +powers of good and evil were at this moment fighting for his soul—he +knew it; there was a tremendous conflict raging within him; it seemed to +tear his life in two; beads of perspiration stood on his brow. He knew +that either the God who made him or the devil would have won the victory +before he left that room.</p> + +<p>"I must make my decision once for all," he said to himself. "I am wide +awake; my whole intellectual nature is full of vigor; I have no excuse +whatever; the matter must be finally settled now. If I follow the +devil——" he shrank as the words formed themselves out of his brain; he +had naturally the utmost loathing for evil in any form, his nature was +meant to be upright; at school he had been one of the good boys; one of +the boys to whom low vices, dishonorable actions of any kind, were +simply impossible; he had had his weaknesses, for who has not?—but +these weaknesses were all more or less akin to the virtues.</p> + +<p>"If I choose the devil!" he repeated. Once again he faltered, trembling +violently; he had come to the part of the room where his father's old +desk was situated, he leaned up against it and gazed gloomily out into +the darkness which confronted him.</p> + +<p>"I know exactly what will happen if I follow the downward path," he said +again. "I must force myself to think wrong right, and right wrong. There +is no possible way for me to live this life of deception except by +deceiving myself. Must I decide to-night?"</p> + +<p>He staggered into the chair which his father used to occupy. His father +had been a man full of rectitude; the doom of the house had never +overtaken him; he had been a man with an almost too severe and lofty +code of honor. Awdrey remembered all about his father as he sat in that +chair. He sprang again to his feet.</p> + +<p>"There is no use in putting off the hour, for the hour has come," he +thought. "This is the state of the case. God and the devil are with me +to-night. I cannot lie in the presence of such awful, such potent +Forces. I must face the thing as it is. This is what has happened to me. +I, who would not willingly in my sober senses, hurt the smallest insect +that crawls on the earth, once, nearly six years ago, in a sudden moment +of passion killed a man. He attacked me, and I defended myself. I killed +him in self-defence. I no more meant to kill him than I mean to commit +murder to-night. Notwithstanding that fact I did it. Doubtless the +action came over me as a tremendous shock—immediately after the deed +the doom of my house fell on me, and I forgot all about what I myself +had done—for five years the memory of it never returned to me. Now I +know all about it. At the present moment another man is suffering in my +stead. Now if I follow the devil I shall be a brute and a scoundrel; the +other man will go on suffering, and his mother, whose heart is already +broken, may die before he recovers his liberty. Thus I shall practically +kill two lives. No one will know—no one will guess that I am leading a +shadowed life. I feel strong enough now to cover up the deed, to hide +away the remorse. I feel not the least doubt that I shall be outwardly +successful—the respect of my fellow-men will follow me—the love of +many will be given to me. By and by I may have children, and they will +love me as I loved my father, and Margaret will look up to me and +consult me as my mother looked up to and consulted my father, and my +honor will be considered above reproach. My people too will rejoice to +have me back with them. I can serve them if I am returned for this +constituency—in short, I can live a worthy and respected life. The +devil will have his way, but no one will guess that it is the devil's +way—I shall seem to live the life of an angel."</p> + +<p>Awdrey paused here in his own thought.</p> + +<p>"I feel as if the devil were laughing at me," he said, speaking half +aloud, and looking again into the darkness of the room—"he knows that +his hour will come—by and by my span of life will run out—eventually I +shall reach the long end of the long way. But until that time, day by +day, and hour by hour, I shall live the life of the hypocrite. Like a +whited sepulchre shall I be truly, for I shall carry hell here. By and +by I shall have to answer for all at a Higher Tribunal, and meanwhile I +shall carry hell here." He pressed his hand to his breast—his face was +ghastly. "Shall I follow the devil? Suppose I do not, what then?"</p> + +<p>There came another tap at the office door. Awdrey went across the room +and opened it. He started and uttered a smothered oath, for Margaret +stood on the threshold.</p> + +<p>"Go away now, Maggie, I can't see you; I am very much engaged," he said.</p> + +<p>Instead of obeying him she stepped across the threshold.</p> + +<p>"But you have no one with you," she said, looking into the darkness of +the room. "What are you doing, Robert, all by yourself? You look very +white and tired. We have finished dinner—my uncle has come over from +Cuthbertstown, and would like to see you—they all think it strange your +being away. What is the matter? Won't you return with me to the house?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot yet. I am particularly engaged."</p> + +<p>"But what about? Uncle James will be much disappointed if he does not +see you."</p> + +<p>"I'll come to him presently when I have thought out a problem."</p> + +<p>Margaret turned herself now in such a position that she could see her +husband's face. Something in his eyes seemed to speak straight to her +sympathies,—she put her arms round his neck.</p> + +<p>"Don't think any more now, my darling," she said. "Remember, though you +are so well, that you were once very ill. You have had no dinner, it is +not right for you to starve yourself and tire yourself. Come home with +me, Robert, come home!"</p> + +<p>"Not yet," he replied. "There is a knot which I must untie. I am +thinking a very grave problem out. I shall have no rest, no peace, until +I have made up my mind."</p> + +<p>"What can be the matter?" inquired Margaret. "Can I help you in any +way?"</p> + +<p>"No, my dearest," he answered very tenderly, "except by leaving me."</p> + +<p>"Is it anything to do with accounts?" she asked. She glanced at the +table with its pile of letters and papers. "If so, I could really render +you assistance; I used to keep accounts for Uncle James in the old days. +Two brains are better than one. Let me help you."</p> + +<p>"It is a mental problem, Maggie; it relates to morals."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear me, Robert, you are quite mysterious," she said with a ghost +of a smile; but then she met his eyes and the trouble in them startled +her.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could help you," she said. "Do let me."</p> + +<p>"You cannot," he replied harshly, for the look in her face added to his +tortures. "I shall come to a conclusion presently. When I come to it I +will return to the house."</p> + +<p>"Then we are not to wait up for you? It is getting quite late, long past +nine o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Do not wait up for me; leave the side door on the latch; I'll come in +presently when I have made up my mind on this important matter."</p> + +<p>She approached the door unwillingly; when she reached the threshold she +turned and faced him.</p> + +<p>"I cannot but see that you are worried about something," she said. "I +know, Robert, that you will have strength to do what is right. I cannot +imagine what your worry can be, but a moral problem with you must mean +the victory of right over wrong."</p> + +<p>"Maggie, you drive me mad," he called after her, but his voice was +hoarse, and it did not reach her ears. She closed the door, and he heard +her retreating footsteps on the gravel outside. He locked the door once +more.</p> + +<p>"There spoke God and my good angel," he murmured to himself. "Help me, +Powers of Evil, if I am to follow you; give me strength to walk the path +of the lowest."</p> + +<p>These words had scarcely risen in the form of an awful prayer when once +again he heard his wife's voice at the door. She was tapping and calling +to him at the same time. He opened the door.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to disturb you," she replied, "but you really must put off +all your reflections for the time being. Who do you think has just +arrived?"</p> + +<p>"Who?" he asked in a listless voice.</p> + +<p>"Your old friend and mine, Dr. Rumsey."</p> + +<p>"Rumsey!" replied Awdrey, "he would be a strong advocate on your side, +Maggie."</p> + +<p>"On my side?" she queried.</p> + +<p>"I cannot explain myself. I think I'll see Rumsey. It would be possible +for me to put a question to him which I could not put to you—ask him to +come to me."</p> + +<p>"He shall come at once," she answered, "I am heartily glad that he is +here."</p> + +<p>So he turned back and went to the house—she ran up the front +steps—Rumsey was in the hall.</p> + +<p>"My hearty congratulations," he said, coming up to her. "Your letter +contained such good news that I could not forbear hurrying down to +Grandcourt to take a peep at my strange patient; I always call Awdrey my +strange patient. Is it true that he is now quite well?"</p> + +<p>"Half an hour ago I should have said yes," replied Margaret; "but——"</p> + +<p>"Any recurrence of the old symptoms?" asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>"No, nothing of that sort. Perhaps the excitement has been too much for +him. Come into the library, will you?"</p> + +<p>She entered as she spoke, the doctor following her.</p> + +<p>"I wrote to you when I was abroad," continued Margaret, "telling you the +simple fact that my husband's state of health had gone from better to +better. He recovered tone of mind and body in the most rapid degree. +This morning I considered him a man of perfect physical health and of +keen brilliant intellect. You know during the five years when the cloud +was over his brain he refused to read, and lost grip of all passing +events. There is no subject now of general interest that he cannot talk +about—all matters of public concern arouse his keenest sympathies. +To-day he has been nominated to stand for his constituency, vacant by +the death of our late member. I have no doubt that he will represent us +in the House when Parliament next sits."</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps before this one rises," said the doctor. "Well, Mrs. Awdrey, +all this sounds most encouraging, but your 'but' leads to something not +so satisfactory, does it not?"</p> + +<p>"That is so; at the present moment I do not like his state. He was out +and about all day, but instead of returning home to dinner went straight +to his office, where he now is. As far as I can see, he is doing no +special work, but he will not come into the house. He tells me that he +is facing a problem which he also says is a moral one. He refuses to +leave the office until he has come to a satisfactory conclusion."</p> + +<p>"Come, he is overdoing it," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"I think so. I told him just now that you had arrived; he asked me to +bring you to him; will you come?"</p> + +<p>"With pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Can you do without a meal until you have seen him?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly; take me to him at once."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Awdrey left the house, and took Dr. Rumsey round by the side walk +which led to the office. The door was now slightly ajar; Margaret +entered the doctor following behind her.</p> + +<p>"Well, my friend," said Dr. Rumsey, in his cheerful voice, "it is good +to see you back in your old place again. Your wife's letter was so +satisfactory that I could not resist the temptation of coming to see you +for myself."</p> + +<p>"I am in perfect health," replied Awdrey. "Sit down, won't you, Rumsey? +Margaret, my dear, do you mind leaving us?"</p> + +<p>"No, Robert," she answered. "I trust to Dr. Rumsey to bring you back to +your senses."</p> + +<p>"She does not know what she is saying," muttered Awdrey. He followed his +wife to the door, and when she went out turned the key in the lock.</p> + +<p>"It is a strange thing," he said, the moment he found himself alone with +his guest, "that you, Rumsey, should be here at this moment. You were +with me during the hour of my keenest and most terrible physical and +mental degradation; you have now come to see me through the hour of my +moral degradation—or victory."</p> + +<p>"Your moral degradation or victory?" said the doctor; "what does this +mean?"</p> + +<p>"It simply means this, Dr. Rumsey; I am the unhappy possessor of a +secret."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—a secret. Were this secret known my wife's heart would be broken, +and this honorable house of which I am the last descendant would go to +complete shipwreck. I don't talk of myself in the matter."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to confide in me?" asked the doctor, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"I cannot; for the simple reason, that if I told you everything you +would be bound as a man and a gentleman to take steps to insure the +downfall which I dread."</p> + +<p>"Are you certain that you are not suffering from delusion?"</p> + +<p>"No, doctor, I wish I were."</p> + +<p>"You certainly look sane enough," said the doctor, examining his patient +with one of his penetrating glances. "You must allow me to congratulate +you. If I had not seen you with my own eyes I could never have believed +in such a reformation. You are bronzed; your frame has widened; you have +not a scrap of superfluous flesh about you. Let me feel your arm; my +dear sir, your muscle is to be envied."</p> + +<p>"I was famed for my athletic power long ago," said Awdrey, with a grim +smile. "But now, doctor, to facts. You have come here; it is possible +for me to take you into my confidence to a certain extent. Will you +allow me to state my case?"</p> + +<p>"As you intend only to state it partially it will be difficult for me to +advise you," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Still, will you listen?"</p> + +<p>"I'll listen."</p> + +<p>"Well, the fact is this," said Awdrey, rising, "either God or the devil +take possession of me to-night."</p> + +<p>"Come, come," said Rumsey, "you are exaggerating the state of the case."</p> + +<p>"I am not. I am going through the most desperate fight that ever +assailed a man. I may get out on the side of good, but at the present +moment I must state frankly that all my inclinations tend to getting out +of this struggle on the side which will put me into the Devil's hands."</p> + +<p>"Come," said the doctor again, "if that is so there can be no doubt with +regard to your position. You must close with right even though it is a +struggle. You confess to possessing a secret; that secret is the cause +of your misery; there is a right and a wrong to it?"</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly; a very great right and a very grave wrong."</p> + +<p>"Then, Awdrey, do not hesitate; be man enough to do the right."</p> + +<p>Awdrey turned white.</p> + +<p>"You are the second person who has come here to-night and advised me on +the side of God," he said.</p> + +<p>"Out with your trouble, man, and relieve your mind."</p> + +<p>"When I relieve my mind," said Awdrey, "my wife's heart will break, and +our house will be ruined."</p> + +<p>"What about you?"</p> + +<p>"I shall go under."</p> + +<p>"I doubt very much if your doing right would ever break a heart like +your wife's," said Rumsey, "but doing wrong would undoubtedly crush her +spirit."</p> + +<p>"There you are again—will no one take the Devil's part? Dr. Rumsey, I +firmly believe that it is much owing to your influence that I am now in +my sane mind. I believe that it is owing to you that the doom of my +house has been lifted from my brain. When I think of the path which you +now advocate, I could curse the day when you brought me back to health +and sanity. A very little influence on the other side, a mere letting me +alone, and I should now either be a madman or in my grave; then I would +have carried my secret to the bitter end. As it is——"</p> + +<p>There was a noise heard outside—the sound made by a faltering footstep. +The brush of a woman's dress was distinctly audible against the door; +this was followed by a timid knock.</p> + +<p>"Who is disturbing us now?" said Awdrey, with irritation.</p> + +<p>"I'll open the door and see," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>He crossed the room as he spoke and opened the door. An untidily dressed +girl with a ghastly white face stood without. When the door was opened +she peered anxiously into the room.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Awdrey in?—yes, I see him. I must speak to him at once."</p> + +<p>She staggered across the threshold.</p> + +<p>"I must see you alone, Squire," she said—"quite alone and at once."</p> + +<p>"This has to do with the matter under consideration," said the Squire. +"Come in, Hetty; sit down. Rumsey, you had best leave us."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + + +<p>A real faint, or suspension of the heart's action, is never a long +affair. When Hetty fell in an unconscious state against the body of her +dead husband she quickly recovered herself. Her intellect was keen +enough, and she knew exactly what had happened. The nice black stuff +which gave such pleasant dreams had killed Vincent. She had therefore +killed him. Yes, he was stone dead—she had seen death once or twice +before, and could not possibly mistake it. She had seen her mother die +long ago, and had stood by the deathbed of more than one neighbor. The +cold, the stiffness, the gray-white appearance, all told her beyond the +possibility of doubt that life was not only extinct, but had been +extinct for at least a couple of hours. Her husband was dead. When she +had given him that fatal dose he had been in the full vigor of youth and +health—now he was dead. She had never loved him in life; although he +had been an affectionate husband to her, but at this moment she shed a +few tears for him. Not many, for they were completely swallowed up in +the fear and terror which grew greater and greater each moment within +her. He was dead, and she had killed him. Long ago she had concealed the +knowledge of a murder because she loved the man who had committed it. +Now she had committed murder herself—not intentionally, no, no. No more +had she intended to kill Vincent than Awdrey when he was out that night +had intended to take the life of Horace Frere. But Frere was dead and +now Vincent was dead, and Hetty would be tried for the crime. No, surely +they could not try her—they could not possibly bring it home to her. +How could a little thing like she was be supposed to take the life of a +big man? She had never meant to injure him, too—she had only meant to +give him a good sleep, to rest him thoroughly—to deceive him, of +course—to do a thing which she knew if he were aware of would break his +heart; but to take his life, no, nothing was further from her thoughts. +Nevertheless the deed was done.</p> + +<p>Oh, it was horrible, horrible—she hated being so close to the dead +body. It was no longer Vincent, the man who would have protected her at +the risk of his life, it was a hideous dead body. She would get away +from it—she would creep up close to Rover. No wonder Rover hated the +room; perhaps he saw the spirit of her husband. Oh, how frightened she +was! What was the matter with her side?—why did her heart beat so +strangely, galloping one, two, three, then pausing, then one, two, three +again?—and the pain, the sick, awful pain. Yes, she knew—she was sick +to death with terror.</p> + +<p>She got up presently from where she had been kneeling by her dead +husband's side and staggered across to the fireplace. She tried wildly +to think, but she found herself incapable of reasoning. Shivering +violently, she approached the table, poured out a cup of the cocoa which +was still hot, and managed to drink it off. The warm liquid revived her, +and she felt a shade better and more capable of thought. Her one +instinct now was to save herself. Vincent was dead—no one in all the +world could bring him back to life, but, if possible, Hetty would so act +that not a soul in all the country should suspect her. How could she +make things safe? If it were known, known everywhere, that she was away +from him when he died, then of course she would be safe. Yes, this fact +must be known. Once she had saved the Squire, now the Squire must save +her. It must be known everywhere that she had sought an interview with +him—that at the time when Vincent died she was in the Squire's +presence, shut up in the office with him, the door locked—she and the +Squire alone together. This secret, which she would have fought to the +death to keep to herself an hour ago, must now be blazoned abroad to a +criticising world. The lesser danger to the Squire must be completely +swallowed up in the greater danger to herself. She must hurry to him at +once and get him to tell what he knew. Ah, yes, if he did this she would +be safe—she remembered the right word at last, for she had heard the +neighbors speak of it when it a celebrated trial was going on in +Salisbury—she must prove an alibi—then it would be known that she had +been absent from home when her husband died.</p> + +<p>The imminence of the danger made her at last feel quiet and steady. She +took up the lighted candle and went into the dairy—she unlocked the +cupboard in the wall and took out the bottle of laudanum. Returning to +the kitchen she emptied the contents of the bottle into the range and +then threw the bottle itself also into the heart of the fire—she +watched it as it slowly melted under the influence of the hot fire—the +laudanum itself was also licked up by the hungry flames. That tell-tale +and awful evidence of her guilt was at least removed. She forgot all +about Susan having seen the liquid in the morning—she knew nothing +about the evidence which would be brought to light at a coroner's +inquest—about the facts which a doctor would be sure to give. Nothing +but the bare reality remained prominently before her excited brain. +Vincent was dead—she had killed him by an overdose of laudanum which +she had given him in all innocence to make him sleep—but yet, yet in +her heart of hearts, she knew that her motive would not bear +explanation.</p> + +<p>"Squire will save me," she said to herself—"if it's proved that I were +with Squire I am safe. I'll go to him now—I'll tell 'im all at once. +It's late, very late, and it's dark outside, but I'll go."</p> + +<p>Hetty left the room, leaving the dog behind her—he uttered a frightful +howl when she did so and followed her as far as the door—she shut and +locked the door—he scratched at it to try and release himself, but +Hetty took no notice—she was cruel as regarded the dumb beast's fear in +her own agony and terror.</p> + +<p>She ran upstairs to her room, put on her hat and jacket, and went out. +Stumbling and trembling, she went along the road until she reached the +summit of the hill which led straight down in a gentle slope toward +Grandcourt. She was glad the ground sloped downward, for it was +important that she should quicken her footsteps in order to see the +Squire with as little delay as possible. She was quite oblivious of the +lapse of time since her last visit, and hoped he might still be in the +office. She resolved to try the office first. If he were not there she +would go on to the house—find him she must; nothing should keep her +from his presence to-night.</p> + +<p>She presently reached Grandcourt, entered the grounds by a side entrance +and pursued her way through the darkness. The sky overhead was cloudy, +neither moon nor stars were visible. Faltering and falling she pressed +forward, and by and by reached the neighborhood of the office. She saw a +light burning dimly behind the closed blinds—her heart beat with a +sense of thankfulness—she staggered up to the door, brushing her dress +against the door as she did so—she put up her hand and knocked feebly. +The next instant the door was opened to her—a man, a total stranger, +confronted her, but behind him she saw Awdrey. She tottered into the +room.</p> + +<p>The comparative light and warmth within, after the darkness and chilly +damp of the spring evening, made her head reel, and her eyes at first +could take in no object distinctly. She was conscious of uttering +excited words, then she heard the door shut behind her. She looked +round—she was alone with the Squire. She staggered up to him, and fell +on her knees.</p> + +<p>"You must save me as I saved you long ago," she panted.</p> + +<p>"What is it? Get up. What do you mean?" said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"I mean, Squire—oh! I mean I wanted to come to you to-day, but +Vincent,"—her voice faltered—"Vincent were mad wi' jealousy. He +thought that I ought not to see you, Squire; he had got summat in his +brain, and it made him mad. He thought that, perhaps, long ago, Squire, +I loved you—long ago. I'm not afeared to say anything to-night, the +truth will out to-night—I loved you long ago, I love you still; yes, +yes, with all my heart, with all my heart. You never cared nothin' for +me, I know that well. You never did me a wrong in thought or in deed, I +know that well also; but to me you were as a god, and I loved you, I +love you still, and Vincent, my husband, he must have seen it in my +face; but you did me no wrong—never, in word or in deed—only loved +you—and I love you still."</p> + +<p>"You must be mad, girl," said Awdrey. "Why have you come here to tell me +that? Get up at once; your words and your actions distress me much. Get +up, Hetty; try to compose yourself."</p> + +<p>"What I have come to say had best be said kneeling," replied Hetty; "it +eases the awful pain in my side to kneel. Let me be, Squire; let me +kneel up against your father's desk. Ah! that's better. It is my +heart—I think it's broke; anyhow, it beats awful, and the pain is +awful."</p> + +<p>"If you have come for any other reason than to say the words you have +just said, say them and go," replied Awdrey.</p> + +<p>Hetty glanced up at him. His face was hard, she thought it looked cruel, +she shivered from head to foot. Was it for this man she had sacrificed +her life? Then the awful significance of her errand came over her, and +she proceeded to speak.</p> + +<p>"Vincent saw the truth in my face," she continued. "Anyhow, he was mad +wi' jealousy, and he said that I worn't to come and see yer. He heard me +speak to yer last night, he heard me say it's a matter o' life and death +and he wor mad. He said I worn't to come; but I wor mad too, mad to +come, and I thought I'd get over him by guile. I put summat in his +stout, and he drank it—summat, I don't know the name, but I had took it +myself and it always made me a sight better, and I gave it to 'im in his +stout and he drank it, and then he slept. He lay down on the settle in +the kitchen, and he went off into a dead sleep. When he slept real sound +I stole away and I come to you. I saw you this evening and you spoke to +me and I spoke to you, and I begged of you to keep our secret, and I +thought perhaps you would, and I come away feelin' better. I went back +'ome, and the place were quiet, and I got into the kitchen. Vincent was +lying on the settle sound asleep. I thought nought o' his sleepin', only +to be glad, for I knew he'd never have missed me. I made his supper for +him, and built up the fire, and I lit the lamps in the house, and I took +off my outdoor things. The dog howled, but I didn't take no notice. +Presently I went up to Vincent, and I shook 'im—I shook 'im, 'ard, but +he didn't wake. I took his hand in mine, it wor cold as ice; I listened +for his breath, there wor none. Squire," said Hetty, rising now to her +feet, "my man wor dead; Squire, I have killed 'im, just the same as you +killed the man on Salisbury Plain six years ago. My husband is dead, and +I have killed him. Squire, you must save me as I saved you."</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Awdrey. His voice had completely altered now. In the +presence of the real tragedy all the hardness had left it. He sank into +a chair near Hetty's side, he even took one of her trembling hands in +his.</p> + +<p>"How am I to help you, you poor soul?" he said again.</p> + +<p>"You must prove an alibi—that's the word. You must say 'Hetty wor wi' +me, she couldn't have killed her man,' you must say that; you must tell +all the world that you and me was together here."</p> + +<p>"I'll do better than that," said Awdrey suddenly.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Hetty started back and gazed at him with a queer +mixture of hope and terror in her face. "Better—but there ain't no +better," she cried. "Ef you don't tell the simple truth I'll be hanged; +hanged by the neck until I die—I, who saved you at the risk of my own +soul nearly six years gone."</p> + +<p>"I'll not let you be hanged," said Awdrey, rising. "Get up, Hetty; do +not kneel to me. You don't quite know what you have done for me +to-night. Sit on that chair—compose yourself—try to be calm. Hetty, +you just came in the nick of time. God and the devil were fighting for +my soul. In spite of all the devil's efforts God was getting the better +of it, and I—I didn't want him to get the best. I wanted the devil to +help me, and, Hetty, I even prayed to him that he might come and help +me. When I saw you coming into the room I thought at first that my +prayer was answered. I seemed to see the devil on your face. Now I see +differently—your presence has lifted a great cloud from before my +mind—I see distinctly, almost as distinctly as if I were in hell +itself, the awful consequences which must arise from wrong-doing. Hetty, +I have made up my mind; you, of all people, have been the most powerful +advocate on the side of God to-night. We will both do the right, +child—we will confess the simple truth."</p> + +<p>"No, Squire, no; they'll kill me, they'll kill me, if you don't help me +in the only way you can help me—you are stronger than me, Squire—don't +lead me to my death."</p> + +<p>"They won't kill you, but you must tell the whole truth as I will tell +the truth. It can be proved that you gave the poison to your husband +with no intent to kill—that matter can be arranged promptly. Come with +me, Hetty, now—let us come together. If you falter I'll strengthen you; +if I falter you'll strengthen me. We will go together at once and +tell—tell what you saw and what I did nearly six years ago."</p> + +<p>"What you did on Salisbury Plain?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the time I killed that man."</p> + +<p>"Never, never," she answered; she fell flat on her face on the floor.</p> + +<p>Awdrey went to her and tried to raise her up.</p> + +<p>"Come," he said, "I have looked into the very heart of evil, and I +cannot go on with it—whatever the consequence we must both tell the +truth—and we will do it together; come at once."</p> + +<p>"You don't know what will happen to you," said Hetty. She shivered as +she lay prone before him.</p> + +<p>"No matter—nothing could happen so bad as shutting away the face of +God. I'll tell all, and you must tell all. No more lies for either of +us. We will save our souls even if our bodies die."</p> + +<p>"The pain—the pain in my side," moaned Hetty.</p> + +<p>"It will be better after we have gone through what is before us. Come, +I'll take your hand."</p> + +<p>She gave it timidly; the Squire's fingers closed over it.</p> + +<p>"Where are we to go?" she asked. "Where are you taking me?"</p> + +<p>"Come with me. I'll speak. Presently it will be your turn—after they +know all, all the worst, it will be your turn to speak."</p> + +<p>"Who are to know all, Squire?"</p> + +<p>"My wife, my sisters, Mrs. Everett, my friends."</p> + +<p>"Oh, God, God, why was I ever born!" moaned Hetty.</p> + +<p>"You'll feel better afterward," said Awdrey. "Try and remember that in +the awful struggle and ordeal of the next few minutes your soul and mine +will be born again—they will be saved—saved from the power of evil. Be +brave, Hetty. You told me to-night that you loved me—prove the +greatness of your love by helping me to save my own soul and yours."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if this is true," said Hetty. "You seem to lift me out of +myself." She spoke in a sort of dull wonder.</p> + +<p>"It is true—it is right—it is the only thing; come at once."</p> + +<p>She did not say any more, nor make the least resistance. They left the +office together. They trod softly on the gravel path which led to the +main entrance of the old house. They both entered the hall side by side. +Hetty looked pale and untidy; her hair fell partly down her back; there +were undried tears on her cheeks; her eyes had a wild and startled gleam +in them; the Squire was also deadly pale, but he was quiet and composed. +The fierce struggle which had nearly rent his soul in two was completely +over at that moment. In the calm there was also peace, and the peace had +settled on his face.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Henessey was standing in the wide entrance hall. She started when +she saw her brother; then she glanced at Hetty, then she looked again at +the Squire.</p> + +<p>"Why, Robert!" she said, "Robert!"</p> + +<p>There was an expression about Hetty's face and about Awdrey's face which +silenced and frightened her.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she said in a low voice, "what is wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Where are the others?" asked the Squire. "I want to see them all +immediately."</p> + +<p>"They are in the front drawing-room—Margaret, Dr. Rumsey, Dorothy, my +husband and Dorothy's, and Margaret's uncle, Mr. Cuthbert."</p> + +<p>"I am glad he is there; we shall want a magistrate," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>"A magistrate! What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"You will know in a moment, Anne. Did you say Rumsey was in the +drawing-room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; they are all there. Margaret is playing the "Moonlight +Sonata"—you hear it, don't you through the closed doors—she played so +mournfully that I ran away—I hate music that affects me to tears."</p> + +<p>Awdrey bent down and said a word to Hetty; then he looked at his sister.</p> + +<p>"I am going into the drawing-room, and Hetty Vincent will come with me," +he said.</p> + +<p>"I used to know you as Hetty Armitage," said Anne. "How are you, Hetty?"</p> + +<p>"She is not well," answered Awdrey for her, "but she will tell you +presently. Come into the drawing-room, too, Anne; I should like you to +be present."</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand this," said Anne. She ran on first and opened the +great folding-doors—she entered the big room, her face ablaze with +excitement and wonder—behind her came Awdrey holding Hetty's hand. +There was an expression on the Squire's face which arrested the +attention of every one present. Mr. Cuthbert, who had not seen him since +his return home, rose eagerly from the deep arm-chair into which he had +sunk, intending to give him a hearty welcome, but when he had advanced +in the Squire's direction a step or two, he paused—he seemed to see by +a sort of intuition that the moment for ordinary civilities was not +then. Margaret left her seat by the piano and came almost into the +centre of the room. Her husband's eyes seemed to motion her back—her +uncle went up to her and put his hand on her shoulder; he did not know +what he expected, nor did Margaret, but each one in the room felt with +an electric thrill of sympathy that a revelation of no ordinary nature +was about to be made.</p> + +<p>Still holding Hetty's hand, Awdrey came into the great space in front of +the fireplace; he was about to speak when Rumsey came suddenly forward.</p> + +<p>"One moment," he said. "This young woman is very ill; will some one +fetch brandy?" He took Hetty's slight wrist between his finger and +thumb, and felt the fluttering pulse.</p> + +<p>Anne rushed away to get the brandy. The doctor mixed a small dose, and +made Hetty swallow it. The stimulant brought back a faint color to her +cheeks, and her eyes looked less dull and dazed.</p> + +<p>"I have come into this room to-night with Hetty Vincent, who used to be +Hetty Armitage, to make a very remarkable statement," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>Rumsey backed a few steps. He thought to himself: "We shall get now to +the mystery. He has made up his mind on the side of the good—brave +fellow! What can all this mean? What is the matter with that pretty +girl? She looks as if she were dying. What can be the connection between +them?"</p> + +<p>"What can be the connection between them?" was also the thought running +in the minds of every other spectator. Margaret shared it, as her +uncle's hand rested a little heavier moment by moment on her slight +shoulder. Squire Cuthbert was swearing heavily under his breath. The +sisters and their husbands stood in the background, prepared for any +"denouement"—all was quietness and expectancy. Mrs. Everett, who up to +the present instant had taken no part in the extraordinary scene, +hurried now to the front.</p> + +<p>"Squire," she said, "I don't know what you are going to say, but I can +guess. In advance, however, I thank you from my heart; a premonition +seizes me that the moment of my son's release is at hand. You have got +this young woman to reveal her secret?"</p> + +<p>"Her secret is mine," said Awdrey.</p> + +<p>Squire Cuthbert swore aloud.</p> + +<p>"Just wait one moment before you say anything," said Awdrey, fixing his +eyes on him. "The thing is not what you imagine. I can tell the truth in +half-a-dozen words. Mrs. Everett, you are right—you see the man before +you who killed Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain. Your son is innocent."</p> + +<p>"My God! You did this?" said Mrs. Everett.</p> + +<p>"Robert, what are you saying?" cried Margaret.</p> + +<p>"Robert!" echoed Anne.</p> + +<p>"Dear brother, you must be mad!" exclaimed Dorothy.</p> + +<p>"No, I am sane—I am sure I was mad for a time, but now I am quite sane +to-night. I killed Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain. Hetty Vincent saw +the murder committed; she hid her knowledge for my sake. Immediately +after I committed the deed the doom of my house fell upon me, and I +forgot what I myself had done. For five years I had no memory of my own +act. Rumsey, when I saw my face reflected in the pond, six months ago, +the knowledge of the truth returned to me. I remembered what I had done. +I remembered, and I was not sorry, and I resolved to hide the truth to +the death; my conscience, the thing which makes the difference between +man and beast, never awoke within me—I was happy and I kept well. But +yesterday—yesterday when I came home and saw my people and saw Hetty +here, and noticed the look of suffering on your face, Mrs. Everett, the +voice of God began to make itself heard. From that moment until now my +soul and the powers of evil have been fighting against the powers of +good. I was coward enough to think that I might hide the truth and +suffer, and live the life of a hypocrite." The Squire's voice, which had +been quite quiet and composed, faltered now for the first time. "It +could not be done," he added. "I found I could not close with the +devil."</p> + +<p>At this moment a strange thing happened. Awdrey's wife rushed up to him, +she flung her arms round his neck, and laid her head on his breast.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" she murmured. "Nothing matters, for you have saved your +soul alive."</p> + +<p>Awdrey pushed back his wife's hair, and kissed her on her forehead.</p> + +<p>"But this is a most remarkable thing," said Mr. Cuthbert, finding his +tongue, and coming forward. "You, Awdrey—you, my niece's husband, come +quietly into this room and tell us with the utmost coolness that you are +a murderer. I cannot believe it—you must be mad."</p> + +<p>"No, I am perfectly sane. Hetty Vincent can prove the truth of my words. +I am a murderer, but not by intent. I never meant to kill Frere; +nevertheless, I am a murderer, for I have taken a man's life."</p> + +<p>"You tell me this?" said Squire Cuthbert. "You tell me that you have +suffered another man to suffer in your stead for close on six years."</p> + +<p>"Unknowingly, Squire Cuthbert. There was a blank over my memory."</p> + +<p>"I can testify to that," said Rumsey, now coming forward. "The whole +story is so astounding, so unprecedented, that I am not the least +surprised at your all being unable to make a just estimate of the true +circumstances at the present moment. Nevertheless, Awdrey tells the +simple truth. I have watched him as my patient for years. I have given +his case my greatest attention. I consider it one of the most curious +psychological studies which has occurred in the whole of my wide +experience. Awdrey killed Horace Frere, and forgot all about it. The +deed was doubtless done in a moment of strong irritation."</p> + +<p>"He was provoked to it," said Hetty, speaking for the first time.</p> + +<p>"It will be necessary that you put all that down in writing," said +Rumsey, giving her a quick glance. "Squire, I begin to see a ghost of +daylight. It is possible that you may be saved from the serious +consequences of your own act, if it can be proved before a jury that you +committed the terrible deed as a means of self-protection."</p> + +<p>"It was for that," said Hetty again. "I can tell exactly what I saw."</p> + +<p>The excited people who were listening to this narrative now began to +move about and talk eagerly and rapidly. Rumsey alone altogether kept +his head. He saw how ill Hetty was, and how all-important her story +would be if there was any chance of saving Awdrey. It must be put in +writing without delay.</p> + +<p>"Come and sit here," he said, taking the girl's hand and leading her to +a chair. All the others shrank away from her, but Mrs. Everett, whose +eyes were blazing with a curious combination of passionate anger and +wild, exultant joy, came close up to her for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Little hypocrite—little spy!" she hissed. "Don't forget that you have +committed perjury. Your sentence will be a severe one."</p> + +<p>"Hush," said Rumsey, "is this a moment—?" A look in his eyes silenced +the widow—she shrank away near one of the windows to relieve her +overcharged feelings in a burst of tears.</p> + +<p>"Sit here and tell me exactly what you saw," said Rumsey to Hetty. "Mr. +Cuthbert, you are doubtless a magistrate?"</p> + +<p>"Bless my stars, I don't know what I am at the present moment," said the +worthy Squire, mopping his crimson brow.</p> + +<p>"Try to retain your self-control—remember how much hangs on it. This +young woman is very ill—it will be all important that we get her +deposition before——" Rumsey paused; Hetty's eyes were fixed on his +face, her lips moved faintly.</p> + +<p>"You may save the Squire after all if you tell the simple truth," said +Rumsey kindly, bending toward her and speaking in a low voice. "Try and +tell the simple truth. I know you are feeling ill, but you will be +better afterward. Will you tell me exactly what happened? I shall put it +down in writing. You will then sign your own deposition."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell the truth," said Hetty—"is it the case that if I tell just +the truth I may save Squire?"</p> + +<p>"It is his only chance. Now begin."</p> + +<p>The others crowded round when Hetty began to speak; all but Mrs. +Everett, who still sat in the window, her face buried in her +handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Hetty began her tale falteringly, often trembling and often pausing, but +Rumsey managed to keep her to the point. By and by the whole queer story +was taken down and was then formally signed and sworn to. Rumsey finally +folded up the paper and gave it to Squire Cuthbert to keep.</p> + +<p>"I have a strong hope that we may clear Awdrey," he said. "The case is a +clear one of manslaughter which took place in self-defence. Mrs. +Vincent's deposition is most important, for it not only shows that +Awdrey committed the unfortunate deed under the strongest provocation, +but explains exactly why Frere should have had such animosity to the +Squire. Now, Mrs. Vincent, you have rendered a very valuable service, +and as you are ill we cannot expect you to do anything further +to-night."</p> + +<p>Here Rumsey looked full at Margaret.</p> + +<p>"I think this young woman far too unwell to leave the house," he +said—"can you have a room prepared for her here?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Margaret; she went up to Hetty and laid one of her +hands on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Before Hetty leaves the room, there is something to be said on her own +account," said the Squire.</p> + +<p>He then related in a few words the tragedy which had taken place at the +Gable Farm. While he was speaking, Hetty suddenly staggered to her feet +and faced them.</p> + +<p>"If what I have told to-night will really save you, Squire, then nothing +else matters," she said; "I'm not afeared now, for ef I 'ave saved you +at last, nothing matters,"—her face grew ghastly white, she tumbled in +a heap to the floor.</p> + +<p>The doctor, Margaret, and the Squire rushed to her assistance, but when +they raised her up she was dead.</p> + +<p>"Heart disease," said Rumsey, afterward, "accelerated by shock."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A few more words can finish this strange story. At the Squire's own +request, Mr. Cuthbert took the necessary steps for his arrest, and +Rumsey hurried to town to get the interference of the Home Secretary in +the case of Everett, who was suffering for Awdrey's supposed crime in +Portland prison. The doctor had a long interview with one of the +officials at the Home Office, and disclosed all the queer circumstances +of the case. Everett, according to the Queen's Prerogative, received in +due course a free pardon for the crime he had never committed, and was +restored to his mother and his friends once again.</p> + +<p>Awdrey's trial took place almost immediately afterward at Salisbury. The +trial was never forgotten in that part of the country, and was the one +topic of conversation for several days in the length and breadth of +England. So remarkable and strange a case had never before been +propounded for the benefit of the jury, but it was evident that the very +learned Judge who conducted the trial was from the first on the side of +the prisoner.</p> + +<p>Hetty's all-important deposition made a great sensation; her evidence +was corroborated by Mrs. Armitage, and when Rumsey appeared as a witness +he abundantly proved that Awdrey had completely forgotten the deed of +which he had been guilty. His thrilling description of his patient's +strange case was listened to with breathless attention by a crowded +court. The trial lasted for two days, during which the anxiety of all +Awdrey's friends can be better imagined than described. At the end of +the trial, the jury returned a verdict of "Not Guilty." In short, his +strange case had been abundantly proved: he had done what he did without +intent to kill and simply as a means of self-defence.</p> + +<p>On the evening of his return to Grandcourt, he and Margaret stood in the +porch together side by side. It was a moonlight night, and the whole +beautiful place was brightly illuminated.</p> + +<p>"Robert," said the wife, "you have lived through it all—you will now +take a fresh lease of life."</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"It is true that I have gone through the fire and been saved," he said, +"but there is a shadow over me—I can never be the man I might have +been."</p> + +<p>"You can be a thousand times better," she replied with flashing eyes, +"for you have learned now the bitter and awful lesson of how a man may +fall, rise again, and in the end conquer."</p> + + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Dr. Rumsey's Patient, by L. T. Mead and Dr. Halifax + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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T. Mead and Dr. Halifax + +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: Dr. Rumsey's Patient + A Very Strange Story + +Author: L. T. Mead + Dr. Halifax + +Release Date: December 2, 2010 [EBook #34545] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT + + _A VERY STRANGE STORY_ + + BY L. T. MEAD AND DR. HALIFAX + + JOINT AUTHORS OF "STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR" + + + NEW YORK + HURST & COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + COPYRIGHTED, 1896, BY + THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY + _ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_ + + + +[Illustration: MRS L. T. MEADE.] + + + + +DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Two young men in flannels were standing outside the door of the Red Doe +in the picturesque village of Grandcourt. The village contained one long +and straggling street. The village inn was covered with ivy, wistaria, +flowering jessamine, monthly roses, and many other creepers. The flowers +twined round old-fashioned windows, and nodded to the guests when they +awoke in the morning and breathed perfume upon them as they retired to +bed at night. In short, the Inn was an ideal one, and had from time +immemorial found favor with reading parties, fishermen, and others who +wanted to combine country air and the pursuit of health with a certain +form of easy amusement. The two men who now stood in the porch were +undergraduates from Balliol. There was nothing in the least remarkable +about their appearance--they looked like what they were, good-hearted, +keen-witted young Englishmen of the day. The time was evening, and as +the Inn faced due west the whole place was bathed in warm sunshine. + +"This heat is tremendous and there is no air," said Everett, the younger +of the students. "How can you stand that sun beating on your head, +Frere? I'm for indoors." + +"Right," replied Frere. "It is cool enough in the parlor." + +As he spoke he took a step forward and gazed down the winding village +street. There was a look of pleased expectation in his eyes. He seemed +to be watching for some one. A girl appeared, walking slowly up the +street. Frere's eye began to dance. Everett, who was about to go into +the shady parlor, gave him a keen glance--and for some reason his eyes +also grew bright with expectation. + +"There's something worth looking at," he exclaimed in a laughing voice. + +"What did you say?" asked Frere gruffly. + +"Nothing, old man--at least nothing special. I say, doesn't Hetty look +superb?" + +"You've no right to call her Hetty." + +Everett gave a low whistle. + +"I rather fancy I have," he answered--"she gave me leave this morning." + +"Impossible," said Frere. He turned pale under all his sunburn, and bit +his lower lip. "Don't you find the sun very hot?" he asked. + +"No, it is sinking into the west--the great heat is over. Let us go and +enliven this little charmer." + +"I will," said Frere suddenly. "You had better stay here where you are. +It is my right," he added. "I was about to tell you so, when she came in +view." + +"Your right?" cried Everett; he looked disturbed. + +Frere did not reply, but strode quickly down the village street. A dozen +strides brought him up to Hetty's side. She was a beautiful girl, with a +face and figure much above her station. Her hat was covered with wild +flowers which she had picked in her walk, and coquettishly placed there. +She wore a pink dress covered with rosebuds--some wild flowers were +stuck into her belt. As Frere advanced to meet her, her laughing eyes +were raised to his face--there was a curious mixture of timidity and +audacity in their glance. + +"I have a word to say to you," he accosted her in a gruff tone. "What +right had you to give Everett leave to call you Hetty?" + +The timidity immediately left the bright eyes, and a slight expression +of anger took its place. + +"Because I like to distribute my favors, Mr. Horace." + +She quickened her pace as she spoke. Everett, who had been standing +quite still in the porch watching the little scene, came out to meet the +pair. Hetty flushed crimson when she saw him; she raised her dancing, +charming dark eyes to his face, then looked again at Frere, who turned +sullenly away. + +"I hope, gentlemen, you have had good sport," said the rustic beauty, in +her demure voice. + +"Excellent," replied Everett. + +They had now reached the porch, which was entwined all over with +honeysuckle in full flower. A great spray of the fragrant flower nearly +touched the girl's charming face. She glanced again at Frere. He would +not meet her eyes. Her whole face sparkled with the feminine love of +teasing. + +"Why is he so jealous?" she whispered to herself. "It would be fun to +punish him. I like him better than Mr. Everett, but I'll punish him." + +"Shall I give you a buttonhole?" she said, looking at Everett. + +"If you'll be so kind," he replied. + +She raised her eyes to the honeysuckle over her head, selected a spray +with extreme care, and handed it to him demurely. He asked her to place +it in his buttonhole; she looked again at Frere,--he would not go away, +but neither would he bring himself to glance at her. She bent her head +to search in the bodice of her dress for a pin, found one, and then with +a laughing glance of her eyes into Everett's handsome face, complied +with his request. + +The young fellow blushed with pleasure, then he glanced at Frere, and a +feeling of compunction smote him--he strode abruptly into the house. + +"Hetty, what do you mean by this sort of thing?" said Frere the moment +they were alone. + +"I mean this, Mr. Horace: I am still my own mistress." + +"Great Scot! of course you are; but what do you mean by this sort of +trifling? It was only this morning that you told me you loved me. Look +here, Hetty, I'm in no humor to be trifled with; I can't and won't stand +it. I'll make you the best husband a girl ever had, but listen to me, I +have the devil's own temper when it is roused. For God's sake don't +provoke it. If you don't love me, say so, and let there be an end of +it." + +"I wish you wouldn't speak so loudly," said Hetty, pouting her lips +and half crying. "Of course I like you; I--well, yes, I suppose I +love you. I was thinking of you all the afternoon. See what I +gathered for you--this bunch of heart's-ease. There's meaning in +heart's-ease--there's none in honeysuckle." + +Frere's brow cleared as if by magic. + +"My little darling," he said, fixing his deep-set eyes greedily on the +girl's beautiful face. "Forgive me for being such a brute to you, Hetty. +Here--give me the flowers." + +"No, not until you pay for them. You don't deserve them for being so +nasty and suspicious." + +"Give me the flowers, Hetty; I promise never to doubt you again." + +"Yes, you will; it is your nature to doubt." + +"I have no words to say what I feel for you." + +Frere's eyes emphasized this statement so emphatically, that the +empty-headed girl by his side felt her heart touched for the moment. + +"What do you want me to do, Mr. Horace?" she asked, lowering her eyes. + +"To give me the flowers, and to be nice to me." + +"Come down to the brook after supper, perhaps I'll give them to you +then. There's aunt calling me--don't keep me, please." She rushed off. + +"Hetty," said Mrs. Armitage, the innkeeper's wife, "did I hear you +talking to Mr. Horace Frere in the porch?" + +"Yes, Aunt Fanny, you did," replied Hetty. + +"Well, look here, your uncle and I won't have it. Just because you're +pretty--" + +Hetty tossed back her wealth of black curls. + +"It's all right," she said in a whisper, her eyes shining as she spoke. +"He wants me to be his wife--he asked me this morning." + +"He doesn't mean that, surely," said Mrs. Armitage, incredulous and +pleased. + +"Yes, he does; he'll speak to uncle to-morrow--that is, if I'll say +'Yes.' He says he has no one to consult--he'll make me a lady--he has +plenty of money." + +"Do you care for him, Hetty?" + +"Oh, don't ask me whether I do or not, Aunt Fanny--I'm sure I can't tell +you." + +Hetty moved noisily about. She put plates and dishes on a tray +preparatory to taking them into the parlor for the young men's supper. + +"Look here," said her aunt, "I'll see after the parlor lodgers +to-night." She lifted the tray as she spoke. + +Hetty ran up to her bedroom. She took a little square of glass from its +place on the wall and gazed earnestly at the reflection of her own +charming face. Presently she put the glass down, locked her hands +together, went over to the open window and looked out. + +"Shall I marry him?" she thought. "He has plenty of money--he loves me +right enough. If I were his wife, I'd be a lady--I needn't worry about +household work any more. I hate household work--I hate drudgery. I want +to have a fine time, with nothing to do but just to think of my dress +and how I look. He has plenty of money, and he loves me--he says he'll +make me his wife as soon as ever I say the word. Uncle and aunt would be +pleased, too, and the people in the village would say I'd made a good +match. Shall I marry him? I don't love him a bit, but what does that +matter?" + +She sighed--the color slightly faded on her blooming cheeks--she poked +her head out of the little window. + +"I don't love him," she said to herself. "When I see Mr. Awdrey my heart +beats. Ever since I was a little child I have thought more of Mr. Awdrey +than of any one else in all the world. I never told--no, I never told, +but I'd rather slave for Mr. Robert Awdrey than be the wife of any one +else on earth. What a fool I am! Mr. Awdrey thinks nothing of me, but he +is never out of my head, nor out of my heart. My heart aches for +him--I'm nearly mad sometimes about it all. Perhaps I'll see him +to-night if I go down to the brook. He's sure to pass the brook on his +way to the Court. Mr. Everett likes me too, I know, and he's a gentleman +as well as Mr. Frere. Oh, dear, they both worry me more than please me. +I'd give twenty men like them for one sight of the young Squire. Oh, +what folly all this is!" + +She went again and stood opposite to her little looking-glass. + +"The young ladies up at the Court haven't got a face like mine," she +murmured. "There isn't any one all over the place has a face like mine. +I wonder if Mr. Awdrey really thinks it pretty? Why should I worry +myself about Mr. Frere? I wonder if Mr. Awdrey would mind if I married +him--would it make him jealous? If I thought that, I'd do it fast +enough--yes, I declare I would. But of course he wouldn't mind--not one +bit; he has scarcely ever said two words to me--not since we were little +'uns together, and pelted each other with apples in uncle's orchard. Oh, +Mr. Awdrey, I'd give all the world for one smile from you, but you think +nothing at all of poor Hetty. Dear, beautiful Mr. Awdrey--won't you love +me even a little--even as you love your dog? Yes, I'll go and walk by +the brook after supper. Mr. Frere will meet me there, of course, and +perhaps Mr. Awdrey will go by--perhaps he'll be jealous. I'll take my +poetry book and sit by the brook just where the forget-me-nots grow. +Yes, yes--oh, I wonder if the Squire will go by." + +These thoughts no sooner came into Hetty's brain than she resolved to +act upon them. She snatched up a volume of L. E. L.'s poems--their weak +and lovelorn phrases exactly suited her style and order of mind--and ran +quickly down to a dancing rivulet which ran its merry course about a +hundred yards back of the Inn. She sat by the bank, pulled a great bunch +of forget-me-nots, laid them on the open pages of her book, and looked +musingly down at the flowers. Footsteps were heard crunching the +underwood at the opposite side. A voice presently sounded in her ears. +Hetty's heart beat loudly. + +"How do you do?" said the voice. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Robert," she replied. + +Her tone was demure and extremely respectful. She started to her feet, +letting her flowers drop as she did so. A blush suffused her lovely +face, her dancing eyes were raised for a quick moment, then as suddenly +lowered. She made a beautiful picture. The young man who stood a few +feet away from her, with the running water dividing them, evidently +thought so. He had a boyish figure--a handsome, manly face. His eyes +were very dark, deeply set, and capable of much thought. He looked every +inch the gentleman. + +"Is Armitage in?" he asked after a pause. + +"I don't know, Mr. Robert, I'll go and inquire if you like." + +"No, it doesn't matter. The Squire asked me to call and beg of your +uncle to come to the Court to-morrow morning. Will you give him the +message?" + +"Yes, Mr. Robert." + +There was a perceptible pause. Hetty looked down at the water. Awdrey +looked at her. + +"Good-evening," he said then. + +"Good-evening, sir," she replied. + +He turned and walked slowly up the narrow path which led toward the +Court. + +"His eyes told me to-night that he thought me pretty," muttered Hetty to +herself, "why doesn't he say it with his lips? I--I wish I could make +him. Oh, is that you, Mr. Frere?" + +"Yes, Hetty. I promised to come, and I am here. The evening is a perfect +one, let us follow the stream a little way." + +Hetty was about to say "No," when suddenly lifting her eyes, she +observed that the young Squire had paused under the shade of a great +elm-tree a little further up the bank. A quick idea darted into her vain +little soul. She would walk past the Squire without pretending to see +him, in Frere's company. Frere should make love to her in the Squire's +presence. She gave her lover a coy and affectionate glance. + +"Yes, come," she said: "it is pretty by the stream; perhaps I'll give +you some forget-me-nots presently." + +"I want the heart's-ease which you have already picked for me," said +Frere. + +"Oh, there's time enough." + +Frere advanced a step, and laid his hand on the girl's arm. + +"Listen," he said: "I was never more in earnest in my life. I love you +with all my heart and soul. I love you madly. I want you for my wife. I +mean to marry you, come what may. I have plenty of money and you are the +wife of all others for me. You told me this morning that you loved me, +Hetty. Tell me again; say that you love me better than any one else in +the world." + +Hetty paused, she raised her dark eyes; the Squire was almost within +earshot. + +"I suppose I love you--a little," she said, in a whisper. + +"Then give me a kiss--just one." + +She walked on. Frere followed. + +"Give me a kiss--just one," he repeated. + +"Not to-night," she replied, in a demure voice. + +"Yes, you must--I insist." + +"Don't, Mr. Frere," she called out sharply, uttering a cry as she spoke. + +He didn't mind her. Overcome by his passion he caught her suddenly in +his arms, and pressed his lips many times to hers. + +"Hold, sir! What are you doing?" shouted Awdrey's voice from the +opposite side of the bank. + +"By heaven, what is that to you?" called Frere back. + +He let Hetty go with some violence, and retreated one or two steps in +his astonishment. His face was crimson up to the roots of his honest +brow. + +Awdrey leaped across the brook. "You will please understand that you +take liberties with Miss Armitage at your peril," he said. "What right +have you to take such advantage of an undefended girl? Hetty, I will see +you home." + +Hetty's eyes danced with delight. For a moment Frere felt too stunned to +speak. + +"Come with me, Hetty," said Awdrey, putting a great restraint upon +himself, but speaking with irritation. "Come--you should be at home at +this hour." + +"You shall answer to me for this, whoever you are," said Frere, whose +face was white with passion. + +"My name is Awdrey," said the Squire; "I will answer you in a way you +don't like if you don't instantly leave this young girl alone." + +"Confound your interference," said Frere. "I am not ashamed of my +actions. I can justify them. I am going to marry Miss Armitage." + +"Is that true, Hetty?" said Awdrey, looking at the girl in some +astonishment. + +"No, there isn't a word of it true," answered Hetty, stung by a look on +the Squire's face. "I don't want to have anything to do with him--he +shan't kiss me. I--I'll have nothing to do with him." She burst into +tears. + +"I'll see you home," said Awdrey. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +The Awdreys of "The Court" could trace their descent back to the Norman +Conquest. They were a proud family with all the special characteristics +which mark races of long descent. Among the usual accompaniments of +race, was given to them the curse of heredity. A strange and peculiar +doom hung over the house. It had descended now from father to son during +many generations. How it had first raised its gorgon head no one could +tell. People said that it had been sent as a punishment for the greed of +gold. An old ancestor, more than a hundred and fifty years ago, had +married a West Indian heiress. She had colored blood in her veins, a +purse of enormous magnitude, a deformed figure, and, what was more to +the point, a particularly crooked and obtuse order of mind. She did her +duty by her descendants, leaving to each of them a gift. To one, +deformity of person--to another, a stammering tongue--to a third, a +squint--to a fourth, imbecility. In each succeeding generation, at least +one man and woman of the house of Awdrey had cause to regret the gold +which had certainly brought a curse with it. But beyond and above all +these things, it was immediately after the West Indian's entrance into +the family that that strange doom began to assail the male members of +the house which was now more dreaded than madness. The doom was unique +and curious. It consisted of one remarkable phase. There came upon those +on whom it descended an extraordinary and complete lapse of memory for +the grave events of life, accompanied by perfect retention of memory for +all minor matters. This curious phase once developed, other +idiosyncrasies immediately followed. The victim's moral sense became +weakened--all physical energy departed--a curious lassitude of mind and +body became general. The victim did not in the least know that there was +anything special the matter with him, but as a rule the doomed man +either became idiotic, or died before the age of thirty. + +All the great physicians of their time had been consulted with regard to +this curious family trait, but in the first place no one could +understand it, in the second no possible cure could be suggested as a +remedy. The curse was supposed to be due to a brain affection, but brain +affections in the old days were considered to be special visitations +from God, and men of science let them alone. + +In their early life, the Awdreys were particularly bright, clever sharp +fellows, endowed with excellent animal spirits, and many amiable traits +of character. They were chivalrous to women, kind to children, full of +warm affections, and each and all of them possessed much of the golden +gift of hope. As a rule the doom of the house came upon each victim with +startling suddenness. One of the disappointments of life ensued--an +unfortunate love affair--the death of some beloved member--a money loss. +The victim lost all memory of the event. No words, no explanations could +revive the dead memory--the thing was completely blotted out from the +phonograph of the brain. Immediately afterward followed the mental and +physical decay. The girls of the family quite escaped the curse. It was +on the sons that it invariably descended. + +Up to the present time, however, Robert Awdrey's father had lived to +confute the West Indian's dire curse. His father had married a Scotch +lassie, with no bluer blood in her veins than that which had been given +to her by some rugged Scotch ancestors. Her health of mind and body had +done her descendants much good. Even the word "nerves" had been unknown +to this healthy-minded daughter of the North--her children had all up to +the present escaped the family curse, and it was now firmly believed at +the Court that the spell was broken, and that the West Indian's awful +doom would leave the family. The matter was too solemn and painful to be +alluded to except under the gravest conditions, and young Robert Awdrey, +the heir to the old place and all its belongings, was certainly the last +person to speak of it. + +Robert's father was matter-of-fact to the back bone, but Robert himself +was possessed of an essentially reflective temperament. Had he been less +healthily brought up by his stout old grandmother and by his mother, he +might have given way to morbid musings. Circumstances, however, were all +in his favor, and at the time when this strange story really opens, he +was looking out at life with a heart full of hope and a mind filled with +noble ambitions. Robert was the only son--he had two sisters, bright, +good-natured, every-day sort of girls. As a matter of course his sisters +adored him. They looked forward to his career with immense pride. He was +to stand for Parliament at the next general election. His brains +belonged to the highest order of intellect. He had taken a double first +at the University--there was no position which he might not hope to +assume. + +Robert had all the chivalrous instincts of his race toward women. As he +walked quickly home now with Hetty by his side, his blood boiled at the +thought of the insult which had been offered to her. Poor, silly little +Hetty was nothing whatever to him except a remarkably pretty village +girl. Her people, however, were his father's tenants; he felt it his +duty to protect her. When he parted with her just outside the village +inn, he said a few words. + +"You ought not to allow those young men to take liberties with you, +Hetty," he said. "Now, go home. Don't be out so late again in the +future, and don't forget to give your uncle my father's message." + +She bent her head, and left him without replying. She did not even thank +him. He watched her until she disappeared into the house, then turned +sharply and walked up the village street home with a vigorous step. + +He had come to the spot where he had parted with Frere, and was just +about to leap the brook, when that young man started suddenly from under +a tree, and stood directly in his path. + +"I must ask you to apologize to me," he said. + +Awdrey flushed. + +"What do you mean?" he replied. + +"What I say. My intentions toward Miss Armitage are perfectly honest. +She promised to marry me this morning. When you chose to interfere, I +was kissing my future wife." + +"If that is really the case, I beg your pardon," said Awdrey; "but +then," he continued, looking full at Frere, "Hetty Armitage denies any +thought of marrying you." + +"She does, does she?" muttered Frere. His face turned white. + +"One word before you go," said Awdrey. "Miss Armitage is a pretty +girl----" + +"What is that to you?" replied Frere, "I don't mean to discuss her with +you." + +"You may please yourself about that, but allow me to say one thing. Her +uncle is one of my father's oldest and most respected tenants; Hetty is +therefore under our protection, and I for one will see that she gets +fair play. Any one who takes liberties with her has got to answer to me. +That's all. Good-evening." + +Awdrey slightly raised his hat, leaped the brook, and disappeared +through the underwood in the direction of the Court. + +Horace Frere stood and watched him. + +His rage was now almost at white heat. He was madly in love, and was +therefore not quite responsible for his own actions. He was determined +at any cost to make Hetty his wife. The Squire's interference awoke the +demon of jealousy in his heart. He had patiently borne Everett's marked +attentions to the girl of his choice--he wondered now at the sudden +passion which filled him. He walked back to the inn feeling exactly as +if the devil were driving him. + +"I'll have this thing out with Hetty before I am an hour older," he +cried aloud. "She promised to marry me this very morning. How dare that +jackanapes interfere! What do I care for his position in the place? If +he's twenty times the Squire it's nothing to me. Hetty had the cool +cheek to eat her own words to him in my presence. It's plain to be seen +what the thing means. She's a heartless flirt--she's flying for higher +game than honest Horace Frere, but I'll put a spoke in her wheel, and in +his wheel too, curse him. He's in love with the girl himself--that's why +he interferes. Well, she shall choose between him and me to-night, and +if she does choose him it will be all the worse for him." + +As he rushed home, Frere lashed himself into greater and greater fury. +Everett was standing inside the porch when the other man passed him +roughly by. + +"I say, Frere, what's up?" called Everett, taking the pipe out of his +mouth. + +"Curse you, don't keep me, I want to speak to Miss Armitage." + +Everett burst into a somewhat discordant laugh. + +"Your manners are not quite to be desired at the present moment, old +man," he said. "Miss Armitage seems to have a strangely disquieting +effect upon her swains." + +"I do not intend to discuss her with you, Everett. I must speak to her +at once." + +Everett laughed again. + +"She seems to be a person of distinction," he said. "She has just been +seen home with much ceremony by no less a person than Awdrey, of The +Court." + +"Curse Awdrey and all his belongings. Do you know where she is?" + +A sweet, high-pitched voice within the house now made itself heard. + +"I can see you in Aunt's parlor if you like, Mr. Horace." + +"Yes." + +Frere strode into the house--a moment later he was standing opposite to +Hetty in the little hot gaslit parlor. + +Hetty had evidently been crying. Her tears had brought shadows under her +eyes--they added pathos to her lovely face, giving it a look of depth +which it usually lacked. Frere gave her one glance, then he felt his +anger dropping from him like a mantle. + +"For God's sake, Hetty, speak the truth," said the poor fellow. + +"What do you want me to say, Mr. Horace?" she asked. + +Her voice was tremulous, her tears nearly broke forth anew. Frere made a +step forward. He would have clasped her to his breast, but she would not +allow him. + +"No," she said with a sob, "I can't have anything to do with you." + +"Hetty, you don't know what you are saying. Hetty, remember this +morning." + +"I remember it, but I can't go on with it. Forget everything I said--go +away--please go away." + +"No, I won't go away. By heaven, you shall tell me the truth. Look here, +Hetty, I won't be humbugged--you've got to choose at once." + +"What do you mean, Mr. Horace?" + +"You've got to choose between that fellow and me." + +"Between you and the Squire!" exclaimed Hetty. + +She laughed excitedly; the bare idea caused her heart to beat wildly. +Her laughter nearly drove Frere mad. He strode up to her, took her hands +with force, and looked into her frightened eyes. + +"Do you love him? The truth, girl, I will have it." + +"Let me go, Mr. Horace." + +"I won't until you tell me the truth. It is either the Squire or me; I +must hear the truth now or never--which is it, Squire Awdrey or me?" + +"Oh, I can't help it," said Hetty, bursting into tears--"it's the +Squire--oh, sir, let me go." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Frere stood perfectly still for a moment after Hetty had spoken, then +without a word he turned and left her. Everett was still standing in the +porch. Everett had owned to himself that he had a decided penchant for +the little rustic beauty, but Frere's fierce passion cooled his. He did +not feel particularly inclined, however, to sympathize with his friend. + +"How rough you are, Frere!" he said angrily; "you've almost knocked the +pipe out of my mouth a second time this evening." + +Frere went out into the night without uttering a syllable. + +"Where are you off to?" called Everett after him. + +"What is that to you?" was shouted back. + +Everett said something further. A strong and very emphatic oath left +Frere's lips in reply. The innkeeper, Armitage, was passing the young +man at the moment. He stared at him, wondering at the whiteness of his +face, and the extraordinary energy of his language. Armitage went +indoors to supper, and thought no more of the circumstance. He was +destined, however, to remember it later. Everett continued to smoke his +pipe with philosophical calm. He hoped against hope that pretty little +Hetty might come and stand in the porch with him. Finding she did not +appear, he resolved to go out and look for his friend. He was leaving +the Inn when Armitage called after him: + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Everett, but will you be out late?" + +"I can't say," replied Everett, stopping short; "why?" + +"Because if so, sir, you had better take the latchkey. We're going to +shut up the whole place early to-night; the wife is dead beat, and Hetty +is not quite well." + +"I'm sorry for that," said Everett, after a pause; "well, give me the +key. I dare say I'll return quite soon; I am only going out to meet Mr. +Frere." + +Armitage gave the young man the key and returned to the house. + +Meanwhile Frere had wandered some distance from the pretty little +village and the charming rustic inn. His mind was out of tune with all +harmony and beauty. He was in the sort of condition when men will do mad +deeds not knowing in the least why they do them. Hetty's words had, as +he himself expressed it, "awakened the very devil in him." + +"She has owned it," he kept saying to himself. "Yes, I was right in my +conjecture--he wants her himself. Much he regards honor and behaving +straight to a woman. I'll show him a thing or two. Jove, if I meet him +to-night, he'll rue it." + +The great solemn plain of Salisbury lay not two miles off. Frere made +for its broad downs without knowing in the least that he was doing so. +By and by, he found himself on a vast open space, spreading sheer away +to the edge of the horizon. The moon, which had been bright when he had +started on his walk, was now about to set--it was casting long shadows +on the ground; his own shadow in gigantic dimensions walked by his side +as he neared the vicinity of the plain. He walked on and on; the further +he went the more fiercely did his blood boil within him. All his life +hitherto he had been calm, collected, reasonable. He had taken the +events of life with a certain rude philosophy. He had intended to do +well for himself--to carve out a prosperous career for himself, but +although he had subdued his passions both at college and at school, he +had never blinded his eyes to the fact that there lived within his +breast, ready to be awakened when the time came, a devil. Once, as a +child, he had given way to this mad fury. He had flung a knife at his +brother, wounding him in the temple, and almost killing him. The sight +of the blood and the fainting form of his only brother had awakened his +better self. He had lived through agony while his brother's life hung in +the balance. The lad eventually recovered, to die in a year or two of +something else, but Frere never forgot that time of mental torture. From +that hour until the present, he had kept his "devil," as he used to call +it, well in check. + +It was rampant to-night, however--he knew it, he took no pains to +conceal the fact from his own heart--he rather gloried in the knowledge. + +He walked on and on, across the plain. + +Presently in the dim distance he heard Everett calling him. + +"Frere, I say Frere, stop a moment, I'll come up to you." + +A man who had been collecting underwood, and was returning home with a +bagful, suddenly appeared in Frere's path. Hearing the voice of the man +shouting behind he stopped. + +"There be some-un calling yer," he said in his rude dialect. + +Frere stared at the man blindly. He looked behind him, saw Everett's +figure silhouetted against the sky, and then took wildly to his heels; +he ran as if something evil were pursuing him. + +At this moment the moon went completely down, and the whole of the vast +plain lay in dim gray shadow. Frere had not the least idea where he was +running. He and Everett had spent whole days on the plain revelling in +the solitude and the splendid air, but they had neither of them ever +visited it at night before. The whole place was strange, uncanny, +unfamiliar. Frere soon lost his bearings. He tumbled into a hole, +uttered an exclamation of pain, and raised himself with some difficulty. + +"Hullo!" said a voice, "you might have broken your leg. What are you +doing here?" + +Frere stood upright; a man slighter and taller than himself faced him +about three feet away. Frere could not recognize the face, but he knew +the tone. + +"What the devil have you come to meet me for?" he said. "You've come to +meet a madman. Turn back and go home, or it will be the worse for you." + +"I don't understand you," said Awdrey. + +Frere put a tremendous restraint upon himself. + +"Look here," he said, "I don't want to injure you, upon my soul I don't, +but there's a devil in me to-night, and you had better go home without +any more words." + +"I shall certainly do nothing of the kind," answered Awdrey. "The plain +is as open to me as to you. If you dislike me take your own path." + +"My path is right across where you are standing," said Frere. + +"Well, step aside and leave me alone!" + +It was so dark the men only appeared as shadows one to the other. Their +voices, each of them growing hot and passionate, seemed scarcely to +belong to themselves. Frere came a step nearer to Awdrey. + +"You shall have it," he cried. "By the heaven above, I don't want to +spare you. Let me tell you what I think of you." + +"Sir," said Awdrey, "I don't wish to have anything to do with you--leave +me, go about your business." + +"I will after I've told you a bit of my mind. You're a confounded +sneak--you're a liar--you're no gentleman. Shall I tell you why you +interfered between me and my girl to-night--because you want her for +yourself!" + +This sudden accusation so astounded Awdrey that he did not even reply. +He came to the conclusion that Frere was really mad. + +"You forget yourself," he said, after a long pause. "I excuse you, of +course, I don't even know what you are talking about!" + +"Yes, you do, you black-hearted scoundrel. You interfered between Hetty +Armitage and me because you want her yourself--she told me so much +to-night!" + +"She told you!--it's you who lie." + +"She told me--so much for your pretended virtue. Get out of the way, or +I'll strike you to the earth, you dog!" + +Frere's wild passion prevented Awdrey's rising. + +The accusation made against him was so preposterous that it did not even +rouse his anger. + +"I'm sorry for you," he said after a pause, "you labor under a complete +misapprehension. I wish to protect Hetty Armitage as I would any other +honest girl. Keep out of my path now, sir, I wish to continue my walk." + +"By Heaven, that you never shall." + +Frere uttered a wild, maniacal scream. The next instant he had closed +with Awdrey, and raising a heavy cane which he carried, aimed it full at +the young Squire's head. + +"I could kill you, you brute, you scoundrel, you low, base seducer," he +shouted. + +For a moment Awdrey was taken off his guard. But the next instant the +fierce blood of his race awoke within him. Frere was no mean +antagonist--he was a stouter, heavier, older man than Awdrey. He had +also the strength which madness confers. After a momentary struggle he +flung Awdrey to the ground. The two young men rolled over together. Then +with a quick and sudden movement Awdrey sprang to his feet. He had no +weapon to defend himself with but a slight stick which he carried. Frere +let him go for a moment to spring upon him again like a tiger. A sudden +memory came to Awdrey's aid--a memory which was to be the undoing of his +entire life. He had been told in his boyhood by an old prize-fighter who +taught him boxing, that the most effective way to use a stick in +defending himself from an enemy was to use it as a bayonet. + +"Prod your foe in the mouth," old Jim had said--"be he dog or man, prod +him in the mouth. Grasp your stick in both hands, and when he comes to +you, prod him in the mouth or neck." + +The words flashed distinctly now through Awdrey's brain. When Frere +raised his heavy stick to strike him he grasped his own slender weapon +and rushed forward. He aimed full at Frere's open mouth. The stick went +a few inches higher and entered the unfortunate man's right eye. He fell +with a sudden groan to the ground. + +In a moment Awdrey's passion was over. He bent over the prostrate man +and examined the wound which he had made. Frere lay perfectly quiet; +there was an awful silence about him. The dark shadows of the night +brooded heavily over the place. Awdrey did not for several moments +realize that something very like a murder had been committed. He bent +over the prostrate man--he took his limp hand in his, felt for a +pulse--there was none. With trembling fingers he tore open the coat and +pressed his hand to the heart--it was strangely still. He bent his ear +to listen--there was no sound. Awdrey was scarcely frightened yet. He +did not even now in the least realize what had happened. He felt in his +pocket for a flask of brandy which he sometimes carried about with him. +An oath escaped his lips when he found he had forgotten it. Then taking +up his stick he felt softly across the point. The point of the stick was +wet--wet with blood. He felt carefully along its edge. The blood +extended up a couple of inches. He knew then what had happened. The +stick had undoubtedly entered Frere's brain through the eye, causing +instant death. + +When the knowledge came to Awdrey he laughed. His laugh sounded queer, +but he did not notice its strangeness. He felt again in his +pocket--discovered a box of matches which he pulled out eagerly. He +struck a match, and by the weird, uncertain light which it cast looked +for an instant at the dead face of the man whose life he had taken. + +"I don't even know his name," thought Awdrey. "What in the world have I +killed him for? Yes, undoubtedly I've killed him. He is dead, poor +fellow, as a door-nail. What did I do it for?" + +He struck another match, and looked at the end of his stick. The stick +had a narrow steel ferrule at the point. Blood bespattered the end of +the stick. + +"I must bury this witness," said Awdrey to himself. + +He blew out the match, and began to move gropingly across the plain. His +step was uncertain. He stooped as he walked. Presently he came to a +great copse of underwood. Into the very thick of the underwood he thrust +his stick. + +Having done this, he resolved to go home. Queer noises were ringing in +his head. He felt as if devils were pursuing him. He was certain that if +he raised his eyes and looked in front of him, he must see the ghost of +the dead man. It was early in the night, not yet twelve o'clock. As he +entered the grounds of the Court, the stable clock struck twelve. + +"I suppose I shall get into a beastly mess about this," thought Awdrey. +"I never meant to kill that poor fellow. I ran at him in self-defence. +He'd have had my blood if I hadn't his. Shall I see my father about it +now? My father is a magistrate; he'll know what's best to be done." + +Awdrey walked up to the house. His gait was uncertain and shambling, so +little characteristic of him that if any one had met him in the dark he +would not have been recognized. He opened one of the side doors of the +great mansion with a latch key. The Awdreys were early people--an +orderly household who went to roost in good time--the lamps were out in +the house--only here and there was a dim illumination suited to the +hours of darkness. Awdrey did not meet a soul as he went up some stairs, +and down one or two corridors to his own cheerful bedroom. He paused as +he turned the handle of his door. + +"My father is in bed. There's no use in troubling him about this horrid +matter before the morning," he said to himself. + +Then he opened the door of his room, and went in. + +To his surprise he saw on the threshold, just inside the door, a little +note. He picked it up and opened it. + +It was from his sister Ann. It ran as follows: + + "DEAREST BOB.--I have seen the Cuthberts, and they can join us + on the plain to-morrow for a picnic. As you have gone early to + bed, I thought I'd let you know in case you choose to get up at + cockcrow, and perhaps leave us for the day. Don't forget that + we start at two o'clock, and that Margaret will be there. Your + loving sister, ANN." + +Awdrey found himself reading the note with interest. The excited beating +of his heart cooled down. He sank into a chair, took off his cap, wiped +the perspiration from his brow. + +"I wouldn't miss Margaret for the world," he said to himself. + +A look of pleasure filled his dark gray eyes. A moment or two later he +was in bed, and sound asleep. He awoke at his usual hour in the morning. +He rose and dressed calmly. He had forgotten all about the murder--the +doom of his house had fallen upon him. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +"I wish you would tell me about him, Mr. Awdrey," said Margaret Douglas. + +She was a handsome girl, tall and slightly made--her eyes were black as +night, her hair had a raven hue, her complexion was a pure olive. She +was standing a little apart from a laughing, chattering group of boys +and girls, young men and young ladies, with a respectable sprinkling of +fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts. Awdrey stood a foot or two away +from her--his face was pale, he looked subdued and gentle. + +"What can I tell you?" he asked. + +"You said you met him last night, poor fellow. The whole thing seems so +horrible, and to think of it happening on this very plain, just where we +are having our picnic. If I had known it, I would not have come." + +"The murder took place several miles from here," said Awdrey. "Quite +close to the Court, in fact. I've been over the ground this morning with +my father and one of the keepers. The body was removed before we came." + +"Didn't it shock you very much?" + +"Yes; I am sorry for that unfortunate Everett." + +"Who is he? I have not heard of him." + +"He is the man whom they think must have done it. There is certainly +very grave circumstantial evidence against him. He and Frere were heard +quarrelling last night, and Armitage can prove that Everett did not +return home until about two in the morning. When he went out he said he +was going to follow Frere, who had gone away in a very excited state of +mind. + +"What about, I wonder?" + +"The usual thing," said Awdrey, giving Margaret a quick look, under +which she lowered her eyes and faintly blushed. + +"Tell me," she said, almost in a whisper. "I am interested--it is such a +tragedy." + +"It is; it is awful. Sit down here, won't you, or shall we walk on a +little way? We shall soon get into shelter if we go down this valley and +get under those trees yonder." + +"Come then," said Margaret. + +She went first, her companion followed her. He looked at her many times +as she walked on in front of him. Her figure was full of supple and easy +grace, her young steps seemed to speak the very essence of youth and +springtime. She appeared scarcely to touch the ground as she walked over +it; once she turned, and the full light of her dark eyes made Awdrey's +heart leap. Presently she reached the shadow caused by a copse of young +trees, and stood still until the Squire came up to her. + +"Here's a throne for you, Miss Douglas. Do you see where this tree +extends two friendly arms? Do you observe a seat inlaid with moss? Take +your throne." + +She did so immediately and looked up at him with a smile. + +"The throne suits you," he said. + +She looked down--her lips faintly trembled--then she raised her eyes. + +"Why are you so pale?" he asked anxiously. + +"I can't quite tell you," she replied, "except that notwithstanding the +beauty of the day, and the summer feeling which pervades the air, I +can't get rid of a sort of fear. It may be superstitious of me, but I +think it is unlucky to have a picnic on the very plain where a murder +was committed." + +"You forget over what a wide extent the plain extends," said Awdrey; +"but if I had known"--he stopped and bit his lips. + +"Never mind," she answered, endeavoring to smile and look cheerful, "any +sort of tragedy always affects me to a remarkable degree. I can't help +it--I'm afraid there is something in me akin to trouble, but of course +it would be folly for us to stay indoors just because that poor young +fellow came to a violent end some miles away." + +"Yes, it is quite some miles from here--I am truly sorry for him." + +"Sit down here, Mr. Awdrey, here at my feet if you like, and tell me +about it." + +"I will sit at your feet with all the pleasure in the world, but why +should we talk any more on this gruesome subject?" + +"That's just it," said Margaret, "if I am to get rid of it, I must know +all about it. You said you met him last night?" + +"I did," said Awdrey, speaking with unwillingness. + +"And you guess why he came by his end?" + +"Partly, but not wholly." + +"Well, do tell me." + +"I will--I'll put it in as few words as possible. You know that little +witch Hetty, the pretty niece of the innkeeper Armitage?" + +"Hetty Armitage--of course I know her. I tried to get her into my Sunday +class, but she wouldn't come." + +"She's a silly little creature," said Awdrey. + +"She is a very beautiful little creature," corrected Miss Douglas. + +"Yes, I am afraid her beauty was too much for this unfortunate Frere's +sanity. I came across him last night, or rather they passed me by in the +underwood, enacting a love scene. The fact is, he was kissing her. I +thought he was taking a liberty and interfered. He told me he intended +to marry her--but Hetty denied it. I saw her back to the Inn--she was +very silent and depressed. Another man, a handsome fellow, was standing +in the porch. It just occurred to me at the time, that perhaps he also +was a suitor for her hand, and might be the favored one. She went +indoors. On my way home I met Frere again. He tried to pick a quarrel +with me, which of course I nipped in the bud. He referred to his firm +intention of marrying Hetty Armitage, and when I told him that she had +denied the engagement, he said he would go back at once and speak to +her. I then returned to the Court. + +"The first thing I heard this morning was the news of the murder. My +father as magistrate was of course made acquainted with the fact at a +very early hour. Poor Everett has been arrested on suspicion, and +there's to be a coroner's inquest to-morrow. That is the entire story as +far as I know anything about it. Your face is whiter than ever, Miss +Douglas. Now keep your word--forget it, since you have heard all the +facts of the case." + +She looked down again. Presently she raised her eyes, brimful of tears, +to his face. + +"I cannot forget it," she said. "That poor young fellow--such a +fearfully sudden end, and that other poor fellow; surely if he did take +away a life it must have been in a moment of terrible madness?" + +"That is true," said Awdrey. + +"They cannot possibly convict him of murder, can they?" + +"My father thinks that the verdict will be manslaughter, or, at the +worst, murder under strong provocation; but it is impossible to tell." + +Awdrey looked again anxiously at his companion. Her pallor and distress +aroused emotion in his breast which he found almost impossible to quiet. + +"I'm sorry to my heart that you know about this," he said. "You are not +fit to stand any of the roughness of life." + +"What folly!" she answered, with passion. "What am I that I should +accept the smooth and reject the rough? I tell you what I would like to +do. I'd like to go this very moment to see that poor Mr. Everett, in +order to tell him how deeply sorry I am for him. To ask him to tell me +the story from first to last, from his point of view. To clear him from +this awful stain. And I'd like to lay flowers over the breast of that +dead boy. Oh, I can't bear it. Why is the world so full of trouble and +pain?" + +She burst into sudden tears. + +"Don't, don't! Oh! Margaret, you're an angel. You're too good for this +earth," said Awdrey. + +"Nonsense," she answered; "let me have my cry out; I'll be all right in +a minute." + +Her brief tears were quickly over. She dashed them aside and rose to her +feet. + +"I hear the children shouting to me," she said. "I'm in no humor to meet +them. Where shall we go?" + +"This way," said Awdrey quickly; "no one knows the way through this +copse but me." + +He gave her his hand, pushed aside the trees, and they soon found +themselves in a dim little world of soft green twilight. There was a +narrow path on which they could not walk abreast. Awdrey now took the +lead, Margaret following him. After walking for half a mile the wood +grew thinner, and they found themselves far away from their companions, +and on a part of the plain which was quite new ground to Margaret. + +"How lovely and enchanting it is here," she said, giving a low laugh of +pleasure. + +"I am glad you like it," said Awdrey. "I discovered that path to these +heights only a week ago. I never told a soul about it. For all you can +tell your feet may now be treading on virgin ground." + +As Awdrey spoke he panted slightly, and put his hand to his brow. + +"Is anything the matter with you?" asked Margaret. + +"Nothing; I was never better in my life." + +"You don't look well; you're changed." + +"Don't say that," he answered, a faint ring of anxiety in his voice. + +She gazed at him earnestly. + +"You are," she repeated. "I don't quite recognize the expression in your +eyes." + +"Oh, I'm all right," he replied, "only----" + +"Only what? Do tell me." + +"I don't want to revert to that terrible tragedy again," he said, after +a pause. "There is something, however, in connection with it which +surprises myself." + +"What is that?" + +"I don't seem to feel the horror of it. I feel everything else; your +sorrow, for instance--the beauty of the day--the gladness and fulness of +life, but I don't feel any special pang about that poor dead fellow. +It's queer, is it not?" + +"No," said Margaret tenderly. "I know--I quite understand your +sensation. You don't feel it simply because you feel it too much--you +are slightly stunned." + +"Yes, you're right--we'll not talk about it any more. Let us stay here +for a little while." + +"Tell me over again the preparations for your coming of age." + +Margaret seated herself on the grass as she spoke. Her white dress--her +slim young figure--a sort of spiritual light in her dark eyes, gave her +at that moment an unearthly radiance in the eyes of the man who loved +her. All of a sudden, with an impulse he could not withstand, he +resolved to put his fortunes to the test. + +"Forgive me," he said, emotion trembling in his voice--"I can only speak +of one thing at this moment." + +He dropped lightly on one knee beside her. She did not ask him what it +was. She looked down. + +"You know perfectly well what I am going to say," he continued; "you +know what I want most when I come of age--I want my wife--I want you. +Margaret, you must have guessed my secret long ago?" + +She did not answer him for nearly a minute--then she softly and timidly +stretched out one of her hands--he grasped it in his. + +"You have guessed--you do know--you're not astonished nor shocked at my +words?" + +"Your secret was mine, too," she answered in a whisper. + +"You will marry me, Margaret--you'll make me the happiest of men?" + +"I will be your wife if you wish it, Robert," she replied. + +She stood up as she spoke. She was tall, but he was a little taller--he +put his arms round her, drew her close to him, and kissed her +passionately. + +Half-an-hour afterward they left the woods side by side. + +"Don't tell anybody to-day," said Margaret. + +"Why not? I don't feel as if I could keep it to myself even for an hour +longer." + +"Still, humor me, Robert; remember I am superstitious." + +"What about?" + +"I am ashamed to confess it--I would rather that our engagement was not +known until the day of the murder has gone by." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Margaret Douglas lived with her cousins, the Cuthberts. Sir John +Cuthbert was the Squire of a parish at a little distance from +Grandcourt. He was a wealthy man and was much thought of in his +neighborhood. Margaret was the daughter of a sister who had died many +years ago--she was poor, but this fact did not prevent the county +assigning her a long time ago to Robert Awdrey as his future wife. The +attachment between the pair had been the growth of years. They had spent +their holidays together, and had grown up to a great extent in each +other's company--it had never entered into the thoughts of either to +love any one else. Awdrey, true to his promise to Margaret, said nothing +about his engagement, but the secret was after all an open one. When the +young couple appeared again among the rest of Sir John Cuthbert's +guests, they encountered more than one significant glance, and Lady +Cuthbert even went to the length of kissing Margaret with much fervor in +Awdrey's presence. + +"You must come back with us to Cuthbertstown to supper," she said to the +young Squire. + +"Yes, come, Robert," said Margaret, with a smile. + +He found it impossible to resist the invitation in her eyes. It was +late, therefore, night, in fact, when he started to walk back to +Grandcourt. He felt intensely happy as he walked. He had much reason for +this happiness--had he not just won the greatest desire of his life? +There was nothing to prevent the wedding taking place almost +immediately. As he strode quickly over the beautiful summer landscape he +was already planning the golden future which lay before him. He would +live in London, he would cultivate the considerable abilities which he +undoubtedly possessed. He would lead an active, energetic, and worthy +life. Margaret already shared all his ambitions. She would encourage him +to be a man in every sense of the word. How lucky he was--how kind fate +was to him! Why were the things of life so unevenly divided? Why was one +man lifted to a giddy pinnacle of joy and another hurled into an abyss +of despair? How happy he was that evening--whereas Everett--he paused in +his quick walk as the thought of Everett flashed before his mind's eye. +He didn't know the unfortunate man who was now awaiting the coroner's +inquest, charged with the terrible crime of murder, but he had seen him +twenty-four hours ago. Everett had looked jolly and good-tempered, +handsome and strong, as he stood in the porch of the pretty little inn, +and smoked his pipe and looked at Hetty when Awdrey brought her home. +Now a terrible and black doom was overshadowing him. Awdrey could not +help feeling deeply interested in the unfortunate man. He was young like +himself. Perhaps he, too, had dreamed dreams, and been full of ambition, +and perhaps he loved a girl, and thought of making her his wife. Perhaps +Hetty was the girl--if so--Awdrey stamped his foot with impatience. + +"What mischief some women do," he muttered; "what a difference there is +between one woman and another. Who would suppose that Margaret Douglas +and Hetty Armitage belonged to the same race? Poor Frere, how madly in +love he was with that handsome little creature! How little she cared for +the passion which she had evoked. I hope she won't come in my path; I +should like to give her a piece of my mind." + +This thought had scarcely rushed through Awdrey's brain before he was +attracted by a sound in the hedge close by, and Hetty herself stood +before him. + +"I thought you would come back this way, Mr. Robert," she said. "I've +waited here by the hedge for a long time on purpose to see you." + +The Squire choked down a sound of indignation--the hot color rushed to +his cheeks--it was with difficulty he could keep back his angry words. +One glance, however, at Hetty's face caused his anger to fade. The +lovely little face was so completely changed that he found some +difficulty in recognizing it. Hetty's pretty figure had always been the +perfection of trim neatness. No London belle could wear her expensive +dresses more neatly nor more becomingly. Her simple print frocks fitted +her rounded figure like a glove. The roses on her cheeks spoke the +perfection of perfect health; her clear dark eyes were wont to be as +open and untroubled as a child's. Her wealth of coal-black hair was +always neatly coiled round her shapely head. Now, all was changed, the +pretty eyes were scarcely visible between their swollen lids--the face +was ghastly pale in parts--blotched with ugly red marks in others; there +were great black shadows under the eyes, the lips were parched and dry, +they drooped wearily as if in utter despair. The hair was untidy, and +one great coil had altogether escaped its bondage, and hung recklessly +over the girl's neck and bosom. Her cotton dress was rumpled and +stained, and the belt with which she had hastily fastened it together, +was kept in its place by a large pin. + +Being a man, Awdrey did not notice all these details, but the _tout +ensemble_, the abject depression of intense grief, struck him with a +sudden pang. + +"After all, the little thing loved that poor fellow," he said to +himself; "she was a little fool to trifle with him, but the fact that +she loved him alters the complexion of affairs." + +"What can I do for you?" he said, speaking in a gentle and compassionate +voice. + +"I have waited to tell you something for nearly two hours, Mr. Robert." + +"Why did you do it? If you wanted to say anything to me, you could have +come to the Court, or I'd have called at the Inn. What is it you want to +say?" + +"I could not come to the Court, sir, and I could not send you a message, +because no one must know that we have met. I came out here unknown to +any one; I saw you go home from Cuthbertstown with Miss Douglas." Here +Hetty choked down a sob. "I waited by the hedge, for I knew you must +pass back this way. I wished to say, Mr. Robert, to tell you, sir, that +whatever happens, however matters turn out, I'll be true to you. No one +shall get a word out of me. They say it's awful to be cross-examined, +but I'll be true. I thought I'd let you know, Mr. Awdrey. To my dying +day I'll never let out a word--you need have no fear." + +"I need have no fear," said Awdrey, in absolute astonishment. "What in +the world do you mean? What are you talking about?" + +Hetty looked full up into the Squire's face. The unconscious and +unembarrassed gaze with which he returned her look evidently took her +breath away. + +"I made a mistake," she said in a whisper. "I see that I made a mistake. +I'd rather not say what I came to say." + +"But you must say it, Hetty; you have something more to tell me, or you +wouldn't have taken all this trouble to wait by the roadside on the +chance of my passing. What is it? Out with it now, like a good girl." + +"May I walk along a little bit with you, Mr. Robert?" + +"You may as far as the next corner. There our roads part, and you must +go home." + +Hetty shivered. She gave the Squire another furtive and undecided +glance. + +"Shall I tell him?" she whispered to herself. + +Awdrey glanced at her, and spoke impatiently. + +"Come, Hetty; remember I'm waiting to hear your story. Out with it now, +be quick about it." + +"I was out last night, sir." + +"You were out--when? Not after I saw you home?" + +"Yes, sir." Hetty choked again. "It was after ten o'clock." + +"You did very wrong. Were you out alone?" + +"Yes, sir. I--I followed Mr. Frere on to the Plain." + +"You did?" said Awdrey. "Is that fact known? Did you see anything?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then why in the name of Heaven didn't you come up to the Court this +morning and tell my father. Your testimony may be most important. Think +of the position of that poor unfortunate young Everett." + +"No, sir, I don't think of it." + +"What do you mean, girl?" + +"Let me tell you my story, Mr. Awdrey. If it is nothing to you--it is +nothing. You will soon know if it is nothing or not. I had a quarrel +with Mr. Frere last night. Nobody was by; Mr. Frere came into Aunt's +parlor and he spoke to me very angrily, and I--I told him something +which made him wild." + +"What was that?" + +Hetty gave a shy glance up at the young Squire; his face looked hard, +his lips were firmly set. He and she were walking on the same road, but +he kept as far from her side as possible. + +"I will not tell him--at least I will not tell him yet," she said to +herself. + +"I think I won't say, sir," she replied. "What we talked about was Mr. +Frere's business and mine. He asked me if I loved another man better +than him, and I--I said that I did, sir." + +"I thought as much," reflected Awdrey; "Everett is the favored one. If +this fact is known it will go against the poor fellow." + +"Well, Hetty," he interrupted, "it's my duty to tell you that you +behaved very badly, and are in a great measure responsible for the awful +tragedy that has occurred. There, poor child, don't cry. Heaven knows, I +don't wish to add to your trouble; but see, we have reached the +cross-roads where we are to part, and you have not yet told me what you +saw when you went out." + +"I crept out of my bedroom window," said Hetty. "Aunt and uncle had gone +to bed. I can easily get out of the window, it opens right on the +cow-house, and from there I can swing myself into the laburnum-tree, and +so reach the ground. I got out, and followed Mr. Frere. Presently I saw +that Mr. Everett was also out, and was following him. I knew every yard +of the Plain well, far better than Mr. Everett did. I went to it by a +short cut round by Sweetbriar Lane--you know the part there--not far +from the Court. I had no sooner got on the Plain than I saw Mr. +Frere--he was running--I thought he was running to meet me--he came +forward by leaps and bounds very fast--suddenly he stumbled and fell. I +wanted to call him, but my voice, sir, it wouldn't rise, it seemed to +catch in my throat. I couldn't manage to say his name. All of a sudden +the moon went down, and the plain was all gray with black shadows. I +felt frightened--awfully. I was determined to get to Mr. Frere. I +stumbled on--presently I fell over the trunk of a tree. My fall stunned +me a bit--when I rose again there were two men on the Plain. They were +standing facing each other. Oh, Mr. Awdrey, I don't think I'll say any +more." + +"Not say any more? You certainly must, girl," cried Awdrey, his face +blazing with excitement. "You saw two men facing each other--Frere and +Everett, no doubt." + +Hetty was silent. After a moment, during which her heart beat loudly, +she continued to speak in a very low voice. + +"It was so dark that the men looked like shadows. Presently I heard them +talking--they were quarrelling. All of a sudden they sprang together +like--like tigers, and they--fought. I heard the sound of blows--one of +them fell, the taller one--he got on to his feet in a minute: they +fought a second time, then one gave a cry, a very sharp, sudden cry, and +there was the sound of a body falling with a thud on the +ground--afterward, silence--not a sound. I crept behind the furze bush. +I was quite stunned. After a long time--at least it seemed a long time +to me--one of the men went away, and the other man lay on his back with +his face turned up to the sky. The man who had killed him turned in the +direction of----" + +"In what direction?" asked Awdrey. + +"In the direction of----" Hetty looked full up at the Squire; the +Squire's eyes met hers. "The town, sir." + +"Oh, the town," said Awdrey, giving vent to a short laugh. "From the way +you looked at me, I thought you were going to say The Court." + +"Sir, Mr. Robert, do you think it was Mr. Everett?" + +"Who else could it have been?" replied Awdrey. + +"Very well, sir, I'll hold to that. Who else could it have been? I +thought I'd tell you, Mr. Awdrey. I thought you'd like to know that I'd +hold to that. When the steps of the murderer died away, I stole back to +Mr. Frere, and I tried to bring him back to life, but he was as dead as +a stone. I left him and I went home. I got back to my room about four in +the morning. Not a soul knew I was out; no one knows it now but you, +sir. I thought I'd come and tell you, Mr. Robert, that I'd hold to the +story that it was Mr. Everett who committed the murder. Good-night, +sir." + +"Good-night, Hetty. You'll have to tell my father what you have told me, +in the morning." + +"Very well, sir, if you wish it." + +Hetty turned and walked slowly back toward the village, and Awdrey stood +where the four roads met and watched her. For a moment or two he was +lost in anxious thought--then he turned quickly and walked home. He +entered the house by the same side entrance by which he had come in on +the previous night. He walked down a long passage, crossed the wide +front hall, and entered the drawing-room where his sister Ann was +seated. + +"Is that you, Bob?" she said, jumping up when she saw him. "I'm so glad +to have you all to myself. Of course, you were too busy with Margaret to +take any notice of us all day, but I've been dying to hear your account +of that awful tragedy. Sit here like a dear old fellow and tell me the +story." + +"Talk of women and their tender hearts," said Awdrey, with irritation. + +Then the memory of Margaret came over him and his face softened. +Margaret, whose heart was quite the tenderest thing in all the world, +had also wished to hear of the tragedy. + +"To tell the truth, Ann," he said, sinking into a chair by his sister's +side, "you can scarcely ask me to discuss a more uncongenial theme. Of +course, the whole thing will be thoroughly investigated, and the local +papers will be filled with nothing else for weeks to come. Won't that +content you? Must I, too, go into this painful subject?" + +Ann was a very good-natured girl. + +"Certainly not, dear Bob, if it worries you," she replied; "but just +answer me one question. Is it true that you met the unfortunate man last +night?" + +"Quite true. I did. We had a sort of quarrel." + +"Good gracious! Why, Robert, if you had been out late last night they +might have suspected you of the murder." + +Awdrey's face reddened. + +"As it happens, I went to bed remarkably early," he said; "at least, +such is my recollection." As he spoke he looked at his sister with +knitted brows. + +"Why, of course, don't you remember, you said you were dead beat. +Dorothy and I wanted you to sing with us, but you declared you were as +hoarse as a raven, and went off to your bedroom immediately after +supper. For my part, I was so afraid of disturbing you that I wouldn't +even knock when I pushed that little note about Margaret under the +door." + +Ann gave her brother a roguish glance when she mentioned Margaret's +name. He did not notice it. He was thinking deeply. + +"I am tired to-night, too," he said. "I have an extraordinary feeling in +the back of my head, as if it were numbed. I believe I want more sleep. +This horrid affair has upset me. Well, goodnight, Ann, I'm off to bed at +once." + +"But supper is ready." + +"I had something at Cuthbertstown; I don't want anything more. +Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +Hetty dragged herself wearily home--she had waited to see the young +Squire in a state of intense and rapt excitement. He had received her +news with marvellous indifference. The excitement he had shown was the +ordinary excitement which an outsider might feel when he received +startling and unlooked for tidings. There was not a scrap of personal +emotion in his manner. Was it possible that he had forgotten all about +the murder which he himself had committed? Hetty was not a native of +Grandcourt without knowing something of the tragedy which hung over the +Court. Was it possible that the doom of the house had really overtaken +Robert Awdrey? Hetty with her own eyes had seen him kill Horace Frere. +Her own eyes could surely not deceive her. She rubbed them now in her +bewilderment. Yes, she had seen the murder committed. Without any doubt +Awdrey was the man who had struggled with Frere. Frere had thrown him to +the ground; he had risen quickly again. Once more the two men had rushed +at each other like tigers eager for blood--there had been a scuffle--a +fierce, awful wrestle. A wrestle which had been followed by a sudden +leap forward on the part of the young Squire--he had used his stick as +men use bayonets in battle--there had come a groan from Frere's lips--he +had staggered--his body had fallen to the ground with a heavy thud--then +had followed an awful silence. Yes, Hetty had seen the whole thing. She +had watched the terrible transaction from beginning to end. After he had +thrown his man to the ground the Squire had struck a match, and had +looked hard into the face of the dead. Hetty had seen the lurid light +flash up for an instant on the Squire's face--it had looked haggard and +gray--like the face of an old man. She had watched him as he examined +the slender stick with which he had killed his foe. She observed him +then creep across the Plain to a copse of young alders. She had seen him +push the stick out of sight into the middle of the alders--she had then +watched him as he went quickly home. Yes, Robert Awdrey was the guilty +man--Frank Everett was innocent, as innocent as a babe. All day long +Hetty's head had been in a mad whirl. She had kept her terrible +knowledge to herself. Knowing that a word from her could save him, she +had allowed Everett to be arrested. She had watched him from behind her +window when the police came to the house for the purpose, she had seen +Everett go away in the company of two policemen. He was a square-built +young fellow with broad shoulders--he had held himself sturdily as an +Englishman should, when he walked off, an innocent man, to meet an awful +doom. Hetty, as she watched, crushed down the cry in her heart--it had +clamored to save this man. There was a louder cry there--a fiercer +instinct. The Squire belonged to her own people--she was like a subject, +and he was her king--to the people of Grandcourt the king could do +nothing wrong. They were old-fashioned in the little village, and had +somewhat the feeling of serfs to their feudal lord. Hetty shared the +tradition of her race. But over and above these minor matters, the +unhappy girl loved Robert Awdrey with a fierce passion. She would rather +die herself than see him die. When she saw Everett arrested, she watched +the whole proceeding in dull amazement. She wondered why the Squire had +not acted a man's part. Why did he not deliver himself up to the course +of justice? He had killed Frere in a moment of mad passion. Hetty's +heart throbbed. Could that passion have been evoked on her account? Of +course, he would own to his sin. He had not done so; on the contrary, he +had gone to a picnic. He had been seen walking about with the young lady +whom he loved. Did Robert Awdrey really love Margaret Douglas? + +"If that is the case, why should not I give him up?" thought Hetty. "He +cares nothing for me. I am less than the thistle under his feet. Why +should I save him? Why should Mr. Everett die because of him? The Squire +cares nothing for me. Why should I sin on his account?" + +These thoughts, when they came to her, were quickly hurled aside by +others. + +"I'd die twenty times over rather than he should suffer," thought the +girl. "He shan't die, he's my king, and I'm his subject. It does not +matter whether he loves me or not, he shan't die. Yes, he loves that +beautiful Miss Douglas--she belongs to his set, and she'll be his wife. +Perhaps she thinks that she loves him. Oh, oh!" + +Hetty laughed wildly to herself. + +"After all, she doesn't know what real love is. She little guesses what +I feel; she little guesses that I hold his life in my hands. O God, keep +me from going mad!" + +It was dark when Hetty re-entered the Inn. The taproom was the scene of +noisy excitement. It was crowded with eager and interested villagers. +The murder was the one and only topic of conversation. Armitage was busy +attending to his numerous guests, and Mrs. Armitage kept going backward +and forward between the taproom and the little kitchen at the back. + +When she saw Hetty she called out to her in a sharp tone. + +"Where have you been, girl?" she cried. "Now just look here, your uncle +won't have you stealing out in this fashion any more. You are to stay at +home when it is dark. Why, it's all over the place, it's in every one's +mouth, that you have been the cause of the murder. You encouraged that +poor Mr. Frere with your idle, flighty, silly ways and looks, and then +you played fast and loose with him. Don't you know that this is just the +thing that will ruin us? Yes, you'll be the ruin of us Hetty, and times +so bad, too. When are we likely to have parlor lodgers again?" + +"Oh, Aunt, I wish you wouldn't scold me," answered Hetty. She sank down +on the nearest chair, pushed her hat from her brow, and pressed her hand +to it. + +"Sakes, child!" exclaimed her aunt, "you do look white and bad to be +sure." + +Mrs. Armitage stood in front of her niece, and eyed her with a critical +gaze. + +"It's my belief, after all, that you really cared for the poor young +man," she said. "For all your silly, flighty ways you gave him what +little heart you possess. If he meant honest by you, you couldn't have +done better--they say he had lots of money, and not a soul to think of +but himself. I don't know how your uncle is to provide for you. But +there, you've learned your lesson, and I hope you'll never forget it." + +"Aunt Fanny, may I go upstairs to my room?" + +"Hoity toity! nothing of the kind. You've got to work for your living +like the rest of us. Put on your apron and help me to wash up the +dishes." + +Hetty rose wearily from her chair. The body of the murdered man lay out +straight and still in the little front parlor. Many people had been in +and out during the afternoon; many people had gazed solemnly at the +white face. The doctor had examined the wound in the eye. The coroner +had come to view the dead. All was in readiness for the inquest, which +was to take place at an early hour on the following day. No one as yet +had wept a single tear over the dead man. Mrs. Armitage came to Hetty +now and asked her to go and fetch something out of the parlor. A paper +which had been left on the mantelpiece was wanted by Armitage in a +hurry. + +"Go, child, be quick!" said the aunt. "You'll find the paper by that +vase of flowers on the mantelpiece." + +Hetty obeyed, never thinking of what she was to see. There was no +artificial light in the room. On the centre-table, in a rude coffin +which had been hastily prepared, lay the body. It was covered by a white +sheet. The moon poured in a ghastly light through the window. The form +of the dead man was outlined distinctly under the sheet. Hetty almost +ran up against it when she entered the room. Her nerves were overstrung; +she was not prepared for the sight which met her startled eyes; uttering +a piercing shriek, she rushed from the room into her Aunt Fanny's arms. + +"Now, whatever is the matter?" said the elder woman. + +"You shouldn't have sent me in there," panted Hetty. "You should have +told me that it was there." + +"Well, well, I thought you knew. What a silly little good-for-nothing +you are! Stay quiet and I'll run and fetch the paper. Dear, dear, I'm +glad you are not my niece; it's Armitage you belong to." + +Mrs. Armitage entered the parlor, fetched the required paper, and shut +the door behind her. As she walked down the passage Hetty started +quickly forward and caught her arm. + +"If I don't tell somebody at once I'll go mad," she said. "Aunt Fanny, I +must speak to you at once. I can't keep it to myself another minute." + +"Good gracious me! whatever is to be done, Hetty? How am I to find time +to listen to your silly nonsense just now? There's your uncle nearly +wild with all the work being left on his hands." + +"It isn't silly nonsense, Aunt Fanny. I've got to say something. I know +something. I must tell it to you. I must tell it to you at once." + +"Why, girl," said Mrs. Armitage, staring hard at her niece, "you are not +making a fool of me, are you?" + +"No. I'll go up to my room. Come to me as soon as ever you can. Tell +Uncle that you are tired and must go to bed at once. Tell any lie, make +any excuse, only come to me quickly. I'm in such a state that if you +don't come I'll have to go right into the taproom and tell every one +what I know. Oh, Aunt Fanny! have mercy on me and come quickly." + +"You do seem in a way, Hetty," replied the aunt. "For goodness sake do +keep yourself calm. There, run upstairs and I'll be with you in a minute +or two." + +Mrs. Armitage went into the taproom to her husband. + +"Look here, John," she sad, "I've got a splitting headache, and Hetty is +fairly knocked up. Can't you manage to do without us for the rest of the +evening?" + +"Of course, wife, if you're really bad," replied Armitage. "There's work +here for three pairs of hands," he added, "but that can't be helped, if +you are really bad." + +"Yes, I am, and as to that child, she is fairly done." + +"I'm not surprised. I wonder she's alive when she knows the whole thing +is owing to her. Little hussy, I'd like to box her ears, that I would." + +"So would I for that matter," replied the wife, "but she's in an awful +state, poor child, and if I don't get her to bed, she'll be ill, and +there will be more money out of pocket." + +"Don't waste your strength sitting up with her, wife, she ain't worth +it," Armitage called out, as his wife left the room. + +A moment later, Mrs. Armitage crept softly upstairs. She entered Hetty's +little chamber, which was also flooded with moonlight. It was a tiny +room, with a sloping roof. Its little lattice window was wide open. +Hetty was kneeling by the window looking out into the night. The moment +she saw her aunt she rose to her feet, and ran to meet her. + +"Lock the door, Aunt Fanny," she said, in a hoarse whisper. + +"Oh, child, whatever has come to you?" + +"Lock the door, Aunt Fanny, or let me do it." + +"There, I'll humor you. Here's the key. I'll put it into my pocket. Why +don't you have a light, Hetty?" + +"I don't want it--the moon makes light enough for me. I have something +to say to you. If I don't tell it, I shall go mad. You must share it +with me, Aunt Fanny. You and I must both know it, and we must keep it to +ourselves forever and ever and ever." + +"Lor, child! what are you talking about?" + +"I'll soon tell you. Let me kneel close to you. Hold my hand. I never +felt so frightened in all my life before." + +"Out with it, Hetty, whatever it is." + +"Aunt, before I say a word, you've got to make me a promise." + +"What's that?" + +"You won't tell a soul what I am going to say to you." + +"I hate making promises of that sort, Hetty." + +"Never mind whether you hate it or not. Promise or I shall go mad." + +"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, "why should a poor woman be +bothered in this way, and you neither kith nor kin to me. Don't you +forget that it's Armitage you belong to. You've no blood of mine, thank +goodness, in your veins." + +"What does that matter. You're a woman, and I'm another. I'm just in the +most awful position a girl could be in. But whatever happens, I'll be +true to him. Yes, Aunt Fanny, I'll be true to him. I'm nothing to him, +no more than if I were a weed, but I love him madly, deeply, +desperately. He is all the world to me. He is my master, and I am his +slave. Of course I'm nothing to him, but he's everything to me, and he +shan't die. Aunt Fanny, you and I have got to be true to him. We must +share the thing together, for I can't keep the secret by myself. You +must share it with me, Aunt Fanny." + +Up to this point, Mrs. Armitage had regarded Hetty's words as merely +those of a hysterical and over-wrought girl. Now, however, she began to +perceive method in her madness. + +"Look here, child," she said, "if you've got anything to say, say it, +and have done with it. I'm not blessed with over much patience, and I +can't stand beating round the bush. If you have a secret, out with it, +you silly thing. Oh, yes, of course I won't betray you. I expect it's +just this, you've gone and done something you oughtn't to. Oh, what have +I done to be blessed with a niece-in-law like you? + +"It's nothing of that sort, Aunt Fanny. It is this--I don't mind telling +you now, now that you have promised not to betray me. Aunt Fanny, I was +out last night--I saw the murder committed." + +Mrs. Armitage suppressed a sharp scream. + +"Heaven preserve us!" she said, in a choking voice. "Were you not in +bed, you wicked girl?" + +"No, I was out. I had quarrelled with Mr. Frere in the parlor, and I +thought I'd follow him and make it up. I went straight on to the +Plain--I saw him running. I hid behind a furze bush and I saw the +quarrel, and I heard the words--I saw the awful struggle, and I heard +the blows. I heard the fall, too--and I saw the man who had killed Mr. +Frere run away." + +"I wonder you never told all this to-day, Hetty Armitage. Well, I'm +sorry for that poor Mr. Everett. Oh, dear, what will not our passions +lead us to; to think that two young gentlemen should come to this +respectable house, and that it should be the case of Cain and Abel over +again--one rising up and slaying the other." + +Hetty, who had been kneeling all this time, now rose. Her face was +ghastly--her words came out in strange pauses. + +"It wasn't Mr. Everett," she said. + +"Good Heavens! Hetty," exclaimed her aunt, springing also to her feet, +and catching the girl's two hands within her own--"It wasn't Mr. +Everett!--what in the world do you mean?" + +"What I say, Aunt Fanny--the man who killed Mr. Frere was Mr. Awdrey. +Our Mr. Awdrey, Aunt Fanny, and I could die for him--and no one must +ever know--and I saw him this evening, and--and he has forgotten all +about it. He doesn't know a bit about it--not a bit. Oh, Aunt Fanny, I +shall go quite mad, if you don't promise to help me to keep my secret." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +"Sit down, Hetty, and keep yourself quiet," said Mrs. Armitage. + +Her manner had completely changed. A stealthy, fearful look crept into +her face. She went on tiptoe to the door to assure herself over again +that it was locked. She then approached the window, shut it, fastened +it, and drew a heavy moreen curtain across it. + +"When one has secrets," she said, "it is best to be certain there are no +eavesdroppers anywhere." + +She then lit a candle and placed it on the centre of the little table. + +Having done this, she seated herself--she didn't care to look at Hetty. +She felt as if in a sort of way she had committed the murder herself. +The knowledge of the truth impressed her so deeply that she did not care +to encounter any eyes for a few minutes. + +"Aunt Fanny, why don't you speak to me?" asked the girl at last. + +"You are quite sure, child, that you have told me the truth?" said Mrs. +Armitage then. + +"Yes--it is the truth--is it likely that I could invent anything so +fearful?" + +"No, it ain't likely," replied the elder woman, "but I don't intend to +trust just to the mere word of a slip of a giddy girl like you. You must +swear it--is there a Bible in the room?" + +"Oh, don't, Aunt, I wish you wouldn't." + +"Stop that silly whining of yours, Hetty; what do your wishes matter one +way or the other? If you've told me the truth an awful thing has +happened, but I won't stir in the matter until I know it's gospel truth. +Yes, there's your Testament--the Testament will do. Now, Hetty Armitage, +hold this book in your hand, and say before God in heaven that you saw +Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. Horace Frere. Kiss the book, and tell the +truth if you don't want to lose your soul." + +Hetty trembled from head to foot. Her nature was impressionable--the +hour--the terrible excitement she had just lived through--the solemn, +frightened expression of her aunt's face, irritated her nerves to the +last extent. She had the utmost difficulty in keeping herself from +screaming aloud. + +"What do you want me to do?" she said, holding the Testament between her +limp fingers. + +"Say these words: 'I, Hetty Armitage, saw Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. +Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain last night. This is the truth, so help +me God.'" + +"I, Hetty Armitage, saw Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. Horace Frere on +Salisbury Plain last night. This is the truth, so help me God," repeated +Hetty, in a mechanical voice. + +"Kiss the Book now, child," said the aunt + +Hetty raised it to her lips. + +"Give me the Testament." + +Mrs. Armitage took it in her hands. + +"Aunt Fanny, what in the world do you mean to do now?" said the girl. + +"You are witness, Hetty; you are witness to what I mean to do. It is all +for the sake of the Family. What are poor folks like us and our +consciences, and our secrets, compared to the Family? This book has not +done its work yet. Now I am going to take an oath on the Testament. I, +Frances Armitage, swear by the God above, and the Bible He has given us, +that I will never tell to mortal man the truth about this murder." + +Mrs. Armitage finished her words by pressing the Testament to her lips. + +"Now you swear," she said, giving the book back again to her niece. + +Hetty did so. Her voice came out in broken sobs. Mrs. Armitage replaced +the Testament on the top shelf of Hetty's little bookcase. + +"There," she said, wiping her brow, "that's done. You saw the murder +committed; you and I have sworn that we'll never tell what we know. We +needn't talk of it any more. Another man will swing for it. Let him +swing. He is a nice fellow, too. He showed me the photograph of his +mother one day. She had white hair and eyes like his; she looked like a +lady every inch of her. Mr. Everett said, 'I am her only child, Mrs. +Armitage; I'm all she has got.' He had a pleasant smile--wonderful, and +a good face. Poor lad, if it wasn't the Family I had to be true to I +wouldn't let him swing. They say downstairs that the circumstantial +evidence is black against him." + +"Perhaps, after all, they cannot convict him, Aunt." + +"What do you know about it? I say they can and will, but don't let us +talk of it any more. The one thing you and I have to do is to be true to +the Family. There's not a second thought to be given to the matter. Sit +down, Hetty; don't keep hovering about like that. I think I had better +send you away from home; only I forgot, you are sure to be called upon +as a witness. You must see that your face doesn't betray you when you're +cross-examined." + +"No, it won't," said the girl. "I've got you to help me now. I can talk +about it sometimes, and it won't lie so heavily on my heart. Aunt Fanny, +do you really think Mr. Awdrey forgets?" + +"Do I think it? I know it. I don't trouble to think about what I know. +It's in their blood, I tell you. The things they ought to remember are +wiped out of their brains as clean as if you washed a slate after using +it. My mother was cook in the Family, and her mother and her mother +before her again. We are Perrys, and the Perrys had always a turn for +cooking. We've cooked the dinner up at the Court for close on a hundred +years. Don't you suppose I know their ways by this time? Oh, I could +tell you of fearful things. There have been dark deeds done before now, +and the men who did them had no more memory of their own sin than if +they were babies of a month old. There was a Squire--two generations +back he was--my grandmother knew him--and he had a son. The mother +was--! but there! where's the use of going into that. The mother died +raving mad, and the Squire knew no more what he had done than the babe +unborn. Folks call it the curse of God. It's an awful doom, and it +always comes on just as it has fallen on the young Squire. There comes a +fit of passion--a desperate deed is done or a desperate sorrow is met, +and all is blank. They wither up afterward just as if the drought was in +them. He'll die young, the young Squire will, just like his forefathers. +What's the good of crying, Hetty? Crying won't save him--he'll die +young. Blood for blood. God will require that young man's blood at his +hands. He can't escape--it's in his race; but at least he shan't hang +for it--if you and I can keep him from the gallows. Hetty, put your hand +in mine and tell me all over again what you saw." + +"I can't bear to go over it again, Aunt Fanny--it seems burnt into me +like fire. I can think of nothing else--I can think of no face but Mr. +Awdrey's--I can only remember the look on his face when he bent over the +man he had killed. I saw his face just for a minute by the light of the +match, and I never could have believed that human face could have looked +like that before. It was old--like the face of an old man. But I met him +this evening, Aunt Fanny, and he had forgotten all about it, and he was +jolly and happy, and they say he was seen with Miss Douglas to-day. The +family had a picnic on the Plain, and Miss Douglas was there, with her +uncle, Sir John Cuthbert, and there were a lot of other young ladies. +Mr. Awdrey went back to Cuthbertstown with Miss Douglas. It was when he +was returning to the Court I met him. All the world knows he worships +the ground she walks on. I suppose he'll marry her by and by, Aunt--he +seemed so happy and contented to-night." + +"I suppose he will marry her, child--that is the best thing that could +happen to him, and she's a nice young lady and his equal in other ways. +He's happy, did you say? Maybe he is for a bit, but he's a gone man for +all that--nothing, nor no one can keep the doom of his house from him. +What are you squeezing my hand for, Hetty?" + +"I can't bear to think of the Squire marrying Miss Douglas." + +"Stuff and nonsense! What is the Squire to you, except as one of the +Family. You'd better mind your station, Hetty, and leave your betters to +themselves. If you don't you'll get into awful trouble some day. But now +the night is going on, and we've got something to do. Tell me again how +that murder was done." + +"The Squire ran at Mr. Frere, and the point of his stick ran into Mr. +Frere's eye." + +"What did he do with the stick?" + +"He went to a copse of young alders and thrust it into the middle. Oh, +it's safe enough." + +"Nothing of the kind--it isn't safe at all. How do you know they won't +cut those alders down and find the stick? Mr. Robert's walking-stick is +well known--it has a silver plate upon it with his name. Years hence +people may come across that stick, and all the county will know at once +who it belonged to. Come along, Hetty--you and I have our work to do." + +"What is that, Aunt Fanny?" + +"Before the morning dawns we must bury that stick where no one will find +it." + +"Oh, Aunt, don't ask me--I can't go back to the Plain again." + +"You can and must--I wouldn't ask you, but I couldn't find the exact +spot myself. I'll go down first and have a word with Armitage, and then +return to you." + +Mrs. Armitage softly unlocked the door of her niece's room, and going +first to her own bedroom, washed her ashen face with cold water; she +then rubbed it hard with a rough towel to take some of the tell-tale +expression out of it. Afterward she stole softly downstairs. Her husband +was busy in the taproom. She opened the door, and called his name. + +"Armitage, I want you a minute." + +"Mercy on us, I thought you were in bed an hour ago, wife," he said. +"Why, you do look bad, what's the matter?" + +"It isn't me, it's the child--she's hysterical. I've been having no end +of a time with her; I came down to say that I'd sleep with Hetty +to-night. Good-night, Armitage." + +"Good-night," said the man. "I say, wife, though," he called after her, +"see that you are up in good time to-morrow." + +"Never fear," exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, as she ascended the creaking +stairs, "I'll be down and about at six." + +She re-entered her niece's bedroom and locked the door. + +"How did you get out last night?" she asked. + +"Through the window." + +"Well, you're a nice one. This is not the time to scold you, however, +and you and I have got to go out the same way now. They'll think we are +in our bed--let them think it. Come, be quick--show me the way out. It's +a goodish step from here to the Plain; we've not a minute to lose, and +not a soul must see us going or returning." + +Mrs. Armitage was nearly as slender and active as her niece. She +accomplished the descent from the window without the least difficulty, +and soon she and Hetty were walking quickly in the direction of the +Plain--they kept well in the shadow of the road and did not meet a soul +the entire way. During that walk neither woman spoke a word to the +other. Presently they reached the Plain. Hetty trembled as she stood by +the alder copse. + +"Keep your courage up," whispered Mrs. Armitage, "we must bury that +stick where no one can find it." + +"Don't bury it, Aunt Fanny," whispered Hetty. "I have thought of +something--there's the pond half a mile away. Let us weight the stick +with stones and throw it into the pond." + +"That's a good thought, child, we'll do it." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The village never forgot the week when the young Squire came of age. +During that week many important things happened. The usual festivities +were arranged to take place on Monday, for on that day the Squire +completed his twenty-first year. On the following Thursday Robert Awdrey +was to marry Margaret Douglas, and between these two days, namely, on +Tuesday and Wednesday, Frank Everett was to be tried for the murder of +Horace Frere at Salisbury. It will be easily believed, therefore, that +the excitement of the good folks all over the country reached high-water +mark. Quite apart from his position, the young Squire was much loved for +himself. His was an interesting personality. Even if this had not been +so, the fact of his coming of age, and the almost more interesting fact +of his marriage, would fill all who knew him with a lively sense of +pleasure. The public gaze would be naturally turned full upon this young +man. But great as was the interest which all who knew him took in +Awdrey, it was nothing to that which was felt with regard to a man who +was a stranger in the county, but whose awful fate now filled all hearts +and minds. The strongest circumstantial evidence was against Frank +Everett, but beyond circumstantial evidence there was nothing but good +to be known of this young man. He had lived in the past, as far as all +could tell, an immaculate life. He was the only son of a widowed mother. +Mrs. Everett had taken lodgings in Salisbury, and was awaiting the issue +of the trial with feelings which none could fathom. + +As the week of her wedding approached, Margaret Douglas showed none of +the happy expectancy of a bride. Her face began to assume a worn and +anxious expression. She could hardly think of anything except the coming +trial. A few days before the wedding she earnestly begged her lover to +postpone the ceremony for a short time. + +"I cannot account for my sensations, Robert," she said. "The shadow of +this awful tragedy seems to shut away the sunshine from me. You cannot, +of course, help coming of age on Monday, but surely there is nothing +unreasonable in my asking to have the wedding postponed for a week. I +will own that I am superstitious--I come of a superstitious race--my +grandmother had the gift of second sight--perhaps I inherit it also, I +cannot say. Do yield to me in the matter, Robert. Do postpone the +wedding." + +Awdrey stood close to Margaret. She looked anxiously into his eyes; they +met hers with a curious expression of irritation in them. The young +squire was pale; there were fretful lines round his mouth. + +"I told you before," he said, "that I am affected with a strange and +unaccountable apathy with regard to this terrible murder. I try with all +my might to get up sympathy for that poor unfortunate Everett. Try as I +may, however, I utterly fail to feel even pity for him. Margaret, I +would confess this to no one in the world but yourself. Everett is +nothing to me--you are everything. Why should I postpone my happiness on +Everett's account?" + +"You are not well, dearest," said Margaret, looking at him anxiously. + +"Yes, I am, Maggie," he replied. "You must not make me fanciful. I never +felt better in my life, except----" Here he pressed his hand to his +brow. + +"Except?" she repeated. + +"Nothing really--I have a curious sensation of numbness in the back of +my head. I should think nothing at all about it but for the fact----" + +Here he paused, and looked ahead of him steadily. + +"But for what fact, Robert?" + +"You must have heard--it must have been whispered to you--every one all +over the county knows that sometimes--sometimes, Maggie, queer things +happen to men of our house." + +"Of course, I have heard of what you allude to," she answered brightly. +"Do you think I mind? Do you think I believe in the thing? Not I. I am +not superstitious in that way. So you, dear old fellow, are imagining +that you are to be one of the victims of that dreadful old curse. Rest +assured that you will be nothing of the kind. I have a cousin--he is in +the medical profession--you shall know him when we go to London. I spoke +to Dr. Rumsey once about this curious phase in your family history. He +said it was caused by an extraordinary state of nerves, and that the +resolute power of will was needed to overcome it. Dr. Rumsey is a very +interesting man, Robert. He believed in heredity; who does not? but he +also firmly believes that the power of will, rightly exercised, can be +more powerful than heredity. Now, I don't mean you to be a victim to +that old family failing, so please banish the thought from your mind +once and for ever." + +Awdrey smiled at her. + +"You cheer me," he said. "I am a lucky man to have found such a woman as +you to be my wife. You will help to bring forward all that is best in +me. Margaret, I feel that through you I shall conquer the curse which +lies in my blood." + +"There is no curse, Robert. When your grandfather married a +strong-minded Scotch wife the curse was completely arrested--the spell +removed." + +"Yes," said Awdrey, "of course you are perfectly right. My father has +never suffered from a trace of the family malady, and as for me, I +didn't know what nervousness meant until within the last month. I +certainly have suffered from a stupid lapse of memory during the last +month." + +"We all forget things at times," said Margaret. "What is it that worries +you?" + +"Something so trifling that you will laugh when I tell you. You know my +favorite stick?" + +"Of course. By the way, you have not used it lately." + +"I have not. It is lost. I have looked for it high and low, and racked +my memory in vain to know where I could have put it. When last I +remember using it, I was talking to that unfortunate young Frere in the +underwood. I wish I could find it--not for the sake of the stick, but +because, under my circumstances, I don't want to forget things." + +"Well, every one forgets things at times--you will remember where you +have put the stick when you are not thinking of it." + +"Quite true; I wish it didn't worry me, however. You know that poor +Frere met his death in the most extraordinary manner. The man who killed +him ran his walking-stick into his eye. The doctors say that the ferrule +of the stick entered the brain, causing instantaneous death. Everett +carried a stick, but the ferrule was a little large for the size of the +wound made. Now my stick----" + +"Really, Robert, I won't listen to you for another moment," exclaimed +Margaret. "The next thing you will do is to assure me that your stick +was the weapon which caused the murder." + +"No," he replied, with a spasm of queer pain. "Of course, Maggie, there +is nothing wrong, only with our peculiar idiosyncrasies, small lapses of +memory make one anxious. I should be happy if I could find the stick, +and happier still if this numbness would leave the back of my head. But +your sweet society will soon put me right." + +"I mean it to," she replied, in her firm way. + +"You will marry me, dearest, on the twenty-fourth?" + +"Yes," she answered, "you are first, first of all. I will put aside my +superstition--the wedding shall not be postponed." + +"Thank you a thousand times--how happy you make me!" + +Awdrey went home in the highest spirits. + +The auspicious week dawned. The young Squire's coming of age went off +without a flaw. The day was a perfect one in August. All the tenants +assembled at the Court to welcome Awdrey to his majority. His modest and +graceful speech was applauded on all sides. He never looked better than +when he stood on a raised platform and addressed the tenants who had +known him from his babyhood. Some day he was to be their landlord. In +Wiltshire the tie between landlord and tenant is very strong. The spirit +of the feudal times still in a measure pervades this part of the +country. The cheers which followed Awdrey's speech rose high on the +evening air. Immediately afterward there was supper on the lawn, +followed by a dance. Among those assembled, however, might have been +seen two anxious faces--one of them belonged to Mrs. Armitage. She had +been a young-looking woman for her years, until after the night of the +murder--now she looked old, her hair was sprinkled with gray, her face +had deep lines in it, there was a touch of irritation also in her +manner. She and Hetty kept close together. Sometimes her hand clutched +hold of the hand of her niece and gave it a hard pressure. Hetty's +little hand trembled, and her whole frame quivered with almost +uncontrollable agony when Mrs. Armitage did this. All the gay scene was +ghastly mockery to poor Hetty. Her distress, her wasted appearance, +could not but draw general attention to her. The little girl, however, +had never looked more beautiful nor lovely. She was observed by many +people; strangers pointed her out to one another. + +"Do you see that little girl with the beautiful face?" they said. "It +was on her account that the tragedy took place." + +Presently the young Squire came down and asked Mrs. Armitage to open the +ball with him. + +"You do me great honor, sir," she said. She hesitated, then placed her +hand on his arm. + +As he led her away, his eyes met those of Hetty. + +"I'll give you a dance later on," he said, nodding carelessly to the +young girl. + +She blushed and pressed her hand to her heart. + +There wasn't a village lad in the entire assembly who would not have +given a year of his life to dance even once with beautiful little Hetty, +but she declined all the village boys' attentions that evening. + +"She wasn't in the humor to dance," she said. "Oh, yes, of course, she +would dance with the Squire if he asked her, but she would not bestow +her favors upon any one else." She sat down presently in a secluded +corner. Her eyes followed Awdrey wherever he went. By and by Margaret +Douglas noticed her. There was something about the childish sad face +which drew out the compassion of Margaret's large heart. She went +quickly across the lawn to speak to her. + +"Good-evening, Hetty," she said, "I hope you are well?" + +Hetty stood up; she began to tremble. + +"Yes, Miss Douglas, I am quite well," she answered. + +"You don't look well," said Margaret. "Why are you not dancing?" + +"I haven't the heart to dance," said Hetty, turning suddenly away. Her +eyes brimmed with sudden tears. + +"Poor little girl! how could I be so thoughtless as to suppose she would +care to dance," thought Margaret. "All her thoughts must be occupied +with this terrible trial--Robert told me that she would be the principal +witness. Poor little thing." + +Margaret stretched out her hand impulsively and grasped Hetty's. + +"I feel for you--I quite understand you," she said. Her voice trembled +with deep and full sympathy. "I see that you are suffering a great deal, +but you will be better afterward--you ought to go away afterward--you +will want change." + +"I would rather stay at home, please, Miss Douglas." + +"Well, I won't worry you. Here is Mr. Awdrey. You have not danced once, +Hetty. Would you not like to have a dance with the Squire, just for +luck? Yes, I see you would. Robert, come here." + +"What is it?" asked Awdrey. "Oh, is that you, Hetty? I have not +forgotten our dance." + +"Dance with her now, Robert," said Margaret. "There is a waltz just +striking up--I will meet you presently on the terrace." + +Margaret crossed the lawn, and Awdrey gave his arm to Hetty. She turned +her large gaze upon him for a moment, her lips trembled, she placed her +hand on his arm. "Yes, I will dance with him once," she said to herself. +"It will please me--I am doing a great deal for him, and it will +strengthen me--to have this pleasure. Oh, I hope, I do hope I'll be +brave and silent, and not let the awful pain at my heart get the better +of me. Please, God, help me to be true to Mr. Robert." + +"Come, Hetty, why won't you talk?" said the Squire; he gave her a kindly +yet careless glance. + +They began to waltz, but Hetty had soon to pause for want of breath. + +"You are not well," said Awdrey; "let me lead you out of the crowd. +Here, let us sit the dance out under this tree; now you are better, are +you not?" + +"Yes, sir; oh, yes, Mr. Robert, I am much better now." She panted as she +spoke. + +"How pale you are," said Awdrey, "and you used to be such a blooming, +rosy little thing. Well, never mind," he added hastily, "I ought not to +forget that you have a good deal to worry you just now. You must try to +keep up your courage. All you have to do to-morrow when you go into +court is to tell the entire and exact truth." + +"You don't mean me to do that, you can't," said Hetty. She opened her +eyes and gave a wild startled glance. The next moment her whole face was +covered with confusion. "Oh, what have I said?" she cried, in +consternation. "Of course, I will tell the exact and perfect truth." + +"Of course," said Awdrey, surprised at her manner. "You will be under +oath, remember." He stood up as he spoke. "Now let me take you to your +aunt." + +"One moment first, Mr. Robert; I'd like to ask you a question." + +"Well, Hetty, what is it?" said the young man, kindly. + +Hetty raised her eyes for a moment, then she lowered them. + +"It's a very awful thing, the kind of thing that God doesn't forgive," +she said in a whisper, "for--for a girl to tell a lie when she's under +oath?" + +"It is perjury," said Awdrey, in a sharp, short voice. "Why should you +worry your head about such a matter?" + +"Of course not, sir, only I'd like to know. I hope you'll be very happy +with your good lady, Mr. Awdrey, when you're married. I think I'll go +home now, sir. I'm not quite well, and it makes me giddy to dance. I +wish you a happy life, sir, and--and Miss Douglas the same. If you see +Aunt Fanny, Mr. Robert, will you tell her that I've gone home?" + +"Yes, to be sure I will. Good-by, Hetty. Here, shake hands, won't you? +God bless you, little girl. I hope you will soon be all right." + +Hetty crept slowly away; she looked like a little gray shadow as she +returned to the village, passing silently through the lovely gardens and +all the sweet summer world. Beautiful as she was, she was out of keeping +with the summer and the time of gayety. + +Against Awdrey's wish Margaret insisted on being present during the +first day of the trial. Everett's trial would in all probability occupy +the whole of two days. Awdrey was to appear in court as witness. His +evidence and that of Hetty Armitage and the laborer who had seen Frere +running across the plain would probably sum up the case against the +prisoner. Hetty's evidence, however, was the most important of all. Some +of the neighbors said that Hetty would never have strength to go through +the trial. But when the little creature stepped into the witness-box, +there was no perceptible want of energy about her--her cheeks were pink +with the color of excitement, her lovely eyes shone brightly. She gave +her testimony in a clear, penetrating, slightly defiant voice. That +voice of hers never once faltered. Her eyes full of desperate courage +were fixed firmly on the face of the solicitor who examined her. Even +the terrible ordeal of cross-examination was borne without flinching; +nor did Hetty once commit herself, or contradict her own evidence. At +the end of the cross-examination, however, she fainted off. It was +noticed afterward by eye-witnesses that Hetty's whole evidence had been +given with her face slightly turned away from that of the accused man. +It was after she had inadvertently met his eyes that she turned white to +the very lips, and fell down fainting in the witness-box. She was +carried away immediately, and murmurs of sympathy followed her as she +was taken out of the court. Hetty was undoubtedly the heroine of the +occasion. Her remarkable beauty, her modesty, the ring of truth which +seemed to pervade all her unwilling words, told fatally against poor +Everett. + +She was obliged to return to court on the second day, but Margaret did +not go to Salisbury on that occasion. After the first day of the trial +Margaret spent a sleepless night. She was on the eve of her own wedding, +but she could think of nothing but Everett and Everett's mother. Mrs. +Everett was present at the trial. She wore a widow's dress and her veil +was down, but once or twice she raised it and looked at her son; the son +also glanced at his mother. Margaret had seen these glances, and they +wrung her heart to its depths. She felt that she could not be in court +when the verdict was given. She was so excited with regard to the issue +of the trial that she gave no attention to those minor matters which +usually occupy the minds of young brides. + +"It doesn't matter," she said to her maid; "pack anything you fancy into +my travelling trunk. Oh, yes, that dress will do; any dress will do. +What hats did you say? Any hats, I don't care. I'm going to Grandcourt +now, there may be news from Salisbury." + +"They say, Miss Douglas, that the Court won't rise until late to-night. +The jury are sure to take a long time to consider the case." + +"Well, I'm going to Grandcourt now. Mr. Awdrey may have returned. I +shall hear the latest news." + +Margaret arrived at the Court just before dinner. Her future +sisters-in-law, Anne and Dorothy, ran out on the lawn to meet her. + +"Oh, how white and tired you look!" + +"I am not a bit tired; you know I am always pale. Dorothy, has any news +come yet from Salisbury?" + +"Nothing special," replied Dorothy. "The groom has come back to tell us +that we are not to wait dinner for either father or Robert. You will +come into the house now, won't you, Margaret?" + +"No, I'd rather stay out here. I don't want any dinner." + +"Nor do I. I will stay with you," said Dorothy. "Isn't there a lovely +view from here? I love this part of the grounds better than any other +spot. You can just get a peep of the Cathedral to the right and the +Plain to the left." + +"I hate the Plain," said Margaret, with a shiver. "I wish Grandcourt +didn't lie so near it." + +Dorothy Awdrey raised her delicate brows in surprise. + +"Why, the Plain is the charm of Grandcourt," she exclaimed. "Surely, +Margaret, you are not going to get nervous and fanciful, just because a +murder was committed on the Plain." + +"Oh, no!" Margaret started to her feet. "Excuse me, Dorothy, I see +Robert coming up the avenue." + +"So he is. Stay where you are, and I'll run and get the news." + +"No, please let me go." + +"Margaret, you are ill." + +"I am all right," replied Margaret. + +She ran swiftly down the avenue. + +Awdrey saw her, and stopped until she came up to him. + +"Well?" she asked breathlessly. + +He put both his hands on her shoulders, and looked steadily into her +eyes. + +"The verdict," she said. "Quick, the verdict." + +"Guilty, Maggie; but they have strongly recommended him to mercy. +Maggie, Maggie, my darling, what is it?" + +She flung her arms round his neck, and hid her trembling face against +his breast. + +"I can't help it," she said. "It is the eve of our wedding-day. Oh, I +feel sick with terror--sick with sorrow." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +Arthur Rumsey, M.D., F.R.C.S., was one of the most remarkable men of his +time. He was unmarried, and lived in a large house in Harley Street, +where he saw many patients daily. He was on the staff of more than one +of the big London hospitals, and one or two mornings in each week had to +be devoted to this public service, which occupies so much of the life of +a busy and popular doctor. Rumsey was not only a clever, all-round man, +but he was also a specialist. The word nerve--that queer complex word, +with its many hidden meanings, its daily and hourly fresh +renderings--that word, which belongs especially to the end of our +century, he seized with a grip of psychological intensity, and made it +his principal study. By slow degrees and years of patient toil he began +to understand the nerve power in man. From the study of the nerves to +the study of the source of all nerves, aches and pains, joys and +delights, the human brain, was an easy step. Rumsey was a brain +specialist. It began to be reported of him, not only in the profession, +but among that class of patients who must flock to such a man, when he +had performed wonderful and extraordinary cures, that to him was given +insight almost superhuman. It was said of Rumsey that he could read +motives and could also unravel the most complex problems of the +psychological world. + +Five years had passed since Margaret Douglas found herself the bride of +Robert Awdrey. These five years had been mostly spent by the pair in +London. Being well off, Awdrey had taken a good house in a fashionable +quarter. He and Margaret began to entertain, and were popular from the +very first, in their own somewhat large circle. They were now the +parents of one beautiful child, a boy, and the outside world invariably +spoke of them as a prosperous and a very happy couple. + +Everett did not expiate his supposed crime by death. The plea of the +jury for mercy resulted in fourteen years' penal servitude. Such a +sentence meant, of course, a living death; he had quite sunk out of +ken--almost out of memory. Except in the heart of his mother and in the +tender heart of Margaret Awdrey, this young man, whose career had +promised to be so bright, so satisfactory, such a blessing to all who +knew him, was completely forgotten. + +In his mother's heart, of course, he was safely enshrined, and Margaret +also, although she had never spoken to him, and never saw his face until +the day of the trial, still vividly remembered him. + +When her honeymoon was over and she found herself settled in London, one +of her first acts was to seek out Mrs. Everett, and to make a special +friend of the forlorn and unhappy widow. + +Both Margaret and Mrs. Everett soon found that they had a strong bond of +sympathy between them. They both absolutely believed in Frank Everett's +innocence. The subject, however, was too painful to the elder woman to +be often alluded to, but knowing what was in Margaret's heart she took a +great fancy to her, always spoke to her with affection, took a real +interest in her concerns, and was often a visitor at her home. + +Four years after the wedding the elder Squire died. He was found one +morning dead in his bed, having passed peacefully and painlessly away. +Awdrey was now the owner of Grandcourt, but for some reason which he +could not explain, even to himself, he did not care to spend much time +at the old place--Margaret was often there for months at a time, but +Awdrey preferred London to the Court, and a week at a time was the +longest period he would ever spend under the old roof. Both his sisters +were now married and had homes of their own--the place in consequence +began to grow a little into disuse, although Margaret did what she could +for the tenantry, and whenever she was at the Court was extremely +popular with her neighbors. But she did not think it right to leave her +husband long alone--he clung to her a good deal, seeking her opinion +more and more as the months and years went by, and leaning upon her to +an extraordinary extent for a young and clever man. + +Awdrey had grown exceptionally old for his age in the five years since +his marriage. He was only twenty-six, but some white streaks were +already to be found in his thick hair, and several wrinkles were +perceptible round his dark gray eyes. He had not gone into +Parliament--he had not distinguished himself by any literary work. His +own ambitious dreams and his wife's longings for him faded one by one +out of sight. He was a gentle, kindly mannered man--generous with his +money, sympathetic up to a certain point over every tale of woe, but +there was a curious want of energy about him, and as the days and months +flew by, Margaret's sense of trouble, which always lay near her heart, +unaccountably deepened. + +The great specialist, Arthur Rumsey, was about to give a dinner. It was +his custom to give one once a fortnight during the London season. To +these dinners he not only invited his own friends and the more favored +among his patients, but many celebrated men of science and literature; a +few also of the better sort of the smart people of society were to be +met on these occasions. Although there was no hostess, Rumsey's dinners +were popular, his invitations were always eagerly accepted, and the +people who met each other at his house often spoke afterward of these +occasions as specially delightful. + +In short, the dinners partook of that intellectual quality which makes, +to quote an old-world phrase, "the feast of reason and the flow of +soul." On Rumsey's evenings, the forgotten art of conversation seemed +once again to struggle to re-assert itself. + +Robert Awdrey and his wife were often among the favored guests, and were +to be present at this special dinner. Margaret was a distant cousin of +the great physician, and shortly after her arrival in London had +consulted him about her husband. She had told him all about the family +history, and the curious hereditary taint which had shown itself from +generation to generation in certain members of the men of the house. He +had listened gravely, and with much interest, saying very little at the +time, and endeavoring by every means in his power to soothe the +anxieties of the young wife. + +"The doom you dread may never fall upon your husband," he said finally. +"The slight inertia of mind which he complains of is probably more due +to nervous fear than to anything else. It is a pity he is so well off. +If he had to work for his living, he would soon use his brain to good +and healthy purpose. That fiat which fell upon Adam is in reality a +blessing in disguise. There is no surer cure for most of the fads and +fancies of the present day than the command which ordains to man that +'In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.'" + +Margaret's anxious eyes were fixed upon the great doctor while he was +speaking. + +"Your husband must make the best of his circumstances," he continued, in +a cheerful tone. "Crowd occupation upon him; get him to take up any good +intellectual work with strength and vigor. If you see he is really tired +out, do not over-worry him. Get him to travel with you; get him to read +books with real stuff in them; occupy his mind at any risk. When he +begins to forget serious matters it will be time enough to come to the +conclusion that the hereditary curse has descended upon him. Up to the +present he has never forgotten anything of consequence, has he?" + +"Nothing that I know of," answered Margaret. Then she added, with a +half-smile, "The small lapse of memory which I am about to mention, you +will probably consider beneath your notice, nevertheless it has +irritated my husband to a strange degree. You have doubtless heard of +the tragic murder of Horace Frere, which took place on Salisbury Plain a +few weeks before our wedding?" + +Rumsey nodded. + +"On the night of the murder my husband lost his favorite walking-stick. +He has worried ceaselessly over that small fact, referring to it +constantly and always complaining of a certain numbness in the back of +his head when he does so. The fact is he met the unfortunate man who was +murdered early in the afternoon. At that time he had his stick with him. +He can never recall anything about it from that moment, nor has he seen +it from then to now." + +The doctor laughed good-humoredly. + +"There is little doubt," he said, "that the fear that the doom of his +house may fasten upon him has affected your husband's nerves. The lapse +of memory to which you refer means nothing at all. Keep him occupied, +Mrs. Awdrey, keep him occupied. That is my best advice to you." + +Margaret went away feeling reassured and almost happy, but since the +date of that conversation Rumsey never forgot Awdrey's queer case. He +possessed that extraordinary and perfect memory himself, which does not +allow the smallest detail, however apparently unimportant, to escape +observation, and often as he talked to his guest across his dinner +table, he observed him with a keenness of interest which he could +himself scarcely account for. + +On this particular evening more guests than usual were assembled at the +doctor's house. Sixteen people had sat down to dinner and several fresh +arrivals were expected in the evening. Among the dining guests was Mrs. +Everett. She was a tall, handsome woman of about forty-five years of +age. Her hair was snow-white and was piled high up over her head--her +face was of a pale olive hue, with regular features, and very large, +piercing, dark eyes. The eyebrows were well arched and somewhat thickly +marked--they were still raven black, and afforded a striking contrast to +the lovely thick hair which shone like a mass of silver above her brow. + +Everett's mother always wore black, but, curious to relate, she had +discarded widow's weeds soon after her son's incarceration. Before that +date she had been in character, and had also lived the life of an +ordinary, affectionate, and thoroughly amiable woman. Keen as her sorrow +in parting with the husband of her youth was, she contrived to weave a +happy nest in which her heart could take shelter, in the passionate love +which she gave to her only son. But from the date of his trial and +verdict, the woman's whole character, the very expression on her face, +had altered. Her eyes had now a watchful and intent look. She seemed +like some one who had set a mission before herself. She had the look of +one who lived for a hidden purpose. She no longer eschewed society, but +went into it even more frequently than her somewhat slender means +afforded. She made many new acquaintances and was always eager to win +the confidence of those who cared to confide in her. Her own story she +never touched upon, but she gave a curious kind of watchful sympathy to +others which was not without its charm. + +On this particular night, the widow's eyes were brighter and more +restless than usual. Dr. Rumsey knew all about her story, and had often +counselled her with regard to her present attitude toward society at +large. + +"My boy is innocent," she had said many times to the doctor. "The object +of my life is to prove this. I will quietly wait, I will do nothing +rash, but it is my firm conviction that I shall yet be permitted to find +and expose the man who killed Horace Frere." + +Rumsey had warned her as to the peril which she ran in fostering too +keenly a fixed idea--he had taken pains to give her psychological +reasons for the danger which she incurred--but nothing he could say or +do could alter the bias of her mind. Her fixed and unwavering assurance +that her boy was absolutely innocent could not be imperilled by any +words which man could speak. + +"If I had even seen my boy do the murder I should still believe it to be +a vision of my own brain," she had said once, and after that Rumsey had +ceased to try to guide her thoughts into a healthier channel. + +On this particular night when the doctor came upstairs after wine, +accompanied by the rest of the men of the party, Mrs. Everett seemed to +draw him to her side by her watchful and excited glances. + +There was something about the man which could never withstand an appeal +of human need--he went straight now to the widow's side as a needle is +attracted to a magnet. + +"Well," he said, drawing a chair forward, and seating himself so as +almost to face her. + +"You guessed that I wanted to see you?" she said eagerly. + +"I looked at you and that was sufficient," he said. + +"When can you give me an interview?" she replied. + +"Do you want to visit me as a patient?" + +"I do not--that is, not in the ordinary sense. I want to tell you +something. I have a story to relate, and when it is told I should like +to get your verdict on a certain peculiar case--in short, I believe I +have got a clue, if only a slight one, to the unravelling of the mystery +of my life--you quite understand?" + +"Yes, I understand," replied Dr. Rumsey in a gentle voice, "but, my dear +lady, I am not a detective." + +"Not in the ordinary sense, but surely as far as the complex heart is +concerned." + +Dr. Rumsey held up his hand. + +"We need not go into that," he said. + +"No, we will not. May I see you to-morrow for a few minutes?" + +The doctor consulted his note-book. + +"I cannot see you as a patient," he said, "but as a friend it is +possible. Can you be here at eight o'clock to-morrow morning? I +breakfast at eight--my breakfast generally occupies ten minutes--that +time is at your disposal." + +"I will be with you. Thank you a thousand times," she replied. + +Her eyes grew bright with exultation. The doctor favored her with a keen +glance and moved aside. A few minutes later he found himself in Margaret +Awdrey's vicinity. Margaret was now a very beautiful woman. As a girl +she had been lovely, but her early matronhood had developed her charms, +had added to her stateliness, and had brought out many new and fresh +expressions in her mobile and lovely face. + +As Rumsey approached her side, she was in the act of taking leave of an +old friend of her husband's, who was going away early. The Doctor was +therefore able to watch her for a minute without her observing him--then +she turned slightly, saw him, flushed vividly, and went eagerly and +swiftly to his side. + +"Dr. Rumsey," said Margaret, "I know this is not the place to make +appointments, but I am anxious to see you on the subject of my husband's +health. How soon can you manage----" + +"I can make an appointment for to-morrow," he interrupted. "Be with me +at half-past one. I can give you half an hour quite undisturbed then." + +She did not smile, but her eyes were raised fully to his face. Those +dark, deep eyes so full of the noblest emotions which can stir the human +soul, looked at him now with a pathos that touched his heart. He moved +away to talk to other friends, but the thought of Margaret Awdrey +returned to him many times during the ensuing night. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +At the appointed hour on the following morning Mrs. Everett was shown +into Dr. Rumsey's presence. She found him in his cosy breakfast-room, in +the act of helping himself to coffee. + +"Ah!" he said, as he placed a chair for her, "what an excellent thing +this punctuality is in a woman. Sit down, pray. You shall have your full +ten minutes--the clock is only on the stroke of eight." + +Mrs. Everett looked too disturbed and anxious even to smile. She untied +her bonnet-strings, threw back her mantle, and stared straight at Dr. +Rumsey. + +"No coffee, thank you," she said. "I breakfasted long ago. Dr. Rumsey, I +am nearly wild with excitement and anxiety. I told you long ago, did I +not, that a day would come when I should get a clue which might lead to +establishing my boy's"--she wet her lips--"my only boy's innocence? +Nothing that can happen now will ever, of course, repair what he has +lost--his lost youth, his lost healthy outlook on life--but to set him +free, even now! To give him his liberty once again! To feel the clasp of +his hand on mine! Ah, I nearly go mad at times with longing, but thank +God, thank the Providence which is above us all, I do believe I have +found a clue at last." + +"Tell me what it is," said the doctor, in a kind voice. "I know," he +added, "you will make your story as brief as possible." + +"I will, my good friend," she replied. She stood up now, her somewhat +long arms hung at her sides, she turned her face in all its intense +purpose full upon the doctor. + +"You know my restless nature," she continued. "I can seldom or never sit +still--even my sleep is broken by terrible dreams. All the energy which +I possess is fixed upon one thought, and one only--I want to find the +real murderer of Horace Frere." + +"Yes," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"A fortnight ago I made up my mind to do a queer thing. I determined to +visit Grandcourt--I mean the village of that name." + +The doctor started. + +"You are surprised?" said Mrs. Everett; "nevertheless I can account for +my longings." + +"You need not explain. I quite understand." + +"I believe you do. I felt drawn to the place--to the Inn where my son +stayed, to the neighborhood. I travelled down to Grandcourt without +announcing my intention to any one, and arrived at the Inn just as the +dusk was setting in. The landlord, Armitage by name, came out to +interview me. I told him who I was. He looked much disturbed, and by no +means pleased. I asked him if he would take me in. He went away to +consult his wife. She followed him after a moment into the porch with a +scared face. + +"'I wonder, ma'am, that you like to come here,' she said. + +"'I come for one purpose,' I replied. 'I want to see the spot where +Horace Frere met his death. I am drawn to this place by the greatest +agony which has ever torn a mother's heart. Will you take me in, and +will you give me the room in which my son slept?' + +"The landlady looked at me in anything but a friendly manner. Her +husband whispered something to her--after a time her brow cleared--she +nodded to him, and the next moment I was given to understand that my +son's old room would be at my disposal. I took possession of it that +evening, and my meals were served to me in the little parlor where my +boy and the unfortunate Horace Frere had lived together. + +"The next day I went out alone at an early hour to visit the Plain. I +had never ventured on Salisbury Plain before. The day was a gloomy and +stormy one. There were constant showers of rain, and I was almost wet +through by the time I reached my destination. I had just got upon the +borders of the Plain when I saw a young woman walking a little ahead of +me. There was something in the gait which I seemed to recognize, +although at first I had only a dim idea that I had ever seen her before. +Hurrying my footsteps I came up to her, passed her, and as I did so +looked her full in the face. I started then and stopped short. She was +the girl who had seen the murder committed, and who had given evidence +of the most damnatory kind against my son on the day of the trial. In +that one swift glance I saw that she was much altered. She had been a +remarkably pretty girl. She had now nearly lost all her comeliness of +appearance. Her face was thin, her dress negligent and untidy, on her +brow there was a sullen frown. When she saw me she also stood still, her +eyes dilated with a curious expression of fear. + +"'Who are you?' she said, with a pant. + +"'I am Mrs. Everett,' I replied, slowly. 'I am the mother of the man who +once lodged in your uncle's house, and who is now expiating the crime of +another at Portland prison.' + +"She had turned red at first, now she became white. + +"'And your name,' I continued, 'is Hetty Armitage.' + +"'Why do you say that your son is expatiating the crime of another?' she +asked. + +"'Because I am his mother. I have looked into his heart, and there is no +murder there. But tell me, is not your name Hetty Armitage?' + +"'It is not Armitage now,' she answered. 'I am married. I live about +three miles from Grandcourt, over in that direction. I am going home +now. My husband's name is Vincent. He is a farmer.' + +"'You don't look too well off,' I said, for I noticed her shabby dress +and run-to-seed appearance. + +"'These are hard times for farmers,' she answered. + +"'Have you children?' I asked. + +"'No,' she replied fiercely, 'I am glad to say I have not.' + +"'Why are you glad?' I asked. 'Surely a child is the crown of a married +woman's bliss.' + +"'It would not be to me,' she cried. 'My heart is full to the brim. I +have no room for a child in it.' + +"'A full heart generally means happiness,' I said. 'Are you happy?' + +"She gave me a queer glance. + +"'No, ma'am,' she answered, 'my heart is full of bitterness, of sorrow.' +Her eyes looked quite wild. She pressed one of her hands to her +forehead,--then stepping out, she half turned round to me. + +"'I wish you good-morning, Mrs. Everett,' she said. 'My way lies across +here.' + +"'Stay a moment before you leave me,' I said. 'I am coming to this plain +on a mission which you perhaps can guess. If you are poor you will not +despise half a sovereign. I'll give you half a sovereign if you'll show +me the exact spot where the murder was committed.' + +"She turned from white to red, and from red to white again. + +"'I don't like that spot,' she said. 'That night was a terrible night to +me; my nerves ain't what they were--I sleep bad, and sometimes I dream. +Many and many a time I've seen that murder committed over again. I have +seen the look on the face of the murdered man, and the look on the face +of the man who did it--Oh, my God, I have seen----' + +"She pressed her two hands hard against her eyes. + +"I waited quietly until she had recovered her emotion; then I held out +the little gold coin. + +"'You will take me to the spot?' I asked. + +"She clutched the coin suddenly in her hand. + +"'This will buy what I live for,' she cried, with passion. 'I can drown +thought with this. Come along, ma'am, we are not very far from the place +here. I'll take you, and then go on home.' + +"She started off, walking in front of me, and keeping well ahead. She +went quickly, and yet with a sort of tremulous movement, as though she +were not quite certain of herself. We crossed the Plain not far from the +Court. I saw the house in the distance, and the curling smoke which rose +up out of the trees. + +"'Don't walk so fast,' I said. 'I am an old woman, and you take my +breath away.' She slackened her steps, but very unwillingly. + +"'The family are not often at the Court?' I queried. + +"'No,' she answered with a start--'since the old Squire died the place +has been most shut up.' + +"'I happen to know the present Squire and his wife,' I said. + +"She flushed when I said this, gave me a furtive glance, and then +pressing one hand to her left side, said abruptly: + +"'If you know you can tell me summ'at--he is well, is he?' + +"'They are both well,' I answered, surprised at the tone of her voice. +'I should judge them to be a happy couple.' + +"'I thank the good God that Mr. Robert is happy,' she said, in a hoarse +whisper. + +"Once again she hurried her footsteps; at last she stood still on a +rising knoll of ground. + +"'Do you see this clump of alders?' she said. 'It was here I stood, just +on this spot--I was sheltered by the alders, and even if the night had +not been so dark they would never have noticed me. Over there to your +right it was done. You don't want me to stay any longer now, ma'am, do +you?' + +"'You can go when I have asked you one or two questions. You stood here, +you say--just here?' + +"'Just here, ma'am,' she answered. + +"'And the murder was committed there?' + +"'Yes, where the grass seems to grow a bit greener--you notice it, don't +you, just there, to your right.' + +"'I see,' I replied with a shudder, which I could not repress. 'Do you +mind telling me how it was that you happened to be out of your bed at +such a late hour at night?' + +"She looked very sullen, and set her lips tightly. I gazed full at her, +waiting for her to speak. + +"'The man whose blood was shed was my lover--we had just had a quarrel,' +she said, at last. + +"'What about?' + +"'That's my secret,' she replied. + +"'How is it you did not mention the fact of the quarrel at the trial?' I +asked. + +"She looked full up at me. + +"'I was not asked,' she answered; 'that's my secret, and I don't tell it +to anybody. It was here I stood, just where your feet are planted, and I +saw it done--the moon came out for a minute, and I saw everything--even +to the look on the dead man's face and the look on the face of the man +who took his life. I saw it all. I ain't been the same woman since.' + +"'I am not surprised,' I replied. 'You may leave me when I have said one +thing.' + +"'What is that, ma'am?' + +"She raised her dark eyes. I saw fear in their depths. + +"'You saw two men that night, Hetty Vincent,' I said--'one, the man who +was murdered, was Horace Frere, but the other man, as there is a God +above, was not Frank Everett. I am speaking the truth--you can go now.' + +"My words seemed forced from me, Dr. Rumsey, but the effect was +terrifying. The wretched creature fell on her knees--she clung to my +dress, covering her face with a portion of the mantle which I was +wearing. + +"'Good God, why do you say that?' she gasped. 'How do you know? Who has +told you? Why do you say awful words of that sort?' + +"Her excitement made me calm. I stood perfectly silent, but with my +heart beating with the queerest sense of exultation and victory. + +"'Get up,' I said. She rose trembling to her feet. I laid my hand on her +shoulder. + +"'You have something to confess,' I said. + +"She looked at me again and burst out laughing. + +"'What a fool I made of myself just now!' she said. 'I have nothing to +confess; what could I have? You spoke so solemn and the place is +queer--it always upsets me. I'll go now.' She backed a few steps away. + +"'I saw two men on the Plain,' she said then, raising her voice, 'one +was Horace Frere--the other was your son, Frank Everett.' Before I could +add another word she took to her heels and was quickly out of sight. + +"I returned to the Inn and questioned Armitage and his wife. I did not +dare to tell them what Hetty had said in her excitement, but I asked for +her address and drove out early the following morning to Vincent's farm +to visit her. I was told on my arrival that she had left home that +morning; that she often did so to visit a relation at a distance. I +asked for the address, which was given me somewhat unwillingly. That +night I went there, but Hetty had not arrived and nothing was known +about her. Since then I have tried in vain to get any clue to her +present whereabouts. That is my story, Dr. Rumsey. What do you think of +it? Are the wild stories of an excited and over-wrought woman worthy of +careful consideration? Is her sudden flight suspicious, or the reverse? +I anxiously await your verdict." + +Dr. Rumsey remained silent for a moment. + +"I am inclined to believe," he said, then very slowly, "that the words +uttered by this young woman were merely the result of overstrung nerves; +remember, she was in all probability in love with the man who met his +death in so tragic a manner. From the remarkable change which you speak +of in her appearance, I should say that her nerves had been considerably +shattered by the sight she witnessed, and also by the prominent place +she was obliged to take in the trial. She has probably dreamt of this +thing, and dwelt upon it year in and year out, since it happened. Then, +remember, you spoke in a very startling manner and practically accused +her of having committed perjury at the time of the trial. Under such +circumstances and in the surroundings she was in at the time, she would +be very likely to lose her head. As to her sudden disappearance, I +confess I cannot quite understand it, unless her nervous system is even +more shattered than you incline me to believe; but, stay,--from words +she inadvertently let drop, she has evidently become addicted to drink, +to opium eating, or some such form of self-indulgence. If that is the +case she would be scarcely responsible for her actions. I do not think, +Mrs. Everett, unless you can obtain further evidence, that there is +anything to go upon in this." + +"That is your carefully considered opinion?" + +"It is--I am sorry if it disappoints you." + +"It does not do that, for I cannot agree with you." Mrs. Everett rose as +she spoke, fastened her cloak, and tied her bonnet-strings. + +"Your opinion is the cool one of an acute reasoner, but also of a person +who is outside the circumstances," she continued. + +Rumsey smiled. + +"Surely in such a case mine ought to be the one to be relied upon?" he +queried. + +"No, for there is such a thing as mother's instinct. I will not detain +you longer, Dr. Rumsey. You have said what I expected you would say." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Rumsey began the severe routine of his daily work. He was particularly +busy that day, and had many anxious cases to consider; it was also one +of his hospital mornings, and his hospital cases were, he considered, +some of the most important in his practice. Nevertheless Mrs. Everett's +face and her words of excitement kept flashing again and again before +his memory. + +"There is a possibility of that woman losing her senses if her mind is +not diverted into another channel, and soon too," he thought to himself. +"If she allows her thoughts to dwell much longer on this fixed idea, she +will see her son's murderer in the face of each man and woman with whom +she comes in contact. Still there is something queer in her story--the +young woman whom she addressed on Salisbury Plain was evidently the +victim of nervous terror to a remarkable extent--can it be possible that +she is concealing something?" + +Rumsey thought for a moment over his last idea. Then he dismissed it +from his mind. + +"No," he said to himself, "a village girl could not stand +cross-examination without betraying herself. I shall get as fanciful as +Mrs. Everett if I dwell any longer upon this problem. After all there is +no problem to consider. Why not accept the obvious fact? Poor Everett +killed his friend in a moment of strong irritation--it was a very plain +case of manslaughter." + +At the appointed hour Margaret Awdrey appeared on the scene. She was +immediately admitted into Dr. Rumsey's presence. He asked her to seat +herself, and took a chair facing her. It was Margaret's way to be always +very direct. She was direct now, knowing that her auditor's time was of +extreme value. + +"I have not troubled you about my husband for some years," she began. + +"You have not," he replied. + +"Do you remember what I last told you about him?" + +"Perfectly. But excuse me one moment; to satisfy you I will look up his +case in my casebook. Do you remember the year when you last spoke to me +about him?" + +Margaret instantly named the date, not only of year, but of month. Dr. +Rumsey quickly looked up the case. He laid his finger on the open page +in which he had entered all particulars, ran his eyes rapidly over the +notes he had made at the time, and then turned to Mrs. Awdrey. + +"I find, as I expected, that I have forgotten nothing," he said. "I was +right in my conjectures, was I not? Your husband's symptoms were due to +nervous distress?" + +"I wish I could say so," replied Margaret. + +Dr. Rumsey slightly raised his brows. + +"Are there fresh symptoms?" he asked. + +"He is not well. I must tell you exactly how he is affected." + +The doctor bent forward to listen. Margaret began her story. + +"Since the date of our marriage there has been a very gradual, but also +a marked deterioration in my husband's character," she said. "But until +lately he has been in possession of excellent physical health, his +appetite has been good, he has been inclined for exercise, and has slept +well. In short, his bodily health has been without a flaw. Accompanying +this state of physical well-being there has been a very remarkable +mental torpor." + +"Are you not fanciful on that point?" asked Dr. Rumsey. + +"I am not. Please remember that I have known him since he was a boy. As +a boy he was particularly ambitious, full of all sorts of schemes for +the future--many of these schemes were really daring and original. He +did well at school, and better than well at Balliol. When we became +engaged his strong sense of ambition was quite one of the most +remarkable traits of his character. He always spoke of doing much with +his life. The idea was that as soon as possible he was to enter the +House, and he earnestly hoped that when that happy event took place he +would make his mark there. One by one all these thoughts, all these +hopes and aims, have dropped away from his mind; each year has robbed +him of something, until at last he has come to that pass when even books +fail to arouse any interest in him. He sits for many hours absolutely +doing nothing, not even sleeping, but gazing straight before him into +vacancy. Our little son is almost the only person who has any power to +rouse him. He is devoted to the child, but his love even for little +Arthur is tempered by that remarkable torpor--he never plays with the +boy, who is a particularly strong-willed, spirited child, but likes to +sit with him on his knee, the child's arms clasped round his neck. He +has trained the little fellow to sit perfectly still. The child is +devoted to his father, and would do anything for him. As the years have +gone on, my husband has become more and more a man of few words--I now +believe him to be a man of few thoughts--of late he has been subject to +moods of deep depression, and although he is my husband, I often feel, +truly as I love him, that he is more like a log than a man." + +Tears dimmed Margaret's eyes; she hastily wiped them away. + +"I would not trouble you about all this," she continued, "but for a +change which has taken place within the last few months. That change +directly affects my husband's physical health, and as such is the case I +feel it right to consult you about it." + +"Yes, speak--take your own time--I am much interested," said the doctor. + +"The change in my husband's health of body has also begun gradually," +continued Mrs. Awdrey. "You know, of course, that he is now the owner of +Grandcourt. He has taken a great dislike to the place--in my opinion, an +unaccountable dislike. He absolutely refuses to live there. Now I am +fond of Grandcourt, and our little boy always seems in better health and +spirits there than anywhere else. I take my child down to the old family +place whenever I can spare a week from my husband. Last autumn I +persuaded Mr. Awdrey with great difficulty to accompany me to Grandcourt +for a week. I have never ceased to regret that visit." + +"Indeed, what occurred?" asked the doctor. + +"Apparently nothing, and yet evidently a great deal. When we got into +the country Robert's apathy seemed to change; he roused himself and +became talkative and even excitable. He took long walks, and was +particularly fond of visiting Salisbury Plain, that part which lies to +the left of the Court. He invariably took these rambles alone, and often +went out quite late in the evening, not returning until midnight. + +"On the last of these occasions I asked him why he was so fond of +walking by himself. He said with a forced laugh, and a very queer look +in his eyes, that he was engaged trying to find a favorite walking-stick +which he had lost years ago. He laid such stress upon what appeared such +a trivial subject that I could scarcely refrain from smiling. When I did +so he swore a terrific oath, and said, with blazing eyes, that life or +death depended upon the matter which I thought so trivial. Immediately +after his brief blaze of passion he became moody, dull, and more inert +than ever. The next day we left the Court. It was immediately after that +visit that his physical health began to give way. He lost his appetite, +and for the last few months he has been the victim of a very peculiar +form of sleeplessness." + +"Ah, insomnia would be bad in a case like his," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"It has had a very irritating effect upon him. His sleeplessness, like +all other symptoms, came on gradually. At the same time he became +intensely sensitive to the slightest noise. Against my will he tried +taking small doses of chloral, but they had the reverse of a beneficial +effect upon him. During the last month he has, toward morning, dropped +off into uneasy slumber, from which he awakens bathed in perspiration +and in a most curious state of terror. Night after night the same sort +of thing occurs. He seizes my hand and asks me in a voice choking with +emotion if I see anything in the room. 'Nothing,' I answer. + +"'Am I awake or asleep?' he asks next. + +"'Wide awake,' I say to him. + +"'Then it is as I fear,' he replies. 'I see it, I see it distinctly. +Can't you? Look, you must see it too. It is just over there, in the +direction of the window. Don't you see that sphere of perfect light? +Don't you see the picture in the middle?' He shivers; the drops of +perspiration fall from his forehead. + +"'Margaret,' he says, 'for God's sake look. Tell me that you see it +too.' + +"'I see nothing,' I answer him. + +"'Then the vision is for me alone. It haunts me. What have I done to +deserve it? Margaret, there is a circle of light over there--in the +centre a picture--it is the picture of a murder. Two men are in it--yes, +I know now--I am looking at the Plain near the Court--the moon is hidden +behind the clouds--there are two men--they fight. God in heaven, one man +falls--the other bends over him. I see the face of the fallen man, but I +cannot see the face of the other. I should rest content if I could only +see his face. Who is he, Margaret, who is he?' + +"He falls back on his pillow half-fainting. + +"This sort of thing goes on night after night, Dr. Rumsey. Toward +morning the vision which tortures my unhappy husband begins to fade, he +sinks into heavy slumber, and awakens late in the morning with no memory +whatever of the horrible thing which has haunted him during the hours of +darkness. + +"The days which follow are more full than ever of that terrible inertia, +and now he begins to look what he really is, a man stricken with an +awful doom. + +"The symptoms you speak of are certainly alarming," said Dr. Rumsey, +after a pause. "They point to a highly unsatisfactory state of the nerve +centres. These symptoms, joined to what you have already told me of the +peculiar malady which Awdrey inherits, make his case a grave one. Of +course, I by no means give up hope, but the recurrence of this vision +nightly is a singular symptom. Does Awdrey invariably speak of not being +able to see the face of the man who committed the murder?" + +"Yes, he always makes a remark to that effect. He seems every night to +see the murdered man lying on the ground with his face upward, but the +man who commits the murder has his back to him. Last night he shrieked +out in absolute terror on the subject: + +"'Who is the man? That man on the ground is Horace Frere--he has been +hewn down in the first strength of his youth--he is a dead man. There +stands the murderer, with his back to me, but who is he? Oh, my God!' he +cried out with great passion, 'who is the one who has done this deed? +Who has murdered Horace Frere? I would give all I possess, all that this +wide world contains, only to catch one glimpse of his face.' + +"He sprang out of bed as he spoke, and went a step or two in the +direction where he saw the peculiar vision, clasping his hands, and +staring straight before him like a person distraught, and almost out of +his mind. I followed him and tried to take his hand. + +"'Robert!' I said, 'you know, don't you, quite well, who murdered Horace +Frere? Poor fellow, it was not murder in the ordinary sense. Frank +Everett is the name of the man whose face you cannot see. But it is an +old story now, and you have nothing to do with it, nothing +whatever--don't let it dwell any longer on your mind.' + +"'Ha, but he carries my stick,' he shrieked out, and then he fell back +in a state of unconsciousness against the bed." + +"And do you mean to tell me that he remembered nothing of this agony in +the morning?" queried Dr. Rumsey. + +"Nothing whatever. At breakfast he complained of a slight headache and +was particularly dull and moody. When I came off to you he had just +started for a walk in the Park with our little boy." + +"I should like to see your husband, and to talk to him," said Dr. +Rumsey, rising abruptly. "Can you manage to bring him here?" + +"I fear I cannot, for he does not consider himself ill." + +"Shall you be at home this evening?" + +"Yes, we are not going out to-night." + +"Then I'll drop in between eight and nine on a friendly visit. You must +not be alarmed if I try to lead up to the subject of these nightly +visions, for I would infinitely rather your husband remembered them than +that they should quite slip from his memory." + +"Thank you," answered Margaret. "I will leave you alone with him when +you call to-night." + +"It may be best for me to see him without anyone else being present." + +Margaret Awdrey soon afterward took her leave. + +That night, true to his appointment, Dr. Rumsey made his appearance at +the Awdreys' house in Seymour Street. He was shown at once into the +drawing-room, where Awdrey was lying back in a deep chair on one side of +the hearth, and Margaret was softly playing a sonata of Beethoven's in +the distance. She played with great feeling and power, and did not use +any notes. The part of the room where she sat was almost in shadow, but +the part round the fire where Awdrey had placed himself was full of +bright light. + +Margaret's dark eyes looked full of painful thought when the great +doctor was ushered into the room. She did not see him at first, then she +noticed him and faltered in her playing. She took her fingers from the +piano, and rose to meet him. + +"Pray go on, Margaret. What are you stopping for?" cried her husband. +"Nothing soothes me like your music. Go on, go on. I see the moonlight +on the trees, I feel the infinite peace, the waves are beating on the +shore, there is rest." He broke off abruptly, starting to his feet. "I +beg your pardon, Dr. Rumsey, I assure you I did not see you until this +moment." + +"I happened to have half-an-hour at my disposal, and thought I would +drop in for a chat," said Dr. Rumsey in his pleasant voice. + +Awdrey's somewhat fretful brow relaxed. + +"You are heartily welcome," he said. "Have you dined? Will you take +anything?" + +"I have dined, and I only want one thing," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"Pray name it; I'll ring for it immediately." + +"You need not do that, for the person to give it to me is already in the +room." + +The doctor bowed to Margaret as he spoke. + +"I love the 'Moonlight Sonata' beyond all other music," he said. "Will +you continue playing it, Mrs. Awdrey? Will you rest a tired physician as +well as your husband with your music?" + +"With all the pleasure in the world," she replied. She returned at once +to her shady corner, and the soothing effects of the sonata once more +filled the room. For a short time Awdrey sat upright, forced into +attention of others by the fact of Dr. Rumsey's presence, but he soon +relaxed the slight effort after self-control, and lay back in his chair +once again with his eyes half shut. + +Rumsey listened to the music and watched his strange patient at the same +time. + +Margaret suddenly stopped, almost as abruptly as if she had had a +signal. She walked up the room, and stood in the bright circle of light. +She looked very lovely, and almost spiritual--her face was pale--her +eyes luminous as if lit from within--her pathetic and perfect lips were +slightly apart. Rumsey thought her something like an angel who was about +to utter a benediction. + +"I am going up now to see little Arthur," she said. She glanced at her +husband, and left the room. + +Rumsey had not failed to observe that Awdrey did not even glance at his +wife when she stood on the hearth. There was a full moment's pause after +she left the room. Awdrey's eyes were half closed, they were turned in +the direction of the bright blaze. Rumsey looked full at him. + +"Strange case, strange man," he muttered under his breath. "There is +something for me to unravel here. The man who is insensate enough not to +see the beauty in that woman's face, not to revel in the love she +bestows on him--he is a log, not a man--and yet----" + +"Are you well?" cried the doctor abruptly. He spoke on purpose with +great distinctness, and his words had something the effect of a +pistol-shot. + +Awdrey sat bolt upright and stared full at him. + +"Why do you ask me that question?" he replied, irritation in his tone. + +"Because I wish to question you with regard to your health," said Dr. +Rumsey. "Whether you feel it or not, you are by no means well." + +"Indeed! What do I look like?" + +"Like a man who sees more than he ought," replied the doctor with +deliberation. "But before we come to that may I ask you a question?" + +Awdrey looked disturbed--he got up and stood with his back to the fire. + +"Ask what you please," he said, rubbing up his hair as he spoke. "As +there is a heaven above, Dr. Rumsey, you see a wretched man before you +to-night." + +"My dear fellow, what strong words! Surely, you of all people----" + +Awdrey interrupted with a hollow laugh. + +"Ah," he said, "it looks like it, does it not? In any circle, among any +concourse of people, I should be pointed out as the fortunate man. I +have money--I have a very good and beautiful wife--I am the father of as +fine a boy as the heart of man could desire. I belong to one of the old +and established families of our country, and I also, I suppose, may +claim the inestimable privilege to youth, for I am only twenty-six years +of age--nevertheless----" He shuddered, looked down the long room, and +then closed his eyes. + +"I am glad I came here," said Dr. Rumsey. "Believe me, my dear sir, the +symptoms you have just described are by no means uncommon in the cases +of singularly fortunate individuals like yourself. The fact is, you have +got too much. You want to empty yourself of some of your abundance in +order that contentment and health of mind may flow in." + +Awdrey stared at the doctor with lack-lustre eyes. Then he shook his +head. + +"I am past all that," he said. "I might at the first have managed to +make a superhuman effort; but now I have no energy for anything. I have +not even energy sufficient to take away my own life, which is the only +thing on all God's earth that I crave to do." + +"Come, come, Awdrey, you must not allow yourself to speak like that. Now +sit down. Tell me, if you possibly can, exactly what you feel." + +"Why should I tell you? I am not your patient." + +"But I want you to be." + +"Is that why you came here this evening?" + +Dr. Rumsey paused before he replied; he had not expected this question. + +"I will answer you frankly," he said, with a pause. "Your wife came to +see me about you. She did not wish me to mention the fact of her visit, +but I believe I am wise in keeping nothing back from you. You love your +wife, don't you?" + +"I suppose I do; that is, if I love anybody." + +"Of course, you love her. Don't sentimentalize over a fact. She came to +see me because her love for you is over-abundant. It makes her anxious; +you have given her, Awdrey, a great deal of anxiety lately. + +"I cannot imagine how. I have done nothing." + +"That is just it. You have done too little. She is naturally terribly +anxious. She told me one or two things about your state which I do not +consider quite satisfactory. I said it would be necessary for me to have +an interview with you, and asked her to beg of you to call at my house. +She said you did not consider yourself ill, and might not be willing to +come to me. I then resolved to come to you, and here I am." + +"It is good of you, Rumsey, but you can do nothing; I am not really ill. +It is simply that something--I have not the faintest idea what--has +killed my soul. I believe, before heaven, that I have stated the case in +a nutshell. You may be, and doubtless are, a great doctor, but you have +not come across living men with dead souls before." + +"I have not Awdrey; nor is your soul dead. You state an impossibility." + +Awdrey started excitedly. His face, which had been deadly pale, now +blazed with animation and color. + +"Learned as you are," he cried, "you will gain some fresh and valuable +experience from me to-night. I am the strangest patient you ever +attempted to cure. You have roused me, and it is good to be roused. +Perhaps my soul is not dead after all--perhaps it is struggling with a +demon which crushes it down." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +Dr. Rumsey did not reply to this for a moment, then he spoke quietly. + +"Tell me everything," he said. "Nothing you can say will startle me, but +if there is any possibility of my helping you I must know the case as +far as you can give it me." + +"I have but little to say," replied Awdrey. "I am paralyzed day after +day simply by want of feeling. Even a sense of pain, of irritation, is a +relief--the deadness of my life is so overpowering. Do you know the +history of my house?" + +"Your wife has told me. It is a queer story." + +"It is a damnable story," said Awdrey. "With such a fate hanging over +me, why was I born? Why did my father marry? Why did my mother bring a +man-child into the world? Men with dooms like mine ought never to have +descendants. I curse the thought that I have a child myself. It is all +cruel, monstrous." + +"But the thing you fear has not fallen upon you," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"Has it not? I believe it has." + +"How can you possibly imagine what is not the case?" + +"Dr. Rumsey," said Awdrey, advancing a step or two to meet him, "I don't +imagine what I know. Look at me. I am six-and-twenty. Do I look that +age?" + +"I must confess that you look older than your years." + +"Aye, I should think so. See my hair already mingled with gray. Feel +this nerveless hand. Is this the hand of the English youth of +six-and-twenty? Look at my eyes--how dull they are; are they the eyes of +a man in his prime? No, no, I am going down to the grave as the other +men of my house have gone, simply because I cannot help it. Like those +who have gone before me I slip, and slip, and slip, and cannot get a +grip of life anywhere, and so I go out, or go over the precipice into +God knows what--anyhow I go." + +"Poor fellow, he is far worse than I had any idea of," thought the +doctor. He took his patient's hand, and led him to a seat. + +"You are quite ill enough to see a doctor," he said, "and ought to have +had advice long ago. I mean to take you up, Awdrey. From this moment you +must consider yourself my patient." + +"If you can do anything for me I shall be glad--that is, no, I shall not +be glad, for I am incapable of the sensation, but I am aware it is the +right thing to put myself into your hands. What do you advise?" + +"I cannot tell you until I know more. My present impression is that you +are simply the victim of nerve terrors. You have dwelt upon the doom of +your house for so long a time that you are now fully convinced that you +are one of the victims. But you must please remember that the special +feature of the tragedy, for tragedy it is, has not occurred in your +case, for you have never forgotten anything of consequence." + +"Only one thing--it sounds stupid even to speak of it, but it worries me +inconceivably. There was a murder committed on Salisbury Plain the night +before I got engaged to Margaret. On that night I lost a walking-stick +which I was particularly fond of." + +"Your wife mentioned to me that you were troubled on that point," broke +in Dr. Rumsey. "Pray dismiss it at once and forever from your mind. The +fact of your having forgotten such a trifle is not of the slightest +consequence." + +"Do you think so? The fret about it has fastened itself very deeply into +my mind." + +"Well, don't think of it again--the next time it occurs to torment you, +just remember that I, who have made brain troubles like yours my special +study, think nothing at all about it." + +"Thank you, I'll try to remember." + +"Do so. Now, I wish to talk to you about another matter. You sleep +badly." + +"Do I?" Awdrey raised his brows. "I cannot recall that fact." + +"Nevertheless you do. Your wife speaks of it. Now in your state of +health it is most essential that you should have good nights." + +"I always feel an added sense of depression when I am going to bed," +said Awdrey, "but I am unconscious that I have bad nights--what can +Margaret mean?" + +"I trust that your wife's natural nervousness with regard to you makes +her inclined to exaggerate your symptoms, but I may as well say frankly +that some of the things she has mentioned, as occurring night after +night, have given me uneasiness. Now I should like to be with you during +one of your bad nights." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Come home with me to-night, my good fellow," said the doctor, laying +his hand on Awdrey's shoulder--"we will pass this night together. What +do you say?" + +"Your request surprises me very much, but it would be a relief--I will +go," said Awdrey. + +He turned and rang the bell as he spoke--a servant appeared, who was +sent with a message to Mrs. Awdrey. She came to the drawing-room in a +few minutes. Her face of animation, wakefulness of soul and feeling, +made a strong contrast to Awdrey's haggard, lifeless expression. + +He went up to his wife and put his hand on her shoulder. + +"You have been telling tales of me, Maggie," he said. "You complain of +something I know nothing about--my bad nights." + +"They are very bad, Robert, very terrible," she replied. + +"I cannot recall a single thing about them." + +"I wish you could remember," she said. + +"I have made a suggestion to your husband," interrupted Dr. Rumsey, +"which I am happy to say he approves of. He returns with me to my house +to-night. I will promise to look after him. If he does happen to have a +bad night I shall be witness to it. Now pray go to bed yourself and +enjoy the rest you sorely need." + +Margaret tried to smile in reply, but her eyes filled with tears. Rumsey +saw them, but Awdrey took no notice--he was staring straight into +vacancy, after his habitual fashion. + +A moment later he and Rumsey left the house together. Ten minutes +afterward Rumsey opened his own door with a latchkey. + +"It is late," he said to his guest. He glanced at the clock as he spoke. +"At this hour I always indulge in supper--it is waiting for me now. Will +you come and have a glass of port with me?" + +Awdrey murmured something in reply--the two men went into the +dining-room, where Rumsey, without apparently making any fuss, saw that +his guest ate and drank heartily. During the meal the doctor talked, and +Awdrey replied in monosyllables--sometimes, indeed, not replying at all. +Dr. Rumsey took no notice of this. When the meal, which really only took +a few minutes, was over, he rose. + +"I am going to take you to your bedroom now," he said. + +"Thanks," answered Awdrey. "The whole thing seems extraordinary," he +added. "I cannot make out why I am to sleep in your house." + +"You sleep here as my patient. I am going to sit up with you." + +"You! I cannot allow it, doctor!" + +"Not a word, my dear sir. Pray don't overwhelm me with thanks. Your case +is one of great interest to me. I shall certainly not regret the few +hours I steal from sleep to watch it." + +Awdrey made a dull reply. The two men went upstairs. Rumsey had already +given orders, and a bedroom had been prepared. A bright fire burned in +the grate, and electric light made the room cheerful as day. The bed was +placed in an alcove by itself. In front of the fire was drawn up a deep, +easy chair, a small table, a reading-lamp ready to be lighted, and +several books. + +"For me?" said Awdrey, glancing at these. "Excuse me, Dr. Rumsey, but I +do not appreciate books. Of late months I have had a difficulty in +centring my thoughts on what I read. Even the most exciting story fails +to arouse my attention." + +"These books are for me," said the doctor. "You are to go straight to +bed. You will find everything you require for the night in that part of +the room. Pray undress as quickly as possible--I shall return at the end +of a quarter of an hour." + +"Will you give me a sleeping draught? I generally take chloral." + +"My dear sir, I will give you nothing. It is my impression you will have +a good night without having recourse to sedatives. Get into bed now--you +look sleepy already." + +The doctor left the room. When he came back at the end of the allotted +time, Awdrey was in bed--he was lying on his back, with his eyes already +closed. His face looked very cadaverous and ghastly pale; but for the +gentle breathing which came from his partly opened lips he might almost +have been a dead man. + +"Six-and-twenty," muttered the doctor, as he glanced at him, +"six-and-forty, six-and-fifty, rather. This is a very queer case. There +is something at the root of it. I can no longer make light of Mrs. +Awdrey's fears--something is killing that man inch by inch. He has +described his own condition very accurately. He is slipping out of life +because he has not got grip enough to hold it. Nevertheless, at the +present moment, no child could sleep more tranquilly." + +The doctor turned off the electric light, and returned to his own bright +part of the room. The bed in which Awdrey lay was now in complete +shadow. Dr. Rumsey opened a medical treatise, but he did not read. On +the contrary, the book lay unnoticed on his knee, while he himself +stared into the blaze of the fire--his brows were contracted in anxious +thought. He was thinking of the sleeper and his story--of the tragedy +which all this meant to Margaret. Then, by a queer chain of connection, +his memory reverted to Mrs. Everett--her passionate life quest--her +determination to consider her son innocent. The queer scene she had +described as taking place between Hetty and herself returned vividly +once more to the doctor's retentive memory. + +"Is it possible that Awdrey can in any way be connected with that +tragedy?" he thought. "It looks almost like it. According to his own +showing, and according to his wife's showing, the strange symptoms which +have brought him to his present pass began about the date of that +somewhat mysterious murder. I have thought it best to make light of that +lapse of memory which worries the poor fellow so much in connection with +his walking-stick, but is there not something in it after all? Can he +possibly have witnessed the murder? Would it be possible for him to +throw any light upon it and save Everett? If I really thought so? But +no, the hypothesis is too wild." + +Dr. Rumsey turned again to his book. He was preparing a lecture of some +importance. As he read he made many notes. The sleeper in the distant +part of the room slept on calmly--the night gradually wore itself +away--the fire smouldered in the grate. + +"If this night passes without any peculiar manifestation on Awdrey's +part, I shall begin to feel assured that the wife has overstated the +case," thought the doctor. He bent forward as this thought came to him +to replenish the fire. In the act of doing so he made a slight noise. +Whether this noise disturbed the sleeper or not no one can say--Awdrey +abruptly turned in bed, opened his eyes, uttered a heavy groan, and then +sat up. + +"There it is again," he cried. "Margaret, are you there?--Margaret, come +here." + +Dr. Rumsey immediately approached the bed. + +"Your wife is not in the room, Awdrey," he said--"you remember, don't +you, that you are passing the night with me." + +Awdrey rubbed his eyes--he took no notice of Dr. Rumsey's words. He +stared straight before him in the direction of one of the windows. + +"There it is," he said, "the usual thing--the globe of light and the +picture in the middle. There lies the murdered man on his back. Yes, +that is the bit of the Plain that I know so well--the moon drifts behind +the clouds--now it shines out, and I see the face of the murdered +man--but the murderer, who is he? Why will he keep his back to me? Good +God! why can't I see his face? Look, can't you see for yourself? +Margaret, can't you see?--do you notice the stick in his hand?--it is my +stick--and--the scoundrel, he wears my clothes. Yes, those clothes are +mine. My God, what does this mean?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +"Come, Awdrey, wake up, you don't know what you are talking about," said +the doctor. He grasped his patient firmly by one arm, and shook him +slightly. The dazed and stricken man gazed at the doctor in +astonishment. + +"Where am I, and what is the matter?" he asked. + +"You are spending the night in my house, and have just had a bad dream," +said Dr. Rumsey. "Don't go back to bed just yet. Come and sit by the +fire for a few minutes." + +As the doctor spoke, he put a warm padded dressing-gown of his own over +his shivering and cowed-looking patient. + +Awdrey wrapped himself in it, and approached the fire. Dr. Rumsey drew a +chair forward. He noticed the shaking hands, thin almost to emaciation, +the sunken cheeks, the glazed expression of the eyes, the look of age +and mental irritation which characterized the face. + +"Poor fellow? no wonder that he should be simply slipping out of life if +this kind of thing continues night after night," thought the doctor. +"What is to be done with him? His is one of the cases which baffle +Science. Well, at least, he wants heaps of nourishment to enable him to +bear up. I'll go downstairs and prepare a meal for him." + +He spoke aloud. + +"You shiver, Awdrey, are you cold?" + +"Not very," replied Awdrey, trying to smile, although his lips +chattered. He looked into the fire, and held out one hand to the +grateful blaze. + +"You'll feel much better after you have taken a prescription which I +mean to make up for you. I'll go and prepare it now. Do you mind being +left alone?" + +"Certainly not. Why should I?" + +"He has already forgotten his terrors," thought Dr. Rumsey. "Queer case, +incomprehensible. I never met one like it before. In these days, it is +true, one comes across all forms of psychological distress. Nothing now +ought to be new or startling to medical science, but this certainly is +marvellous." + +The doctor speedily returned with a plate of cold meat, some bread and +butter, and a bottle of champagne. + +"As we are both spending the night other than it should be spent," he +said, "we must have nourishment. I am going to eat, will you join me?" + +"I feel hungry," answered Awdrey. "I should be glad of something." + +The doctor fed him as though he were an infant. He drank off two glasses +of champagne, and then the color returned to his cheeks, and some +animation to his sunken eyes. + +"You look better," said the doctor. "Now, you will get back to bed, +won't you? After that champagne a good sleep will put some mettle into +you. It is not yet four o'clock. You have several hours to devote to +slumber." + +The moment Rumsey began to speak, Awdrey's eyes dilated. + +"I remember something," he said. + +"I dare say you do--many things--what are you specially alluding to?" + +"I saw something a short time ago in this room. The memory of it comes +dimly back to me. I struggle to grasp it fully. Is your house said to be +haunted, Dr. Rumsey?" + +Dr. Rumsey laughed. + +"Not that I am aware of," he replied. + +"Well, haunted or not, I saw something." Awdrey rose slowly as he +spoke--he pointed in the direction of the farthest window. + +"I was sleeping soundly but suddenly found myself broad awake," he +began--"I saw over there"--he pointed with his hand to the farthest +window, "what looked like a perfect sphere or globe of light--in the +centre of this light was a picture. I see the whole thing now in +imagination, but the picture is dim--it worries me, I want to see it +better. No, I will not get back to bed." + +"You had a bad dream and are beginning to remember it," said Rumsey. + +"It was not a dream at all. I was wide awake. Stay--don't question +me--my memory becomes more vivid instant by instant. I was wide awake as +I said--I got up--I approached the thing. It never swerved from the one +position--it was there by the window--a sphere of light and the picture +in the middle. There were two men in the picture." + +"A nightmare, a nightmare," said the doctor. "What did you eat for +dinner last night?" + +"It was not an ordinary nightmare--my memory is now quite vivid. I +recall the whole vision. I saw a picture of something that happened. +Years ago, Dr. Rumsey--over five years ago now--there was a murder +committed on the Plain near my place. Two men, undergraduates of Oxford, +were staying at our village inn--they fought about a girl with whom they +were both in love. One man killed the other. The murder was committed in +a moment of strong provocation and the murderer only got penal +servitude. He is serving his time now. It seems strange, does it not, +that I should have seen a complete picture of the murder! The whole +thing was very vivid and distinct--it has, in short, burnt itself into +my brain." + +Awdrey raised his hand as he spoke and pressed it to his forehead. "My +pulse is bounding just here," he said--he touched his temple. "I have +only to shut my eyes to see in imagination what I saw in reality half an +hour ago. Why should I be worried with a picture of a murder committed +five years ago?" + +"It probably made a deep impression on you at the time," said Dr. +Rumsey. "You are now weak and your nerves much out of order--your brain +has simply reverted back to it. If I were you I would only think of it +as an ordinary nightmare. Pray let me persuade you to go back to bed." + +"I could not--I am stricken by the most indescribable terror." + +"Nonsense! You a man!" + +"You may heap what opprobrium you like on me, but I cannot deny the +fact. I am full of cowardly terror. I cannot account for my sensations. +The essence of my torture lies in the fact that I am unable to see the +face of the man who committed the murder." + +"Oh, come, why should you see his face--you know who he was?" + +"That's just it, doctor. I wish to God I did know." Awdrey approached +close to Dr. Rumsey, and stared into his eyes. His own eyes were queer +and glittering. He seemed instinctively to feel that he had said too +much, for he drew back a step, putting his hand again to his forehead +and staring fixedly out into vacancy. + +"You believe that I am talking nonsense," he said, after a pause. + +"I believe that you are a sad victim to your own nervous fears. You need +not go to bed unless you like. Dress yourself and sit here by the fire. +You will very likely fall asleep in this arm-chair. I shall remain close +to you." + +"You are really good to me, and I would thank you if I were capable of +gratitude. Yes, I'll get into my clothes." + +Rumsey turned on the electric light, and Awdrey with trembling fingers +dressed himself. When he came back to his easy-chair by the warm fire he +said suddenly: + +"Give me a sheet of paper and a pencil, will you?" + +The doctor handed him a blank sheet from his own note-paper, and +furnished him with a pencil. + +"Now I will sketch what I saw for you," he said. + +He drew with bold touches a broad sphere of light. In the centre was a +picture, minute but faithful. + +At one time Awdrey had been fond of dabbling in art. He sketched a night +scene now, with broad effects--a single bar of moonlight lit up +everything with vivid distinctness. A man lay on the ground stretched +out flat and motionless--another man bent over him in a queer +attitude--he held a stick in his hand--he was tall and slender--there +was a certain look about his figure! Awdrey dropped his pencil and +stared furtively with eyes dilated with horror at his own production. +Then he put his sketch face downward on the table, and turned a white +and indescribably perplexed countenance to Dr. Rumsey. + +"What I have drawn is not worth looking at," he said, simulating a yawn +as he spoke. "After all I cannot quite reproduce what I saw. I believe I +shall doze off in this chair." + +"Do so," said the doctor. + +A few minutes later, when the patient was sound asleep, Dr. Rumsey +lifted the paper on which Awdrey had made his sketch. He looked fixedly +at the vividly worked-up picture. + +"The man whose back is alone visible has an unmistakable likeness to +Awdrey," he muttered. "Poor fellow, what does this mean!--diseased +nerves of course. The next thing he will say is that he committed the +murder himself. He certainly needs immediate treatment. But what to do +is the puzzle." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +When he awoke Awdrey felt much better. He expressed surprise at finding +himself sitting up instead of in bed, and Rumsey saw that he had once +more completely forgotten the occurrence of the night. The doctor +resolved that he should not see the sketch he had made--he put it +carefully away therefore in one of his own private drawers, for he knew +that it might possibly be useful later on. At the present moment the +patient was better without it. + +The two men breakfasted together, and then Rumsey spoke. + +"Now," he said, "I won't conceal the truth from you. I watched you last +night with great anxiety--I am glad I sat up with you, for I am now able +to make a fairly correct diagnosis of your case. You are certainly very +far from well--you are in a sort of condition when a very little more +might overbalance your mind. I tell you this because I think it best for +you to know the exact truth--at the same time pray do not be seriously +alarmed, there is nothing as yet in your case to prevent you from +completely recovering your mental equilibrium, but, in my opinion, to do +so you must have complete change of air and absolutely fresh +surroundings. I recommend therefore that you go away from home +immediately. Do not take your child nor yet your wife with you. If you +commission me to do so, I can get you a companion in the shape of a +clever young doctor who will never intrude his medical knowledge on you, +but yet will be at hand to advise you in case the state of your nerves +requires such interference. I shall put him in possession of one or two +facts with regard to your nervous condition, but will not tell him too +much. Make up your mind to go away at once, Awdrey, within the week if +possible. Start with a sea voyage--I should recommend to the Cape. The +soothing influence of the sea on nerves like yours could not but be +highly beneficial. Take a sea voyage--to the Cape by preference, but +anywhere. It does not greatly matter where you go. The winter is on us, +don't spend it in England. Keep moving about from one place to another. +Don't over-fatigue yourself in any way, but at the same time allow heaps +of fresh impressions to filter slowly through your brain. They will have +a healthy and salutary effect. It is my opinion that by slow but sure +degrees, if you fully take my advice in this matter, you will forget +what now assumes the aspect of monomania. In short, you will forget +yourself, and other lives and other interests mingling with yours will +give you the necessary health and cure. I must ask you to leave me now, +for it is the hour when my patients arrive for consultation, but I will +call round at your house late this evening. Do you consent to my scheme? + +"I must take a day to think it over--this kind of thing cannot be +planned in a hurry." + +"In your case it can and ought to be. You have heaps of money, which is, +as a rule, the main difficulty. Go home to your wife, tell her at once +what I recommend. This is Wednesday, you ought to be out of London on +Saturday. Well, my dear fellow, if you have not sufficient energy to +carry out what I consider essential to your recovery, some one else must +have energy in your behalf and simply take you away. Good-by--good-by." + +Awdrey shook hands with the doctor and slowly left the house. When he +had gone a dozen yards down the street he had almost forgotten the +prescription which had been given to him. He had a dull sort of wish, +which scarcely amounted to a wish in his mind, to reach home in time to +take little Arthur for his morning walk. Beyond that faint desire he had +no longing of any sort. + +He had nearly reached his own house when he was conscious of footsteps +hurrying after him. Presently they reached his side, and he heard the +hurried panting of quickened breath. He turned round with a vague sort +of wonder to see who had dared to come up and accost him in this way. To +his surprise he saw that the intruder was a woman. She was dressed in +the plain ungarnished style of the country. She wore an old-fashioned +and somewhat seedy jacket which reached down to her knees, her dress +below was of a faded summer tint, and thin in quality. Her hat was +trimmed with rusty velvet, she wore a veil which only reached half way +down her face. Her whole appearance was odd, and out of keeping with her +surroundings. + +"Mr. Awdrey, you don't know me?" she cried, in a panting voice. + +"Yes, I do," said Awdrey. He stopped in his walk and stared at her. + +"Is it possible," he continued, "that you are little Hetty Armitage?" + +"I was, sir, I ain't now; I'm Hetty Vincent now. I ventured up to town +unbeknown to any one to see you, Mr. Awdrey. It is of the greatest +importance that I should have a word with you, sir. Can you give me a +few minutes all alone?" + +"Certainly I can, Hetty," replied Awdrey, in a kind voice. A good deal +of his old gentleness and graciousness of manner returned at sight of +Hetty. He overlooked her ugly attire--in short, he did not see it. She +recalled old times to him--gay old times before he had known sorrow or +trouble. She belonged to his own village, to his own people. He was +conscious of a grateful sense of refreshment at meeting her again. + +"You shall come home with me," he said. "My wife will be glad to welcome +you. How are all the old folks at Grandcourt?" + +"I believe they are well, sir, but I have not been to Grandcourt lately. +My husband's farm is three miles from the village. Mr. Robert," dropping +her voice, "I cannot go home with you. It would be dangerous if I were +to be seen at your house." + +"Dangerous!" said Awdrey in surprise. "What do you mean?" + +"What I say, sir; I must not be seen talking to you. On no account must +we two be seen together. I have come up to London unbeknown to anybody, +because it is necessary for me to tell you something, and to ask you--to +ask you--Oh, my God!" continued Hetty, raising her eyes skyward as she +spoke, "how am I to tell him?" + +She turned white to her lips now; she trembled from head to foot. + +"Sir," she continued, "there's some one who suspects." + +"Suspects?" said Awdrey, knitting his brows, "Suspects what? What have +suspicious people to do with me? You puzzle me very much by this +extraordinary talk. Are you quite well yourself? I recall now that you +always were a mysterious little thing; but you are greatly changed, +Hetty." He turned and gave her a long look. + +"I know I am, sir, but that don't matter now. I did not run this risk to +talk about myself. Mr. Robert, there's one living who suspects." + +"Come home with me and tell me there," said Awdrey--he was conscious of +a feeling of irritation, otherwise Hetty's queer words aroused no +emotion of any sort within him. + +"I cannot go home with you, sir--I came up to London at risk to myself +in order to warn you." + +"Of what--of whom?" + +"Of Mrs. Everett, sir." + +"Mrs. Everett! my wife's friend!--you must have taken leave of your +sense. See, we are close to the Green Park; if you won't come to my +house, let us go there. Then you can tell me quickly what you want to +say." + +Awdrey motioned to Hetty to follow him. They crossed the road near Hyde +Park Corner, and soon afterward were in the shelter of the Green Park. + +"Now, speak out," said the Squire. "I cannot stay long with you, as I +want to take my little son for his customary walk. What extraordinary +thing have you to tell me about Mrs. Everett?" + +"Mr. Robert, you may choose to make light of, but in your heart ... +there, I'll tell you everything. Mrs. Everett was down at Grandcourt +lately--she was stopping at uncle's inn in the village. She walked out +one day to the Plain--by ill-luck she met me on her road. She got me to +show her the place where the murder was committed. I stood just by the +clump of elders where--but of course you have forgotten, sir. Mrs. +Everett stood with me, and I showed her the very spot. I described the +scene to her, and showed her just where the two men fought together." + +The memory of his dream came back to Awdrey. He was very quiet now--his +brain was quite alert. + +"Go on, Hetty," he said. "Do you know this interests me vastly. I have +been troubled lately with visions of that queer murder. Only last night +I had one. Now why should such visions come to one who knows nothing +whatever about it?" + +"Well, sir, they do say----" + +"What?" + +"It is the old proverb," muttered Hetty. "'Murder will out.'" + +"I know the proverb, but I don't understand your application," replied +Awdrey, but he looked thoughtful. "If you were troubled with these bad +visions or dreams I should not be surprised," he continued, "for you +really witnessed the thing. By the way, as you are here, perhaps you can +help me. I lost my stick at the time of the murder, and never found it +since. I would give a good deal to find it. What is that you say?" + +"You'll never find it, sir. Thank the good God above, you'll never find +it." + +"I am glad that you recognize the loss not to be a trifle. Most people +laugh when I speak of anything so trivial as a stick. You say I shall +never find it again--perhaps so. The forgetting it so completely +troubles me, however. Hetty, I had a bad dream last night--no, it was +not really a dream, it was a vision. I saw that murder--I witnessed the +whole thing. I saw the dead man, and I saw the back of the man who +committed the murder. I tried hard, but I could not get a glimpse of his +face. I wanted to see his face badly. What is the matter, girl? How +white you look." + +"Don't say another word, sir. I have borne much for you and for your +people, but there are limits, and if you say another word, I shall lose +my self-control." + +"I am sorry my talk has such an effect upon you, Hetty. You don't look +too happy, my little girl. Your face is old--I hope your husband is good +to you." + +"He is as good as I deserve, Mr. Awdrey. I never had any love to give +him--he knew that from the first. He married me five years ago because I +was pretty, and Aunt Fanny thought I'd best be married--she thought it +would make things safer--but it is a mistake to marry when your heart is +given to another." + +"Ah yes, poor Frere--you were in love with him, were you not?" + +"No, sir, that I was not." + +"I forgot--it was with Everett--poor girl, no wonder you look old." + +Awdrey gave Hetty a weary glance--his attention was already beginning to +flag. + +"It was not with Mr. Everett," whispered Hetty in a low tone which +thrilled with passion. + +Awdrey took no notice. His apathy calmed her, and saved her from making +a terrible avowal. + +"I'll just tell you what I came to say and then leave you, sir," she +said in a broken voice. "It is all about Mrs. Everett. She stood with me +close to the alders, and I described the scene of the murder and how it +took place, and all of a sudden she looked me in the eyes and said +something. She said that Mr. Horace Frere was the man who was +murdered--but the man who committed the murder was not her son, Mr. +Everett. She spoke in an awful sort of voice, and said she knew the +truth--she knew that her son was innocent. Oh, sir, I got so awfully +frightened--I nearly let the truth out." + +"You nearly let the truth out--the truth? What do you mean?" + +"Mr. Robert, is it possible that you do not know?" + +"I only know what all the rest of the world knows--that Everett is +guilty." + +"I see, sir, that you still hold to that, and I am glad of it, but Mrs. +Everett is the sort of woman to frighten a body. Her eyes seem to pierce +right down to your very heart--they seem to read your secret. Mr. +Awdrey, will you do what I ask you? Will you leave England for a bit? It +would be dreadful for me to have done all that I have done and to find +it useless in the end." + +Whatever reply Awdrey might have made to this appeal was never uttered. +His attention was at this moment effectually turned into another +channel. He saw Mrs. Everett, his wife, and boy coming to meet him. The +boy, a splendid little fellow with rosy cheeks and vigorous limbs, ran +down the path with a glad cry to fling himself into his father's arms. +He was a princely looking boy, a worthy scion of the old race. Awdrey, +absorbed with his son, took no notice of Hetty. Unperceived by him she +slipped down a side path and was lost to view. + +"Dad," cried the child, in a voice of rapture. + +Margaret and Mrs. Everett came up to the pair. + +"I hope you are better, Robert," said his wife. + +"I suppose I am," he answered. "I had a fairly good night. How well +Arthur looks this morning." + +"Poor little boy, he was fretting to come to meet you," said Mrs. +Awdrey. + +Awdrey turned to speak to Mrs. Everett. There was a good deal of color +in her cheeks, and her dark eyes looked brighter and more piercing than +ever. + +"Forgive me," she said, "for interrupting this conversation. I want to +ask you a question. Mr. Awdrey, I saw you walking just now with a woman. +Who was she?" + +Awdrey laughed. + +"Why, she has gone," he said, glancing round. "Who do you think my +companion was?" he continued, glancing at Margaret. "None other than an +old acquaintance--pretty little Hetty Armitage. She has some other name +now, but I forget what it is. She said she came up to town on purpose to +see me, but I could not induce her to come to the house. What is the +matter, Mrs. Everett?" + +"I should like to see Hetty Armitage. Did she give you her address?" + +"No, I did not ask her. I wonder why she hurried off so quickly; but she +seemed in a queer, excitable state. I don't believe she is well." + +"I want to see her again," continued Mrs. Everett. "I may as well say +frankly that I am fully convinced there is something queer about that +woman--a very little more and I should put a detective on her track. I +suspect her. If ever a woman carried a guilty secret she does." + +"Oh, come," said Margaret, "you must not allow your prejudices to run +away with you. Please remember that Hetty grew up at Grandcourt. My +husband and I have known her almost from her birth." + +"A giddy little thing, but wonderfully pretty," said Awdrey. + +"Well, never mind about her now," interrupted Margaret, a slight touch +of impatience in her manner. "Please, Robert, tell me exactly what Dr. +Rumsey ordered for you." + +"Nothing very alarming," he replied; "the doctor thinks my nerves want +tone. No doubt they do, although I feel wonderfully better this morning. +He said something about my leaving England for a time and taking a sea +voyage. I believe he intends to call round this evening to talk over the +scheme. Now, little man, are you ready for your walk?" + +"Yes," said the child. He stamped his sturdy feet with impatience. +Awdrey took his hand and the two went off in the direction of the +Serpentine. Mrs. Everett and Margaret followed slowly in the background. + +Awdrey remained out for some time with the boy. The day, which had begun +by being mild and spring-like, suddenly changed its character. The wind +blew strongly from the north--soon it rose to a gale. Piles of black +clouds came up over the horizon and covered the sky, then heavy sleet +showers poured down with biting intensity. Awdrey and the child were +quite in the open when they were caught by one of these, and before they +could reach any shelter they were wet through. They hurried into the +first hansom they met, but not before the mischief was done. Awdrey took +a chill, and before the evening was over he was shivering violently, +huddled up close to the fire. The boy, whose lungs were his weak point, +seemed, however, to have escaped without any serious result--he went to +bed in his usual high spirits, but his mother thought his pretty baby +voice sounded a little hoarse. Early the next morning the nurse called +her up; the child had been disturbed in the night by the hoarseness and +a croupy sensation in his throat; his eyes were now very bright and he +was feverish. The nurse said she did not like the look of the little +fellow; he seemed to find it difficult to breathe, and he was altogether +very unlike himself. + +"I'll send a messenger immediately for Dr. Rumsey," said Margaret. + +She returned to her bedroom and awoke her husband, who was in a heavy +sleep. At Margaret's first words he started up keen and interested. + +"What are you saying, Maggie? The boy--little Arthur--ill?" + +"Yes, he seems very ill; I do not like his look at all," she replied. +"It is I know, very early, but I think I'll send a messenger round at +once to ask Dr. Rumsey to call." + +"We ought not to lose a minute," said Awdrey. "I'll go for him myself." + +"You!" she exclaimed in surprise. "But do you feel well enough?" + +"Of course I do, there's nothing the matter with me." + +He sprang out of bed, and rushed off to his dressing-room, hastily put +on his clothes, and then went out. As he ran quickly downstairs Margaret +detected an almost forgotten quality in his steps. + +"Why, he is awake again," she cried. "How strange that this trouble +about the child should have power to give him back his old vigorous +health!" + +Rumsey quickly obeyed Awdrey's summons, and before eight o'clock that +morning he was bending over the sick child's cot. + +It needed but a keen glance and an application of the stethoscope to +tell the doctor that there was grave mischief at work. + +"It is a pity I was not sent for last night," he said. Then he moved +away from the cot, where the bright eyes of the sick baby were fixing +him with a too penetrating stare. + +He walked across the large nursery. Awdrey followed him. + +"The child is very ill," said the doctor. + +"What do you mean?" replied Awdrey. "Very ill--do you infer that the +child is in danger?" + +"Yes, Awdrey, he is undoubtedly in danger. Double pneumonia has set in. +Such a complaint at his tender age cannot but mean very grave danger. I +only hope we may pull him through." + +"We must pull him through, doctor. Margaret," continued her husband, his +face was white as death, "Dr. Rumsey says that the child is in danger." + +"Yes," answered Margaret. She was as quiet in her manner as he was +excited and troubled. She laid her hand now with great tenderness on his +arm. The touch was meant to soothe him, and to assure him of her +sympathy. Then she turned her eyes to fix them on the doctor. + +"I know you will do what you can," she said. There was suppressed +passion in her words. + +"Rest assured I will," he answered. + +"Of course," cried Awdrey. "Listen to me, Dr. Rumsey, not a stone must +be left unturned to pull the child through. You know what his life means +to us--to his mother and me. We cannot possibly spare him--he must be +saved. Had we not better get other advice immediately?" + +"It is not necessary, but you must please yourselves," answered Rumsey. +"I am not a specialist as regards lung affections, although this case is +perfectly straightforward. If you wish to have a specialist I shall be +very glad to consult with Edward Cowley." + +"What is his address? I'll go for him at once," said Awdrey. + +Dr. Rumsey sat down, wrote a short note and gave it to Awdrey, who +hurried off with it. + +Dr. Rumsey looked at Mrs. Awdrey after her husband had left the room. + +"It is marvellous," he said, "what a change for the better this illness +has made in your husband's condition." + +Her eyes filled slowly with tears. + +"Is his health to be won back at such a price?" she asked--she turned +once again to the sick child's bed. + +"God grant not," said the doctor--"rest satisfied that what man can do +to save him I will do." + +"I know that," she replied. + +In an hour's time the specialist arrived and the two doctors had their +consultation. Certain remedies were prescribed, and Dr. Rumsey hurried +away promising to send in two trained nurses immediately. He came back +again himself at noon to find the boy, as he expected, much worse. The +child was now delirious. All during that long dreadful day the fever +rose and rose. The whole aspect of the house in Seymour Street was +altered. There were hushed steps, anxious faces, whispered +consultations. As the hours flew by the prognostications of the medical +men became graver and graver. Margaret gave up hope as the evening +approached. She knew that the little life could not long stand the +strain of that all-consuming fever. Awdrey alone was full of bustle, +excitement, and confidence. + +"The child will and must recover," he said to his wife several times. +When the night began Dr. Rumsey resolved not to leave the child. + +"A man like Rumsey must save him," cried the father. He forgot all about +his own nervous symptoms--he refused even to listen to his wife's words +of anxiety. + +"Pooh!" he said, "when children are ill they are always very bad. I was +at death's door once or twice myself as a child. Children are bad one +moment and almost themselves the next. Is not that so, doctor?" + +"In some cases," replied the doctor. + +"Well, in this case? You think the boy will be all right in the +morning--come now, your honest opinion." + +"My honest opinion is a grave one, Mr. Awdrey." + +Awdrey laughed. There was a wild note in his merriment. + +"You and Cowley can't be up to much if between you you can't manage to +keep the life in a little mite like that," he said. + +"The issues of life and death belong to higher than us," answered the +doctor slowly. + +Awdrey looked at him again, gave an incredulous smile, and went into the +sick-room. + +During the entire night the father sat up with the boy. The sick child +did not know either parent. His voice grew weaker and weaker--the +struggle to breathe became greater. When he had strength to speak, he +babbled continually of his playthings, of his walk by the Serpentine the +previous day, and the little ships as they sailed on the water. +Presently he took a fancy into his head that he was in one of the tiny +ships, and that he was sailing away from shore. He laughed with feeble +pleasure, and tried to clap his burning hands. Toward morning his baby +notes were scarcely distinguishable. He dozed off for a little, then +woke again, and began to talk--he talked now all the time of his father. + +"'Ittle boy 'ove dad," he said. "'Ittle Arthur 'oves dad best of +anybody--best of all." + +Awdrey managed to retain one of the small hands in his. The child +quieted down then, gave him a look of long, unutterable love, and about +six in the morning, twenty-four hours after the seizure had declared +itself, the little spirit passed away. Awdrey, who was kneeling by the +child's cot, still holding his hand, did not know when this happened. +There was a sudden bustle round the bed, he raised his head with a +start, and looked around him. + +"What is the matter? Is he better?" he asked. He looked anxiously at the +sunken face of the dead child. He noticed that the hurried breathing had +ceased. + +"Come away with, me, Robert," said his wife. + +"Why so?" he asked. "Do you think I will leave the child?" + +"Darling, the child is dead." + +Awdrey tottered to his feet. + +"Dead!" he cried. "You don't mean it--impossible." He bent over the +little body, pulled down the bedclothes, and put his hand to the heart, +then bending low he listened intently for any breath to come from the +parted lips. + +"Dead--no, no," he said again. + +"My poor fellow, it is too true," said Dr. Rumsey. + +"Then before God," began Awdrey--he stepped back, the words were +arrested on his lips, and he fell fainting to the floor. + +Dr. Rumsey had him removed to his own room, and with some difficulty the +unhappy man was brought back to consciousness. He was now lying on his +bed. + +"Where am I?" he asked. + +"In your room, on your bed. You are better now, dearest," said Margaret. +She bent over him, trying valiantly to conceal her own anguish in order +to comfort him. + +"But what has happened?" he asked. He suddenly sat up. "Why are you +here, Rumsey? Margaret, why are your eyes so red?" + +Margaret Awdrey tried to speak, but the words would not come to her +lips. + +Rumsey bent forward and took Awdrey's hand. + +"It has pleased Providence to afflict you very sorely, my poor fellow," +he said, "but I know for your wife's sake you will be man enough to +endure this fearful blow with fortitude." + +"What blow, doctor?" + +"Your child," began the doctor. + +"My child?" said Awdrey. He put his feet on the floor, and stood up. +There was a strange note of query in his tone. + +"My child?" he repeated. "What child?" + +"Your child is dead, Awdrey. We did what we could to save him." + +Awdrey uttered a wild laugh. + +"Come, this is too much," he exclaimed. "You talk of a child of mine--I, +who never had a child. What are you dreaming about?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +On the evening of that same day Awdrey entered the room where his wife +was silently giving way to her bitter anguish. She was quite overcome by +her grief--her eyelids were swollen by much weeping, her dress was +disarranged, the traces of a sleepless night, and the fearful anguish +through which she was passing, were visible on her beautiful face. +Awdrey, who had come into the room almost cheerfully, started and +stepped back a pace or two when he saw her--he then knit his brows with +marked irritation. + +"What can be the matter with you, Margaret?" he cried. "I cannot imagine +why you are crying in that silly way." + +"I'll try not to cry any more, Robert," she answered. + +"Yes, but you look in such dreadful distress; I assure you, it affects +me most disagreeably, and in my state of nerves!--you know, don't you, +that nothing ever annoys me more than weak, womanish tears." + +"It is impossible for me to be cheerful to-night," said the wife. "The +pain is too great. He was our only child, and such--such a darling." + +Awdrey laughed. + +"Forgive me, my dear," he said, "I really would not hurt your feelings +for the world, but you must know, if you allow your common sense to +speak, that we never had a child. It has surely been one of our great +trials that no child has been given to us to carry on the old line. My +poor Maggie," he went up to her quite tenderly, put his arm round her +neck, and kissed her, "you must be very unwell to imagine these sort of +things." + +She suddenly took the hand which lay on her shoulder between both her +own. + +"Come with me, Robert," she said, an expression of the most intense +despair on all her features, "come, I cannot believe that this blight +which has passed over you can be final. I'll take you to the room where +the little body of our beautiful child is lying. When you see that sweet +face, surely you will remember." + +He frowned when she began to speak; now he disengaged his hand from her +clasp. + +"It would not be right for me to humor you," he said. "You ought to see +a doctor, Maggie, for you are really suffering from a strong delusion. +If you encourage it it may become fixed, and even assume the proportions +of a sort of insanity. Now, my dear wife, try and restrain yourself and +listen to me." + +She gazed at him with wide-open eyes. As he spoke she had difficulty in +believing her own ears. A case like his was indeed new to her. She had +never really believed in the tragedy of his house--but now at last the +suspected and dreaded blow had truly fallen. Awdrey, like his ancestors +before him, was forgetting the grave events of life. Was it possible +that he could forget the child, whose life had been the joy of his +existence, whose last looks of love had been directed to him, whose last +faltering words had breathed his name? Yes, he absolutely forgot all +about the child. The stern fact stared her in the face, she could not +shut her eyes to it. + +"You look at me strangely, Margaret," said Awdrey. "I cannot account for +your looks, nor indeed for your actions during the whole of to-day. Now +I wish to tell you that I have resolved to carry out Rumsey's advice--he +wants me to leave home at once. I spent a night with him--was it last +night? I really forget--but anyhow, during that time he had an +opportunity of watching my symptoms. You know, don't you, how nervous I +am, how full of myself? You know how this inertia steals over me, and +envelops me in a sort of cloud. The state of the case is something like +this, Maggie; I feel as if a dead hand were pressed against my heart; +sometimes I have even a difficulty in breathing, at least in taking a +deep breath. It seems to me as if the stupor of death were creeping up +my body, gradually day by day, enfeebling all my powers more and more. +Rumsey, who quite understands these symptoms, says that they are grave, +but not incurable. He suggests that I should leave London and at once. I +propose to take the eight o'clock Continental train. Will you come with +me?" + +"I?" she cried. "I cannot; our child's little body lies upstairs." + +"Why will you annoy me by referring to that delusion of yours? You must +know how painful it is to listen to you. Will you come, Maggie?" + +"I cannot. Under any other circumstances I would gladly, but to-night, +no, it is impossible." + +"Very well then, I'll go alone. I have just been up in my room packing +some things. I cannot possibly say how long I shall be absent--perhaps a +few weeks, perhaps a day or two--I must be guided in this matter by my +sensations." + +"If you come back in a day or two, Robert, I'll try and go abroad with +you, if you really think it would do you good," said Margaret. + +"I'll see about that," he replied. "I cannot quite tell you what my +plans are to-night. Meanwhile I find I shall want more money than I have +in the house. Have you any by you?" + +"I have twenty-five pounds." + +"Give it to me; it will be quite sufficient. I have about fifteen pounds +here." He touched his breast-pocket. "If I don't return soon I'll write +to you. Now good-by, Maggie. Try and conquer that queer delusion, my +dear wife. Remember, the more you think of it, the more it will feed +upon itself, until you will find it too strong for you. Good-by, +darling." + +She threw her arms round his neck. + +"I cannot describe what my feelings are at this awful moment," she said. +"Is it right for me to let you go alone?" + +"Perfectly right, dearest. What possible harm can come to me?" he said +with tenderness. He pushed back the rich black hair from her brow as he +spoke. + +"You love me, Robert?" she cried suddenly--"at least your love for me +remains?" + +He knit his brows. + +"If there is any one I love, it is you," he said, "but I do not know +that I love any one--it is this inertia, dearest"--he touched his +breast--"it buries love beneath it, it buries all emotion. You are not +to blame. If I could conquer it my love for you would be as full, as +fresh, and strong as ever. Good-by now. Take care of yourself. If those +strange symptoms continue pray consult Dr. Rumsey." + +He went out of the room. + +Margaret was too stricken and stunned to follow him. + +A few days later a child's funeral left the house in Seymour Street. +Margaret followed her child to the grave. She then returned home, +wondering if she could possibly endure the load which had fallen upon +her. The house seemed empty--she did not think anything could ever fill +it again. Her own heart was truly empty--she felt as if there were a gap +within it which could never by any possibility be closed up again. Since +the night after her child's death she had heard nothing from her +husband--sometimes she wondered if he were still alive. + +Dr. Rumsey tried to reassure her on this point--he did not consider +Awdrey the sort of man to commit suicide. + +Mrs. Everett came to see Margaret every day during this time of terrible +grief, but her excited face, her watchful attitude, proved the reverse +of soothing. She was sorry for Margaret, but even in the midst of +Margaret's darkest grief she never forgot the mission she had set before +herself. + +On the morning of the funeral she followed the procession at a little +distance. She stood behind the more immediate group of mourners as the +body of the beautiful child was laid in his long home. Had his father +been like other men, Margaret would never have consented to the child's +being buried anywhere except at Grandcourt. Under existing +circumstances, however, she had no energy to arrange this. + +About an hour after Mrs. Awdrey's return, Mrs. Everett was admitted into +her presence. + +Margaret was seated listlessly by one of the tables in the drawing-room. +A pile of black-edged paper was lying near her--a letter was begun. +Heaps of letters of condolence which had poured in lay near. She was +endeavoring to answer one, but found the task beyond her strength. + +"My poor dear!" said Mrs. Everett. She walked up the long room, and +stooping down by Margaret, kissed her. + +Margaret mechanically returned her embrace. Mrs. Everett untied her +bonnet-strings and sat by her side. + +"Don't try to answer those letters yet," she said. "You are really not +fit for it. Why don't you have a composing draught and go to bed?" + +"I would rather not; the awakening would be too terrible," said +Margaret. + +"You will knock yourself up and get really ill if you go on like this." + +"It does not matter, Mrs. Everett, whether I am ill or well. Nothing +matters," said Margaret, in a voice of despair. + +"Oh, my poor love, I understand you," said the widow. "I do not know in +what words to approach your terribly grieved heart--there is only one +thing which I feel impelled to say, and which may possibly at some time +comfort you. Your beautiful boy's fate is less tragical than the fate +which has fallen upon my only son. When Frank was a little child, +Margaret, he had a dreadful illness--I thought he would die. I was +frantic, for his father had died not long before. I prayed earnestly to +God. I vowed a vow to train the boy in the paths of righteousness, as +never boy had been trained before. I vowed to do for Frank what no other +mother had ever done, if only God would leave him to me. My prayer was +answered, and my child was saved. Think of him now, Margaret. Margaret, +think of him now." + +"I do," answered Margaret. "I have always felt for you--my heart has +always been bitter with grief for you--don't you know it?" + +"I do, I do--you have been the soul of all that could be sweet and dear +to me. Except Frank himself, I love no one as I love you. Ah!"--Mrs. +Everett suddenly started to her feet--the room door had been slowly +opened and Awdrey walked in. His face was very pale and more emaciated +looking than ever--his eyes were bright, and had sunk into his head. + +"Well," he said, with a sort of queer assumption of cheerfulness, "here +I am. I came back sooner than I expected. How are you Maggie?" He went +up to his wife and kissed her. "How do you do, Mrs. Everett?" + +"I am well," said Mrs. Everett. "How are you, are you better?" + +"Yes, I am much better--in fact, there is little or nothing the matter +with me." + +He sat down on a sofa as he spoke and stared at his wife with a puzzled +expression between his brows. + +"What in the world are you in that heavy black for?" he said suddenly. + +"I must wear it," she said. "You cannot ask me to take it off." + +"Why should I ask you?" he replied. "Do not excite yourself in that way, +Maggie. If you like to look hideous, do so. Black, heavy black, of that +sort, does not suit you--and you are absolutely in crepe--what does all +this mean? It irritates me immensely." + +"People wear crepe when those they love die," said Margaret. + +"Have you lost a relation?--Who?" + +She did not answer. A moment later she left the room. + +When she did so Awdrey got up restlessly, walked to the fire and poked +it, then he approached the window and looked out. After a time he +returned to his seat. Mrs. Everett sat facing him. It was her wont to +sit very still--often nothing seemed to move about her except her +watchful eyes. To-day she had more than ever the expression of a person +who is quietly watching and waiting. Awdrey, inert as he doubtlessly +was, seemed to feel her gaze--he looked at her. + +"Where have you been, Mr. Awdrey?" she asked gently. "Did you visit the +Continent?" + +He favored her with a keen, half-suspicious glance. + +"No," he said. "I changed my mind about that. I did not wish the water +to divide me from my quest. I have been engaged on a most important +search." + +"And what was that?" she asked gently. + +"I have been looking for a stick which I missed some years ago." + +"I have heard you mention that before," said Mrs. Everett--the color +flushed hotly into her face. "You seem to attribute a great deal of +importance to that trifle." + +"To me it is no trifle," he replied. "I regard it as a link," he +continued slowly, "between me and a past which I have forgotten. When I +find that stick I shall remember the past." + +As he spoke he rose again and going to the hearth-rug stood with his +back to the fire. + +At that moment Margaret re-entered the room in white--she was in a soft, +flowing, white robe, which covered her from top to toe--it swept about +her in graceful folds, and exposed some of the lovely contour of her +arms. Her face was nearly as colorless as her dress; only the wealth of +thick dark hair, only the sombre eyes, relieved the monotony of her +appearance. Awdrey gave her a smile and a look of approval. + +"Come here," he said: "now you are good--how sweet you look. Your +appearance makes me recall, recall----" He pressed his hand to his +forehead. "I remember now," he said; "I recall the day we were +engaged--don't you remember it?--the picnic on Salisbury Plain; you were +all in white then, too, and you wore somewhat the same intense +expression in your eyes. Margaret, you are a beautiful woman." + +She stood close to him--he did not offer to kiss her, but he laid one +emaciated hand on her shoulder and looked earnestly into her face. + +"You are very beautiful," he said; "I wonder I do not love you." He +sighed heavily, and removed his gaze to look intently into the fire. + +Mrs. Everett rose. + +"I'll come again soon," she said to Margaret. Margaret took no notice of +her, nor did Awdrey see when she left the room. + +After a moment Margaret went up to her husband and touched him. + +"You must have something to eat," she said. "It is probably a long time +since you had a proper meal." + +"I don't remember," he replied, "but I am not hungry. By the way, +Maggie, I recall now what I came back for." His eyes, which seemed to be +lit from within, became suddenly full of excitement. + +"Yes," she said as gently as she could. + +"I came back because I wanted you." + +Her eyes brightened. + +"I wanted you to come with me. I do not care to be alone, and I am +anxious to leave London again to-night." + +Before Margaret could reply the butler threw open the door and announced +Dr. Rumsey. The doctor came quickly forward. + +"I am glad you have returned, Awdrey," he said, holding out his hand as +he spoke. "I called to inquire for your wife, and the man told me you +were upstairs." + +"Yes, and I am better," said Awdrey. "I came back because I thought +perhaps Margaret--but by the way, why should I speak so much about +myself? My wife was not well when I left her. I hope, doctor, that she +consulted you, and that she is now much better." + +"Considering all things, Mrs. Awdrey is fairly well," said Rumsey. + +"And she has quite got over that delusion?" + +"Quite." The doctor's voice was full of decision. + +Margaret shuddered and turned away. + +Rumsey seated himself at a little distance from the fire, but Awdrey +remained standing. He stood in such a position that the doctor could get +a perfect view of him. Rumsey did not fail to avail himself of so +excellent a moment for studying this queer case. He observed the wasted +face of his patient; the unnaturally large and bright eyes; the lips +which used to be firm as a line, and which gave considerable character +to the face, but which had now become loose and had a habit of drooping +slightly open; the brows, too, worked at times spasmodically, and the +really noble forehead, which in old times betokened intelligence to a +marked degree, was now furrowed with many lines. While Rumsey watched he +also made up his mind. + +"I must tear the veil from that man's eyes at any cost," he said to +himself. He gave Margaret a glance and she left the room. The moment she +did so the doctor stood up. + +"I am glad you have returned," he said. + +"How strange of you to say that," answered Awdrey. "Do you not remember +you were the man who ordered me away?" + +"I do remember that fact perfectly, but since I gave you that +prescription a very marked change has taken place in your condition." + +"Do you think me worse?" + +"In one sense you are." + +Awdrey laughed. + +"How queer that you should say that," he said, "for to tell you the +truth, I really feel better; I am not quite so troubled by inertia." + +"I must be frank with you, Awdrey. I consider you very ill." + +Awdrey started when Rumsey said this. + +"Pray speak out, doctor, I dislike riddles," he replied. + +"I mean to speak out very plainly. Awdrey, my poor fellow, I am obliged +to remind you of the strange history of your house." + +"What do you mean?" said Awdrey--"the history of my house?" he +continued; "there is a psychological history, which I dislike to think +of; is it to that you refer?" + +"Yes, I refer to the queer condition of brain which men of your house +have inherited for several generations. It is a queer doom; I am forced +to say it is an awful doom. Robert Awdrey, it has fallen upon you." + +"I thought as much," said Awdrey, "but you never would believe it +before." + +"I had not cause to believe it before. Now I fully believe it. That +lapse of memory, which is one of its remarkable symptoms, has taken +place in your case. You have forgotten a very important fact in your +life." + +"Ah, you are wrong there," said Awdrey. "I certainly have forgotten my +walking-stick. I know well that I am a queer fellow. I know too that at +times my condition is the reverse of satisfactory, but with this one +exception I have never forgotten anything of the least consequence. +Don't you remember telling me that the lapse of memory was not of any +moment?" + +"It was not, but you have forgotten something else, Awdrey, and it is my +duty now to remind you of it." + +"I have forgotten?" began Awdrey. "Well, speak." + +"You had a child--a beautiful child." + +Awdrey interrupted with a laugh. + +"I do declare you have got that delusion, too," he said. "I tell you, +Dr. Rumsey, I never had a child." + +"Your child is no longer with you, but you had a child. He lived for +four years but is now dead. This very afternoon he was laid in his +grave. He was a beautiful child--more lovely than most. He died after +twenty-four hours' illness. His mother is broken-hearted over his loss, +but you, his father, have forgotten all about it. Here is the picture of +your child--come to the light and look at it." + +Rumsey strode up to a table as he spoke, lifted a large photograph from +a stand, and held it before Awdrey's eyes. + +Awdrey favoured it with a careless glance. + +"I do not know that face," he said. "How did the photograph get here? Is +Margaret's delusion really so bad? Does she imagine for a moment that +the little boy represented in that picture has ever had anything to do +with us?" + +"The photograph is a photograph of your son," repeated Rumsey, in a +slow, emphatic voice. As he spoke he laid the picture back again on its +ebony stand. "Awdrey," he continued, "I cannot expect impossibilities--I +cannot expect you to remember what you have absolutely forgotten, but it +is my duty to tell you frankly that this condition of things, if not +immediately arrested, will lead to complete atrophy of your mental +system, and you, in short, will not long survive it. You told me once +very graphically that you were a man who carried about with you a dead +soul. I did not believe you then. Now I believe that nothing in your own +description of your case has been exaggerated. In some way, Awdrey, you +must get back your memory." + +"How?" asked Awdrey. He was impressed in spite of himself. + +"Whether you remember or not, you must act as though you remembered. You +now think that you never had a child. It is your duty to act as if you +had one." + +Awdrey shrugged his shoulders. + +"That is impossible," he said. + +"It is not. Weak as your will now is, it is not yet so inert that you +cannot bring it to bear upon the matter. I observe that Mrs. Awdrey has +taken off her mourning. She must put it on again. It would be the height +of all that is heartless for her to go about now without showing proper +respect to your beautiful child. You also, Awdrey, must wear mourning. +You must allow your wife to speak of the child. In short, even though +you have no belief, you must allow those who are in a healthy mental +condition to act for you in this matter. By doing so you may possibly +arrest the malady." + +"I see what you mean," said Awdrey, "but I do not know how it is +possible for me to act on your suggestions." + +"For your wife's sake you must try, and also because it is necessary that +you should show respect to the dead heir of your house." + +"Then I am to put a band on my hat and all that sort of thing?" + +"Yes." + +"It is a trifle, doctor. If you and Margaret wish it, I cannot +reasonably refuse. To come back to myself, however, you consider that I +am quite doomed?" + +"Not quite yet, although your case is a bad one. I believe you can be +saved if only you will exert yourself." + +"Do wishes go for anything in a case like mine?" + +"Assuredly. To hear you express a wish is a capital sign. What do you +want to do?" + +"I have a strange wish to go down to the Court. I feel as if something +or some one, whether angel or demon I do not know, were drawing me +there. I have wished to be at the Court for some days. I thought at +first of taking Margaret with me." + +"Do so. She would be glad to accompany you. She is a wife in a +thousand." + +"But on second thoughts," continued Awdrey, "if I am obliged to listen +to her bitter distress over the death of a child who never, as far as I +can recall, existed, I should prefer not having her." + +"Very well then, go alone." + +"I cannot go alone. In the condition which I am now in, a complete +vacuum in all my thoughts may occur, and long before I reach the Court I +may forget where I am going." + +"That is possible." + +"Then, Rumsey, will you come with me?" + +The doctor thought a moment. "I'll go with you this evening," he said, +"but I must return to town early to-morrow." + +"Thanks," said Awdrey. "I'll ring the bell. We shall be in time, if we +start at once, to catch the five o'clock train." + +"Remember, Awdrey, that I shall treat you as the child's father. You +will find all your tenantry in a state of poignant grief. That dear +little fellow was much loved." + +Awdrey pursed up his lips as if he would whistle. A smile dawned in his +eyes and vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +At a late hour that evening Rumsey and his patient arrived at +Grandcourt. A telegram had been sent to announce their visit, and all +was in readiness for their reception. The old butler, Hawkins, who had +lived in the family for nearly fifty years, came slowly down the steps +to greet his master. Hawkins' face was pale, and his eyes dim, as if he +had been indulging in silent tears. He was very much attached to little +Arthur. Awdrey gave him a careless nod. + +"I hope all is in readiness, Hawkins," he said, "I have brought my +friend, Dr. Rumsey, with me; we should like supper--has it been +prepared?" + +"Yes, Mr. Robert--I beg your pardon, Squire--all is in readiness in the +library." + +"We'll go there after we have washed our hands," said Awdrey. "What room +have you got ready for Dr. Rumsey?" + +"The yellow room, Squire, in the west wing." + +"That will do nicely. Rumsey, you and I will inhabit the same wing +to-night. I suppose I am to sleep in the room I always occupy, eh, +Hawkins?" + +"Yes, sir; Mrs. Burnett, the housekeeper, thought you would wish that." + +"It does not matter in the least where I sleep; now order up supper, we +shall be down directly. Follow me, doctor, will you?" + +Dr. Rumsey followed Awdrey to the west wing. A few moments later the two +men were seated before a cheerful meal in the library--a large fire +burned in the huge grate, logs had been piled on, and the friendly blaze +and the fragrance of the wood filled the room. The supper table was +drawn into the neighborhood of the fire, and Awdrey lifted the cover +from the dish which was placed before him with a look of appetite on his +face. + +"I am really hungry," he said--"we will have some champagne--Hawkins, +take some from"--he named a certain bin. The man retired, coming back +presently with some dusty-looking bottles. The cork was quickly removed +from one, and the butler began to fill the glasses. + +Supper came to an end. Hawkins brought in pipes and tobacco, and the two +men sat before the fire. Awdrey, who had taken from two to three glasses +of champagne, was beginning to feel a little drowsy, but Rumsey talked +in his usual pleasant fashion. Awdrey replied by fits and starts; once +he nodded and half fell asleep in his chair. + +"You are sleepy," said Rumsey suddenly; "if you go to bed now you may +have a really good night, which will do wonders for you--what do you +say?" + +"That I am quite agreeable," said Awdrey, rising as he spoke--"but is it +not too early for you, doctor?" + +"Not at all--an undisturbed night will be a treat to me." + +"Well, then, I'll take you to your room." + +They went upstairs together, and a moment later Rumsey found himself in +the palatial chamber which had been prepared for him. He was not really +sleepy and decided to sit up for a little. A fire burned in the grate, +some books lay about--he drew his easy-chair forward and taking up a +volume of light literature prepared to dip into it--he found that it was +Stevenson's "Treasure Island," a book which he had not yet happened to +read; the story interested him, and he read on for some time. Presently +he closed the book, and laying his head against the cushion of the chair +dropped fast asleep. + +The events of the day made him dream; all his dreams were about his +queer patient. He thought that he had followed Awdrey on to the +Plain--that Awdrey's excitement grew worse and worse, until the last +lingering doubt was solved, and the man was in very truth absolutely +insane. + +In the midst of his dream the doctor was awakened by a hand being laid +on his shoulder--he started up suddenly--Awdrey, half-dressed and +looking ghastly pale, stood before him. + +"What is it?" said Rumsey. "Do you want anything?" + +"I want you," said Awdrey. "Will you come with me?" + +"Certainly--where am I to go? Why are you not in bed?" + +Awdrey uttered a hollow laugh. There was a ring of horror in it. + +"You could not sleep if you were me," he said. "Will you come with me +now, at once?" + +"In a moment or two when you are better--sit down, won't you--here, take +my chair--where do you want me to go?" + +"Out with me, doctor--out of doors. I want you to accompany me on to the +Plain." + +"All right, my dear fellow--but just allow me to get on my boots." + +The doctor retired to a back part of the room to change his house shoes. +While he was doing so, Awdrey sank down on a chair and laid his hands on +his knees, took no notice of Rumsey, but stared straight before him into +the centre of the room. + +"I wish you'd be quick, doctor," he said at last. "I don't want to go +alone, but I must follow it." + +"Follow what?" said Rumsey. + +"It--the queer vision--I have told you of it before." + +"Oh, yes, that bad dream you are subject to. Well, I am at your service +now." + +Awdrey rose slowly. He pointed with one of his hands. + +"Do you see that?" he said suddenly. + +Rumsey following the direction of his eyes perceived that he was staring +into the part of the room which was in deepest shadow. + +"I see nothing, Awdrey," he replied in a kind and soothing voice, "but I +perceive by your manner that you do. What is it?" + +"I wonder you cannot see it," replied Awdrey; "it is plain, too +plain--it seems to fill all that part of the room." + +"The old thing?" asked the doctor. + +"Yes, the old thing but with a certain difference. There is the immense +globe of light and the picture in the middle." + +"The old picture, Awdrey?" + +"Yes, yes, but with a difference. The two men are fighting. As a rule +they stand motionless in the picture, but to-night they seem to have +come alive--they struggle, they struggle hard; one stands with his back +to me. The face of the other I can recognize distinctly. It is the face +of that young fellow who stayed a few years ago at the inn in our +village. Ah! yes, of course, I know his name, Frere--Horace Frere. He +has met some one on Salisbury Plain. It is night; the moon is hidden +behind clouds. Ha! now it comes out. Now I can see them distinctly. Dr. +Rumsey, don't you hear the blows? I do. They seem to beat on my brain. +That man who stands with his back to us carries my stick in his hand. I +know it is mine, for the whole thing is so intensely plain that I can +even see the silver tablet on which my name is engraved. My God! the man +also wears my clothes. I would give all that I possess to see his face. +Let us get on the Plain as fast as we can. I may be able to see the +reverse side of the picture from there. Come with me, come at once." + +"Poor fellow! matters get worse and worse," thought the doctor. "Well, I +must see this thing out." + +Aloud he said: + +"How soon did this vision come to torment you to-night?" + +Awdrey rubbed his eyes. + +"At first when I went to my room I was sleepy," he said. "I began to +take off my things. Then I saw a globe of light in the further end of +the room. At first it was merely light with no picture in the centre. +Then faint shadows began to appear, and by slow degrees the perfect and +intensely clear picture which I am now looking at became visible. I +stared at it quite motionless for a time. I was absorbed by the deepest +interest. Then a mad longing to see the face of the man who stands with +his back to us, came over me. I walked about the room trying hard to get +even a side view of him, but wherever I went he turned so as to keep his +face away; wherever I went the face of Frere was the only one I could +see. Then in a sort of despair, almost maddened in fact, I rushed from +the room. + +"Did you not leave the vision behind you?" + +"Not I--it went straight in front of me. When I reached your room and +opened the door it came in before me. I know now what I must do. I have +been always standing more or less to the right of the picture. I must +get to the left. I am going to follow it on to the Plain--I am going to +trace it to the exact spot where that murder was committed. Will you +come with me?" + +"Yes, only first you must return to your room, and get into the rest of +your clothes. At present you are without a coat." + +"Am I? And yet I burn with heat. Well, I'll do what you want. I will do +anything which gives me a chance of seeing that man's face." + +A few moments later Rumsey and his patient found themselves in the white +moonlight of the outer world. Awdrey was now quite silent, but Rumsey +noticed that his footsteps faltered once or twice, and that he often +paused as if to get his breath. He appeared to be like a man in a +frantic hurry; he gazed straight before him, as if he were looking +intently at one fixed object. + +"It goes before me, and guides me to the spot," he said at last, in a +choking voice. He panted more violently than ever. Heavy sighs came from +him--these seemed to be wrung from his very heart. + +In about ten minutes the men got upon the borders of the Plain. Awdrey +then turned abruptly to his left; each moment he walked faster and +faster; the doctor had now almost to run to keep up with him. At last +they reached the rise of ground. A great clump of alder-trees stood to +the left; at the right, a little way off, was a dense belt of +undergrowth. On the rising ground itself was short grass and no other +vegetation. A little way off, nearly one hundred feet lower down, was a +pond. The light of the moon was fully reflected here; across the smooth +surface of the pond was a clear path as if of silver. When they reached +the brow of this slight elevation, Awdrey stood still. + +"There--it was done there," he said, pointing with his finger. "See, the +picture does not move any more, but settles down upon the ground. Now we +shall see the whole thing. Good God, Rumsey, fancy looking at a murder +which was committed five years ago! It is going on there now all over +again. There stand the two men life-size. Can't we stop them? Can we do +nothing?" + +"No, it is only a vision," said the doctor; "but tell me exactly what +you see." + +"It is too marvellous," said Awdrey. "The men move, and I hear the sound +of the blows. It is extraordinary how that fellow keeps his back to me. +I can't see his face if I stand here. Come, let us go downhill--if we +get near the pond we can look up, and I shall get a view of him in +another position." + +"Come," said Rumsey. He took Awdrey's arm, and they went down the slope +of ground until they almost reached the borders of the pond. + +"Now is it any better?" asked the doctor. "Can you see the man's face +now?" + +"No, he has turned; he still keeps his back to me, the scoundrel. But +oh, for God's sake see--he fights harder than ever. Ha! He has thrown +Horace Frere to the ground. Now Frere is up--what a strong chap he is! +Now the other man is down. No, he has risen again. Now they both stand +and fight, and--Dr. Rumsey, did you see that? The man with his back to +us uses his stick, straight in front of him like a bayonet, and--oh, my +God!" + +Awdrey covered his face with his shaking hands. In a moment he looked up +again. + +"Can't you see for yourself?" he cried. "Frere is on his back--in my +opinion he is dead. What has happened?" + +Awdrey swayed from side to side. His excitement was so intense that he +would have fallen if Dr. Rumsey had not caught him. The night was a +chilly one, but the terrified and stricken man was bathed in +perspiration. + +"Come, Awdrey, you have told me everything, and it is fully time to +return home," said the doctor. + +"I vow I won't go back until I see that man's face, Dr. Rumsey. What +name did they give him at the trial? Frank--Frank Everett--was he the +man convicted of the murder?" + +"Yes, of course, you must remember that--he is serving his time now in +Portland." + +Awdrey faced round suddenly, and looked into the doctor's eyes. + +"It is all a mistake then," he said, in a queer sort of whisper. "I +swear that before God. I saw Everett once--he was a thickly made +man--that fellow is slighter, taller, younger. He carries my stick and +wears my clothes. Why in the name of Heaven can't I see his face? What +are you saying, doctor?" + +"Only that I must take you home, my good fellow. You are my patient, and +I cannot permit this excitement any longer." + +"But the murder is still going on. Can't you see the whole thing for +yourself? That fellow with his back to us is the murderer. He uses his +stick as a bayonet. What did I once hear about that? Oh that I could +remember! There is a cloud before my mind--oh, God in Heaven, that I +could rend it! Do not speak to me for a moment, doctor, I am struggling +with a memory." + +Awdrey flung himself on the ground--he pressed his hands before his +eyes--he looked like a demented man. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. + +"I have it," he said with a laugh, which sounded hollow. "If I look in +the pond I shall see the man's face. His face must be reflected in it. +Stay where you are, doctor, I'll be back with you in a minute. I am +getting at it--light is coming--it is all returning to me. He uses his +stick as a bayonet, prodding him in the mouth. Old, old--what am I +saying?--who told me that long ago? Yes I shall see his face in the +pond." + +Awdrey ran wildly to the edge of the water. He paused just where the +silver light fell full across the dark pond. Rumsey followed him in hot +haste. He knew that his patient was in the condition when he might leap +into the pond at any moment. + +Catching on to an alder-tree, Awdrey now bent forward until he caught +the reflection in the water--he slid down on his knees to examine it +more carefully. + +"Take care, Awdrey, you'll slip in if you are not careful," cried +Rumsey. + +Awdrey was silent for a moment--his own reflection greeted him--he +looked straight down at his own face and figure. Suddenly he rose to his +feet: a long shiver ran through his frame. He went up to Rumsey with a +queer unsteady laugh. + +"I have seen the man's face," he said. + +"It was your own face, my dear fellow," said the doctor. "I saw it +reflected distinctly in the water." + +"I am satisfied," said Awdrey, in a changed and yet steady voice. "We +can go home now." + +"Well, have you really seen what you wanted to see? Who was the +murderer?" + +"Frank Everett, who is serving his time in Portland prison. Dr. Rumsey, +I believe I have been the victim of the most horrible form of nightmare +which ever visited living man. Anyhow it has vanished--the vision has +completely disappeared." + +"I am glad to hear you say so, Awdrey." + +"I do not see it any longer--I know what I wanted to know. Let us go +back to the Court." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +"Well, Het, what do you say to a bit o' news that'll wake you up?" said +Farmer Vincent one fine morning in the month of May to his young wife. + +Hetty was in her dairy with her sleeves turned up busily skimming cream. +She turned as her husband spoke and looked up into his face. He was a +roughly built man on a huge scale. He chucked her playfully under the +chin. + +"There are to be all kinds of doings," he said. "I've just been down to +the village and the whole place is agog. What do you say to an election, +and who do you think is to be put up for the vacant seat?" + +"I don't know much about elections, George," said Hetty, turning again +to her cream. "If that's all it won't interest me." + +"Ay, but 'tain't all--there's more behind it." + +"Well, do speak out and tell the news. I'm going down to see aunt +presently." + +"I wonder how many days you let pass without being off to see that aunt +of yours," said the farmer, frowning perceptibly. "Well, then, the news +is this. Squire and Mrs. Awdrey and a lot of company with them came back +to the Court this evening. Squire and Madam have been in foreign parts +all the winter, and they say that Squire's as well as ever a man was, +and he and madam mean to live at the Court in future. Why, you have +turned white, lass! What a lot you think of those grand folks!" + +"No, I don't, George, not more than anybody ought. Of course I'm fond of +Squire, seeing I know him since he was a little kid--and we was always +great, me and mine, for holding on to the Family." + +"I've nothing to say agin' the Fam'ly," said farmer Vincent, "and for my +part," he continued, "I'm glad Squire is coming to live here. I don't +hold with absentee landlords, that I don't. There are many things I'll +get him to do for me on the farm. I can't move Johnson, the bailiff, one +bit, but when Squire's to home 'twill be another matter. Then he's going +to stand for Grandcourt. He's quite safe to be returned. So, Het, what +with an election and the Fam'ly back again at the Court, there'll be gay +doings this summer, or I'm much mistook." + +"To be sure there will," said Hetty. She pulled a handkerchief out of +her pocket as she spoke and wiped some moisture from her brow. + +"You don't look too well, my girl. Now don't you go and overdo things +this morning--the weather is powerful hot for the time o' year, and you +never can stand heat. I thought it 'ud cheer you up to tell you about +Squire, for any one can see with half an eye that you are as proud of +him and the Fam'ly as woman can be." + +"I'm very glad to hear your news, George," replied Hetty. "Now if you +won't keep me any longer I'll make you some plum duff for dinner." + +"That's a good girl--you know my weakness." + +The man went up to her where she stood, and put one of his great arms +round her neck. + +"Look at me, Hetty," he said. + +"What is it, George?" She raised her full, dark eyes. + +He gazed down into their depths, anxiously. + +"Are you a bit better, lass?" he asked, a tender intonation in his gruff +voice. "Pain in the side any less bad?" + +"Yes, George, I feel much better." + +"Well, I'm glad of that," he said slowly. "Now you look well at me. +Don't you take your eyes off me while I'm a-speaking. I've been counting +the days. I mark 'em down on the back of the fowl-house door with a bit +of chalk; and it's forty days and more since you gave me the least +little peck of a kiss, even. Do you think you could give me one now?" + +She raised her lips, slowly. He could not but perceive her +unwillingness, and a wave of crimson swept up over his face. + +"I don't want that sort," he said, flinging his arm away and moving a +step or two back from her. "There, I ain't angry; I ain't no call to be +angry; you were honest with me afore we wed. You said plain as girl +could speak, 'I ain't got the least bit of love for you, George,' and I +took you at your word; but sometimes, Het, it seems as if it 'ud half +kill me, for I love you better every day and every hour." + +"I know you're as good a fellow as ever breathed," said Hetty; "and I +like you even though I don't love you. I'll try hard to be a good wife +to you, George, I will truly." + +"You're main pleased about Squire, I take it?" + +"I am main pleased." + +"'Tw'ere a pity the little chap were took so sudden-like." + +"I s'pose so," said Hetty. + +"You are a queer girl, Hetty. I never seed a woman less fond o' children +than you." + +"Well, I ain't got any of my own, you understand," said Hetty. + +"I understand." The farmer uttered a huge laugh. "I guess I do," he +said. "I wish to God you had a child, Hetty; maybe you'd love it, and +love its father for its sake." + +With a heavy sigh the man turned and left the dairy. + +The moment she found herself alone, Hetty flew to the door and locked +it. Then standing in the middle of the spotless room she pressed her two +hands wildly to her brow. + +"He's coming back," she said aloud; "back to live here; he'll be within +a mile of me to-night. Any day or any hour I may see him. He's coming +back to live. What do folks mean by saying he is well? If he is well, +does he remember? And if he remembers--oh, my God, I shall go mad if I +think much of that any longer! Squire back again at the Court and me +here, and I knowing what I know, and Aunt Fanny knowing what she knows! +I must go and speak to aunt to-day. To-night, too, so soon; he'll be +back to-night. My head is giddy with the thought. What does it all mean? +Is he really well, and does he remember? Oh, this awful pain in my side! +I vowed I'd not take another drop of the black medicine; but there's +nothing else keeps me steady." + +Glancing furtively behind her, although there was not a soul in sight, +Hetty opened a cupboard in the wall. From a back recess she produced a +small bottle; it was half full of a dark liquid. Taking up a spoon which +lay near she poured some drops into it, and adding a little water, drank +it off. She then put the bottle carefully back into its place, locked +the cupboard, and slipped the key into her pocket. + +"In a minute, dreams will come, and I'll be much better," she said to +herself. "It seems as if I could bear anything a'most after I'd taken a +little of that black stuff; it's a sight better than gin, and I know +what I'm doing all the time. I'll go and see aunt the minute I've +swallowed my dinner; but now I must hurry to make the plum duff for +George." + +She ran briskly off to attend to her numerous duties. She was now bright +and merry; the look of gloom and depression had completely left her +face; her eyes shone with a contented and happy light. As she bustled +about her kitchen opening and shutting her oven, and filling up the +different pots, which were necessary for cooking the dinner, with hot +water, her white teeth gleamed, and smiles came and went over her face. + +"To think of Aunt Fanny's toothache mixture doing this for me," she said +to herself. "Aunt Fanny 'ud put a bit on cotton wool and put it into the +hole of her tooth, and the pain 'ud be gone in a jiffy; and now I +swallow a few drops, and somehow it touches my heart, and my pain goes. +Aunt Fanny wonders where her toothache cure is; she ain't likely to hear +from me. Oh, it's quite wonderful how contented it makes me feel!" + +Hetty was a good housewife, and there was nothing slatternly nor +disorderly about her kitchen. + +The dinner, smoking hot and comfortable, was upon the table when Vincent +came in at twelve o'clock to partake of it. There was a great piece of +bacon and some boiled beans. These were immediately followed by the plum +duff. The farmer ate heartily, and Hetty piled up his plate whenever it +was empty. + +"You scarcely take a pick yourself, little girl," he said, seizing one +of her hands as she passed and squeezing it affectionately. + +"I ain't hungry, George." + +"Excited 'bout Squire, I guess." + +"Well, p'raps I am a bit; you don't mind if I go and talk it all over +with aunt?" + +"That I don't; when you smile at me so cheerful like that there's nought +I wouldn't give yer. Now you look here, Griffiths, the steward, is going +to get up a sort of display at the Court, and the villagers are going; +there is talk of a supper afterward in the barns, but that may or may +not be. What do you say to you and me going into the avenue and seeing +Squire and Madam drive in. What do you say, Het?" + +"Oh, George, I'd like it." + +"You would not think of giving a body a kiss for it, eh?" + +"Yes, that I would." + +She ran behind him, flung her soft arms round his neck, and pressed a +kiss against his cheek just above his whiskers. + +"That won't do," he said. "I won't take yer for that--I must have it on +my lips." + +She gave him a shy peck something like a robin. He caught her suddenly +in his arms, squeezed her to his heart, and kissed her over and over +again. + +"I love thee more than words can say," he cried. "I am mad to get your +love in return. Will the day ever come, Het?" + +"I don't know, George; I'd like to say so to please you, but I can't +tell a lie about a thing like that." + +"To be sure, you can't," he said, rising as he spoke. "You'd soon be +found out." + +"I'd like well to love you," she continued, "for you're good to me; but +now I must be off to see Aunt Fanny." + +Vincent left the kitchen, and Hetty hurried to her room to dress herself +trimly. Ten minutes later she was on her way to the village. + +The pretty little place already wore a festive air. Bunting had been +hung across the streets, flags were flying gayly from many upper +windows. The shop-keepers stood at their doors chatting to one another; +several of them nodded to Hetty as she passed by. + +"That you, Hetty Vincent?" called out one woman. "You've heard the news, +I guess." + +"Yes, about Squire and Madam," said Hetty. + +"It has come unexpected," said the woman. "We didn't know until this +morning that Squire was to be back to-night. Mr. Griffiths got the +letter by the first post, and he's been nearly off his head since; there +ain't a man in the village though that hasn't turned to help him with a +will, and there are to be bonfires and all the rest. They say Squire and +Madam are to live at the Court now. Pity the poor child went off so +sudden. He were a main fine little chap; pity he ain't there to return +home with his father and mother. You look better, Hetty Vincent--not so +peaky like. Pain in the side less?" + +"Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't," answered Hetty; "it's much +better to-day. I can't stay talking any longer though, Mrs. Martin, for +I want to catch Aunt Fanny." + +"Well, you'll find her at home, but as busy as a bee, the whole place is +flocking to the inn to learn the latest news. We're a-going up to the +Court presently to welcome 'em home. You and your good man will come, +too, eh, Hetty?" + +"Yes, for sure," answered Hetty. She continued her walk up the village +street. + +Mrs. Armitage was cooling herself in the porch of the little inn when +she saw her niece approaching. + +Hetty hurried her steps, and came panting to her side. + +"Aunt Fanny, is it true?" she gasped. + +"True? Yes, child, it's true," said Mrs. Armitage. "They're coming home. +You come along in and stand in the shelter, Hetty. Seems to me you grow +thinner and thinner." + +"Oh, aunt, never mind about my looks just now; have you heard anything +else? How is he?" + +Mrs. Armitage looked behind her and lowered her voice. + +"They do say that Squire's as well as ever he wor," she remarked. "Why, +he's going to stand for Grandcourt. In one way that's as it should be. +We always had Awdreys in the House--we like to be represented by our own +folk." + +"Will any one oppose him?" asked Hetty. + +"How am I to say? there's nothing known at present. He is to be +nominated to-morrow; and that's what's bringing 'em home in double quick +time." + +"Are you going to the Court to-night, aunt?" + +"I thought I'd run round for an hour just to see the carriage roll by, +and get a glimpse of Squire and Madam, but I must hurry back, for +there'll be a lot to be done here." + +"Shall I come and help you and uncle to-night?" + +Mrs. Armitage looked her niece all over. + +"That's a good thought," she said, "if your man will spare you." + +"Oh, I can ask him; I don't think he'll refuse." + +"Well, you're spry enough with your fingers and legs when you like. I +can't stay out here talking any more, Het." + +Hetty came up close to her aunt, and lowered her voice to a whisper. + +"Aunt Fanny," she said, "one word afore you goes in--Do you think it is +safe, him coming back like this?" + +"Safe," echoed the elder woman in a tone hoarse with a queer mixture of +crossness and undefined fear. "Squire's safe enough ef you can keep +things to yourself." + +"Me?" echoed Hetty. "Do you think I can't hold my tongue?" + +"Your tongue may be silent, but there are other ways of letting out a +secret. Ef ever there was a tell-tale face yours is one. You're the +terror of my life with your aches and your pains, and your startings, as +if you saw a shadow behind yer all the time. It's a good thing you don't +live in the village. As to Vincent, pore man, he's as blind as a bat; he +don't see, or he won't see, what's staring him in the face." + +"For God's sake, Aunt Fanny, what do you mean?" + +"I mean this, girl. Vincent's wife carries a secret, and she loves one +she ought not to love." + +"Oh! Aunt Fanny, you rend my heart when you talk like that." + +"I won't again," said Mrs. Armitage, "but I had to speak out when you +came to-day. It was my opportunity, and I had to take it. Queer stories +will be spread ef you ain't very careful. You've nought to do with the +Squire, Hetty. Go and see him to-night with the rest of 'em, and then be +satisfied. You keep quiet at the farm now he's at the Court; don't you +be seen a-talking to him or a-follerin' him about." + +"I won't, I won't." + +"Well, I thought I'd warn yer--now I must get back to my work." + +"One minute first, aunt--you know there ain't a soul I can speak to but +you, and I'm near mad with the weight of my secret at times." + +"You should take it quiet, girl--you fret o'er much. I really must leave +you, Hetty; there's your uncle calling out to me." + +"One minute--you must answer my question first." + +"Well, well--what a girl you are! I'm glad you ain't my niece. Coming, +Armitage. Now, Hetty, be quick. My man's temper ain't what it wor and I +daren't cross 'im. Now what is it you want to say?" + +"It's this Aunt Fanny. Ef Mr. Robert is quite well--as well as ever he +wor in his life--do you think he remembers?" + +"Not he. He'll never remember again. They never do." + +"But, aunt, they never get well, either." + +"That's true enough." + +"And they say he's quite well--as well as ever he was in all his life." + +"Well, Hetty I can say no more. We'll see to-night--you and me. You keep +alongside of me in the avenue, and when he passes by in the carriage +we'll look at him straight in the face and we'll soon know. You noticed, +didn't you, how queer his eyes got since that dark night. It'll be fully +light when they drive up to the Court, and you and me we'll look at him +straight in the face and we'll know the worst then." + +"Yes, Aunt Fanny. Yes, I'll keep close to you." + +"Do, girl. Now I must be off. You can sit in the porch awhile and rest +yourself. Coming, Armitage." + +Hetty stayed down at the inn through the remainder of the day. + +In the course of the evening Vincent strode in. She was in the humor to +be sweet to him, and he was in high spirits at her unwonted words and +looks of affection. + +The village presented a gayer and gayer spectacle as the hours went by. +High good humor was the order of the day. Squire and Madam were +returning. Things must go well in the future. + +Griffiths was seen riding up and down altering the plan of the +decorations, giving orders in a stentorian voice. At last the time came +when the villagers were to assemble, some of them outside their houses, +some along the short bit of road which divided the village from the +Court, some to line the avenue up to the Court itself. + +Hetty and Mrs. Armitage managed to keep together. George Vincent and +Armitage preceded them at a little distance. They walked solemnly +through the village street, Armitage pleased but anxious to return to +the inn, Vincent thinking of Hetty, and vaguely wondering by what subtle +means he could get her to love him, Hetty and Mrs. Armitage weighed down +by the secret which had taken the sunshine out of both their lives. They +made straight for the avenue, and presently stationed themselves just on +the brow of a rising slope which commanded a view of the gates on one +side and of the Court itself on the other. + +Hetty's excitable heart beat faster and faster. Dreadful as her secret +was, she was glad, she rejoiced, at the fact that the Squire was coming +home. She would soon see him again. To look at him was her pleasure; it +was the breath of her highest life; it represented Paradise to her +ignorant and unsophisticated mind. Her eyes grew bright as stars. A +great deal of her old loveliness returned to her. Vincent, who with +Armitage had taken up his position a few steps further down the avenue, +kept looking back at her from time to time. + +"Why, man," said the landlord of the village inn, with a hoarse laugh, +"you're as much in love with that wife of your'n as if you hadn't been +wedded for the last five years." + +"Ay, I am in love with her," said Vincent. "I've got to win her yet, +that's why. Strikes me she looks younger and more spry than I've seen +her for many a year, to-night." + +"She's mortal fond of Squire and Madam," said the landlord. "She always +wor." + +"Maybe," replied Vincent, in a thoughtful tone. He looked again at his +wife's blooming face; a queer uncomfortable sense of suspicion began +slowly to stir in his heart. + +The sound of wheels was at last distinctly audible; bonfires were lit on +the instant; cheers echoed up from the village. The welcoming wave of +sound grew nearer and nearer, each face was wreathed with smiles. Into +the avenue, with its background of eager, welcoming faces, dashed the +spirited grays, with their open landau. + +Awdrey and his wife sat side by side. Other carriages followed, but no +one noticed their occupants. All eyes were turned upon Awdrey. He was +bending forward in the carriage, his hat was off, he was smiling and +bowing; now and then he uttered a cheerful word of greeting. Some of the +men, as he passed, darted forward to clasp his out-stretched hand. No +one who saw him now would have recognized him for the miserable man who +had come to the Court a few months back. His youth sat well upon him; +his athletic, upright figure, his tanned face, his bright eyes, all +spoke of perfect health, of energy both of mind and body. The Squire had +come home, and the Squire was himself again. The fact was patent to all. + +Margaret, who was also smiling, who also bowed and nodded, and uttered +words of welcome, was scarcely glanced at. The Squire was the centre of +attraction; he belonged to the people, he was theirs--their king, and he +was coming home again. + +"Bless 'im, he's as well as ever he wor," shouted a sturdy farmer, +turning round and smiling at his own wife as he spoke. + +"Welcome, Squire, welcome home! Glad to see yer so spry, Squire. We're +main pleased to have yer back again, Squire," shouted hundreds of +voices. + +Hetty and her aunt, standing side by side, were pushed forward by the +smiling, excited throng. + +Awdrey's smiles were arrested on his lips, for a flashing instant +Hetty's bright eyes looked full into his; he contracted his brows in +pain, then once again he repeated his smiling words of welcome. The +carriage rolled by. + +"Aunt Fanny, he remembers!" whispered Hetty in a low voice. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +A hasty supper had been got up in some large barns at the back of the +Court. When the Squire's carriage disappeared out of sight, Griffiths +rode hastily down to invite the villagers to partake of the hospitality +which had been arranged for them. He passed Hetty, was attracted by her +blooming face, and gave her a warm invitation. + +"Come along, Mrs. Vincent," he said, "we can't do without you. Your +husband has promised to stay. I'll see you in the west barn in a few +minutes' time." + +Vincent came up at this moment and touched Hetty on her shoulder. + +"I thought we might as well go in for the whole thing," he said, "and +I'm a bit peckish. You'd like to stay, wouldn't you, Het?" + +"That I would," she replied. "You'll come too, aunt?" she continued, +glancing at Mrs. Armitage. + +"No, I can't be spared," replied Mrs. Armitage; "me and Armitage must +hurry back to the inn. We've been away too long as it is." + +"Oh, George, I promised to help Aunt Fanny to-night," said Hetty, torn +by her desire to remain in the Squire's vicinity and the remembrance of +her promise. + +"We'll let you off, Het," said the old uncle, laying his heavy hand on +her shoulder. "Go off with your good man, my girl, and enjoy yourself." + +Armitage and his wife hurried down the avenue, and Hetty and Vincent +followed the train of villagers who were going along by the shrubbery in +the direction of the west barn. There were three great barns in all, and +supper had been laid in each. The west barn was the largest and the most +important, and by the time the Vincents reached it the building was full +from end to end. Hetty and her husband, with a crowd of other people, +remained outside. They all stood laughing and joking together. The +highest good humor was prevalent. The Squire's return--the pleasure it +gave the villagers--his personal appearance, the look of health and +vigor which had been so lamentably absent from him during the past +years, and which now to the delight of every one had so fully +returned--the death of the child--the look on Margaret's face--were the +only topics of the hour. But it was the subject of the Squire himself to +whom the people again and again returned. They were all so unaffectedly +glad to have him back again. Had he ever looked so well before? What a +ring of strength there was in his voice! And then that tone with which +he spoke to them all, the tone of remembrance, this it was which went +straight to the hearts of the men and women who had known him from his +boyhood. Yes, the Squire was back, a strong man in his prime, and the +people of Grandcourt had good reason for rejoicing. + +"He'll be as good a Squire as his father before him," said an old man of +nearly eighty years, hobbling up close to Hetty as he spoke. "They did +whisper that the curse of his house had took 'im, but it can't be +true--there ain't no curse on his face, bless 'im. He's good to the +heart's core, and strong too and well. He'll be as good a Squire as his +father; bless 'im, say I, bless 'im." + +"Het, you look as white as a sheet," said Vincent, turning at that +moment and catching his wife's eye. "There girl, eat you must. I'll +squeeze right into the barn and you come in ahind me. I'm big enough to +make way for a little body like you." + +Vincent squared his shoulders and strode on in front. After some pushing +he and Hetty found themselves inside the barn. The tables which had been +laid from one end to the other, were crowded with eager, hungry faces. +Griffiths and other servants from the Court were flying here and there, +pressing hospitality on every one. Vincent was just preparing to +ensconce himself in a vacant corner, and to squeeze room for Hetty close +to him, when the door at the other end of the long barn was opened, and +Awdrey, Margaret, and some visitors came in. + +Immediately all the villagers rose from their seats, and an enthusiastic +cheer resounded among the rafters of the old barn. Hetty standing on +tiptoe, and straining her neck, could see Awdrey shaking hands right and +left. Presently he would come to her, he would take her hand in his. She +could also catch a glimpse of Margaret's stately figure, of her pale, +high-bred face, of the dark waves of her raven black hair. Once again +she looked at the Squire. How handsome he was, how manly, and yet--and +yet--something seemed to come up in Hetty's throat and almost to choke +her. + +"You ain't well, Het," said her husband. He had also risen from his +seat, and pushing out, had joined Hetty in the crowd. "The air in this +place is too close for you, Hetty. Drat that supper, we'll get into the +open air once again." + +"No, we won't," answered Hetty. "I must wait to speak to Squire, happen +what may." + +"Why, it'll be half an hour before he gets as far as here," said +Vincent. "Well," he added, looking back regretfully at his plate, which +was piled with pie and other good things; "if we must stay I'm for a bit +of supper. There's a vacant seat at last; you slip in by me, Het. Ah, +that cold pie is just to my taste. What do you say to a tiny morsel, +girl?" + +"I could not eat, George, it would choke me," said Hetty, "I'm not the +least bit hungry. I had tea an hour ago down at the inn. You eat, +George, do, George; do go down and have some supper. I'll stand her and +wait for Squire and Madam." + +"You are daft on Squire and Madam," said the man angrily. + +Hetty did not answer. It is to be doubted if she heard him. One fact +alone was filling her horizon She felt quite certain now that the Squire +remembered. What then was going to happen? Was he going to be an +honorable man? Was he going to use the memory which had returned to him +to remove the cruel shame and punishment from another? If so, if indeed +so, Hetty herself would be lost. She would be arrested and charged with +the awful crime of perjury. The horrors of the law would fall upon her; +she would be imprisoned, she would---- + +"No matter," she whispered stoutly to herself, "it is not of myself I +think now, it is of him. He also will be tried. Public disgrace will +cling to his name. The people who love him so will not be able to help +him; he would suffer even, even to death: the death of the gallows. He +must not tell what he knew. He must not be allowed to be carried away by +his generous impulses. She, Hetty, must prevent this. She had guarded +his secret for him during the long years when the cloud was over his +mind. He must guard it now for himself. Doubtless he would when she had +warned him. Could she speak to him to-night? Was it possible?" + +"Hetty, how you do stand and stare," said George Vincent; he was +munching his pie as he spoke. Hetty had been pressed up against the +table where he was eating. + +"I'm all right, George," she said, but she spoke as if she had not heard +the words addressed to her. + +"If you're all right, come and have a bit of supper." + +"I don't want it. I'm not hungry. Do eat while you can and let me be." + +"I'll let you be, but not out of my sight," muttered the man. He helped +himself to some more pie, but he was no longer hungry. The jealous fiend +which had always lain dormant in his heart from the day when he had +married pretty Hetty Armitage and discovered that she had no love to +give to him was waking up now into full strength and vigor. What was the +matter with Hetty? How queer she looked to-night. She had always been +queer after a certain fashion--she had always been different from other +girls, but until to-night, Vincent, who had watched her well, had never +found anything special to lay hold of. But to-night things were +different. There must be a reason for Hetty's undue excitement, for her +changing color, for her agitation, for the emotion on her face. Now what +was she doing? + +Vincent started from his seat to see his wife moving slowly up the room, +borne onward by the pressure of the crowd. Several of the villagers, +impatient at the long delay, had struggled up the barn to get a +hand-shake from the Squire and his wife. Hetty was carried with the rest +out of her husband's sight. Vincent jumped on a bench in order to get a +view. He saw Hetty moving forward, he had a good glimpse of her profile, +the color on the cheek nearest to him was vivid as a damask rose. Her +whole little figure was alert, full of determination, of a queer +impulsive longing which the man saw without understanding. Suddenly he +saw his wife fall backward against some of the advancing crowd; she +clasped her hands together, then uttered a shrill, piercing cry. + +"Take me out of this for the love of God, Squire," she panted. + +"Is that young woman Mrs. Vincent?" suddenly cried another voice. "Then, +if so, I've something to say to her." + +It was Mrs. Everett who had spoken. Hetty had not seen her until this +moment. She was walking up the room accompanied by Awdrey's sisters, Ann +and Dorothy. + +"I can't stay--I won't meet her--take me away, take me away, into the +air, Squire," said Hetty. "Oh, I am suffocating," she continued, "the +room is rising up as if it would choke me." + +"Open that door there to your right, Griffiths," said Awdrey, in a tone +which rose above the tumult. "Come, Mrs. Vincent, take my arm." + +He drew Hetty's hand into his, and led her out by a side door. The crowd +made way for them. In another instant the excited girl found the cool +evening air blowing on her hot cheeks. + +"I am sorry you found the room too close," began Awdrey. + +"Oh, it was not that, sir, not really. Just wait a minute, please, Mr. +Robert, until I get my breath. I did not know that she--that she was +coming here." + +"Who do you mean?" asked Awdrey. + +"Mrs. Everett. I can't bear her. It was the sight of her, sudden-like, +that took the breath from me." + +Awdrey did not speak for a moment. + +"You are better now," he said then, in a stony tone. "Is your husband +here?" + +"Yes, but I don't want him." + +Hetty, in her excitement, laid both hands on the Squire's arm. + +"Mr. Robert, I must see you, and alone," she panted. + +Awdrey stepped back instinctively. + +"You don't want me to touch you, you don't want to have anything to do +with me, and yet--and yet, Mr. Robert, I must see you by yourself. When +I can see you alone?" + +"I cannot stay with you now," said Awdrey, in a hurried voice. "Come up +to the house to-morrow. No, though, I shall have no time to attend to +you to-morrow." + +"It must be to-morrow, sir. It is life or death; yes, it is life or +death." + +"Well, to-morrow let it be," said Awdrey, after a pause, "six o'clock in +the evening. Don't call at the house, come round to the office. I'll be +there and I'll give you a few minutes. Now I see you are better," he +continued, "I'll go back to the barn and fetch Vincent." + +He turned abruptly. On the threshold of the door by which he had gone +out he met Mrs. Everett. + +"Where is that young woman?" she demanded. + +"You seem to have frightened her," said Awdrey. "You had better not go +to her now, she was half-fainting, but I think the fresh air has put her +right again." + +His face looked cool and composed. + +"Fainting or not," said Mrs. Everett, "I must see her, for I have +something to say to her. The fact is, I don't mind telling you, Mr. +Awdrey, that I accepted your wife's kind invitation more with the hope +of meeting that young woman than for any other reason." + +Awdrey raised his brows as if in slight surprise. + +"I left Mrs. Vincent outside," he repeated. + +"Then pray let me pass." + +"If you want my wife I'll take you to her," said Vincent's voice at that +moment. + +"Glad to see you again, Vincent," said Awdrey. He held out his hand to +the farmer, who stepped back a pace as if he did not see it. + +"Obliged, I'm sure, sir," he said awkwardly. "You'll excuse me now, +Squire, I want to get to my wife." + +"Is that young woman really your wife?" demanded Mrs. Everett, in an +eager voice. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Then I've something very important I wish to say to her." + +"I'll find out if she's well enough to see you, ma'am. Hetty is not to +say too strong." + +The man pushed by, elbowing his way to right and left. Mrs. Everett +followed him. He quickly reached the spot where Awdrey had left Hetty. +She was no longer there. + +"Where is she?" asked Mrs. Everett, in an eager tone. + +"I can't tell you, ma'am. She is not here." + +"Do you think she has gone home?" + +"That's more'n I can say. May I ask what your business is with my wife?" + +"Your wife is in possession of a secret which I mean to find out." + +Vincent's face flushed an angry red. + +"So others think she has a secret," he muttered to himself. + +Aloud he said, "May I ask what yer name is, ma'am?" + +"My name is Mrs. Everett. I am the mother of the man who was accused of +murdering Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain six years ago." + +"Ah," said Vincent, "it's a good way back since that 'appened; we've +most forgot it now. I'm main sorry for yer, o' course, Mrs. Everett. +T'were a black day for yer when your son----" + +"My son is innocent, my good sir, and it is my belief that your wife can +help me to prove it." + +"No, you're on a wrong tack there," said Vincent slowly. "What can Hetty +know?" + +"Then you won't help me?" + +"I say nought about that. The hour is late, and my wife ain't well. +You'll excuse me now, but I must foller 'er." + +Vincent walked quickly away. He strode with long strides across the +grass. After a time he stopped, and looked to right and left of him. +There was a rustling sound in a shrub near by. Hetty stole suddenly out +of the deep shadow. + +"Take me home, George, I've been waiting for you," she said. + +"Well, these are queer goings-on," said the man. "There was a lady, Mrs. +Everett, and she said--never mind now what she said. Tell me, Het, as +you would speak the truth ef you were a-dying, what did yer want with +Squire?" + +"Nothing. What should I want with him? I was just glad to see him +again." + +"Why did you turn faint?" + +"It was the heat of the room." + +"Come on. Take my arm. Let's go out o' this." + +The farmer's tone was very fierce. He dragged Hetty's hand through his +big arm, and strode away so quickly that she could scarcely keep up with +him. + +"It hurts my side," she said, at last panting. + +"You think nothing hurts but your side," said the man. "There are worse +aches than that." + +"What do you mean, George? How queer and rough you speak!" + +"Maybe I know more'n you think, young woman." + +"Know more than I think," she said. "There's nothing more to know." + +"Ain't there? P'raps I've found out the reason why your 'eart's been +closed to me--p'raps I've got the key to that secret." + +"Oh, George, George, you know I'd love you ef I could." + +"P'raps I've got the key to that secret," repeated the farmer. "I'm not +a bad feller--not bad to look at nor bad to live with--and I gived yer +all I got--but never, God above is witness, never from the day I took +yer to church, 'ave yer kissed me of your own free will. No, nor ever +said a lovin' word to me--the sort of words that come so glib to the +lips o' other young wives. You're like one who carries sum'mat at her +heart. Maybe I guess to-night." + +"But there's nothing to guess," said Hetty. She was trembling, a sick +fear took possession of her. + +"Ain't there? Why did you make an appointment to meet Squire alone?" + +"What in the world do you mean?" + +"None o' your soft sawder, now, Hetty. I know what I'm a-talking of. I +crep' out of barn t'other way, and I 'eard what you said." + +"You heard," said Hetty, with a little scream. Then she suppressed it, +and gave a little hysterical laugh. "You're welcome to hear," she +continued. "There was nothing in it." + +"Worn't there? You seemed mighty eager to have a meetin' with 'im; much +more set on it, I take it, than he wor to have a meetin' wi' you. Gents +o' that sort don't care to be reminded o' the follies o' their youth. I +seed a big frown coming up between his eyes when you wor so masterful, +and when you pressed and pressed to see 'im. Why did yer say t'was life +or death? I've got my clue at last, and look you 'ere, you meet Squire +at your peril. There, that's my last word. You understand me?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +The next day Vincent got up early. It was his wont to rise betimes. +Small as his farm was he managed it well, superintended everything that +went on in it, and did, when possible, the greater part of the work +himself. He rose now from the side of his sleeping wife, looked for a +moment at her fair, flower-like face, clenched his fist at a memory +which came over him, and then stole softly out of the room. + +The morning was a lovely one, warm for the time of year, balmy with the +full promise of spring. The trees were clothed in their tenderest green; +there was a faint blue mist near the horizon which would pass into +positive heat later on. + +Vincent strode along with his hands deep in his pockets. He looked like +a man who was struggling under a heavy weight. In truth he was; he was +unaccustomed to thought, and he now had plenty of that commodity to +worry him. What was the matter with Het? What was her secret? Did Mrs. +Everett's queer words mean anything or nothing? Why did Het want to see +the Squire? Was it possible that the Squire--? The man dashed out one of +his great hands suddenly into space. + +"Drat it," he muttered, "ef I thought it I'd kill 'im." + +At this moment the sound of footsteps approaching caused him to raise +his head; he had drawn up close to a five-barred gate. He saw a woman's +bonnet above the hedgerow--a woman dressed in black was coming in his +direction--she turned the corner and he recognized Mrs. Everett. He +stared at her for a full moment without opening his lips. He felt he did +not like her; a queer sensation of possible danger stirred at his heart. +What was she doing at this hour? Vincent knew nothing of the ways of +women of quality; but surely they had no right to be out at this hour in +the morning. + +The moment Mrs. Everett saw him she quickened her footsteps. No smile +played round her lips, but there was a look of welcome and of gratified +longing in her keen, dark eyes. + +"I had a presentiment that I should find you," she said. "I wanted to +have a talk with you when no one was by. Here you are, and here am I." + +"Mornin', ma'am," said Vincent awkwardly. + +"Good-morning," answered, Mrs. Everett. "The day is a beautiful one," +she continued; "it will be hot by and by." + +Vincent did not think it necessary to reply to this. + +"I'm due in the five-acre field," he said, after a long pause. "I beg +pardon, ma'am, but I must be attending to my dooties." + +"If you wish to cross that field," said Mrs. Everett, "I have not the +least objection to accompanying you." + +Vincent hesitated. He glanced at the five-barred gate as if he meant to +vault over it, then he looked at the lady; she was standing perfectly +motionless, her arms hanging straight at her sides; she came a step or +two nearer to him. + +"Look you 'ere," he said then, suddenly. "I'm a plain body--a man, so to +speak, of one idee. There are the men yonder waitin' to fall to with the +spring turnips, and 'ere am I waitin' to give 'em orders, and 'ere you +are, ma'am, waitin' to say sum'mat. Now I can't attend to the men and to +you at the same time, so p'raps you'll speak out, ma'am, and go." + +"I quite understand your position," said Mrs. Everett. "I would much +rather speak out. I have come here to say something about your wife." + +"Ay," said Vincent, folding his arms, "it's mighty queer what you should +'ave to say 'bout Hetty." + +"Not at all, for I happen to know something about her." + +"And what may that be?" + +"I'll tell you if you will give me time to speak. I told you last night +who I am--I am Mrs. Everett, the mother of a man who has been falsely +accused of murder." + +"Falsely!" echoed Vincent, an incredulous expression playing round his +lips. + +"Yes, falsely. Don't interrupt me, please. Your wife witnessed that +murder." + +"That's true enough, and it blackened her life, poor girl." + +"I'm coming to that part in a minute. Your wife witnessed the murder. +She was very young at the time. It was well known that the murdered man +wanted to make her his wife. It was supposed, quite falsely, but it was +the universal supposition, that my son was also one of her lovers. This +latter was not the case. It is just possible, however, that she had +another lover--she was a very pretty girl, the sort of girl who would +attract men in a station above her own." + +Vincent's face grew black as night. + +"I have my reason," continued Mrs. Everett, "for supposing it possible +that your wife had another lover. There is, at least, not the slightest +doubt that the man who killed Mr. Frere did so in a fit of jealousy." + +"P'raps so," said Vincent. "It may be so. I loved Het then--I longed to +make her my wife then. I'm in her own station--it's best for girls like +Het to marry in their own station. She told me that the man who was +murdered wanted to make her his wife, but she never loved him, that I +will say." + +"She may have loved the murderer." + +"The man who is suffering penal servitude?" cried Vincent. "Your son, +ma'am? Then ef you think so he'd better stay where he is--he'd best stay +where 'e is." + +"I am not talking of my son, but of the real murderer," said Mrs. +Everett slowly. + +Vincent stared at her. He thought she was slightly off her head. + +"I was in court when your son was tried," he said, at last. "'Twas a +plain case. He killed his man--it was brought in manslaughter, worn't +it? And he didn't swing for it. I don't know what you mean, ma'am, an' +I'd like to be away now at my work." + +"I have something more to say, and then I'll go. I met your wife about a +year ago. We met on Salisbury Plain." + +"Ay, she's fond o' the Plain, Hetty is." + +"I told her then what I now tell you. She fell on her knees in +terror--she clasped my dress, and asked me how I had found out. Then she +recovered herself, tried to eat her own words, and left me. Since then +she has avoided me. It was the sight of me last night that made your +wife turn faint. I repeat that she carries a secret. If that secret were +known it might clear my son. I want to find it out. If you will help me +and if we succeed, I'll give you a thousand pounds." + +"'Taint to be done, ma'am," said Vincent. "Het is nervous, and a bit +given to the hysterics, but she knows no more 'bout that murder than all +the rest of the world knows; and what's more, I wouldn't take no money +to probe at my wife's heart. Good-mornin', ma'am, I must be attending to +my turnips." + +Vincent vaulted the five-barred gate as he spoke, and walked across the +field. + +Mrs. Everett watched him until he was out of sight. Then she turned +slowly, and went back to the Court. She entered the grounds a little +before the breakfast hour. Ann, now Mrs. Henessey, was out in the avenue +gathering daffodils, which grew in clumps all along a great border. She +raised her head when she saw Mrs. Everett approaching. + +"You out?" she cried. "I thought I was the only early bird. Where have +you been?" + +"For a walk," replied the widow. "The morning is a lovely one, and I was +not sleepy." She did not wait to say anything more to Ann, but went into +the house. + +The breakfast-room at the Court had French windows. The day was so balmy +that, early as it was still in the year, these windows stood open. As +Mrs. Everett stepped across the threshold, she was greeted by Margaret. + +"How pale and tired you look!" said Mrs. Awdrey, in a compassionate +voice. + +Mrs. Everett glanced round her, she saw that there was no one else +present. + +"I am sick at heart, Margaret," she said, fixing her sad eyes on her +friend's face. + +Margaret went up to her, put her slender hand on her shoulder, and +kissed her. + +"Why won't you rest?" she said; "you never rest; even at night you +scarcely sleep; you will kill yourself if you go on as you have been +doing of late, and then----" + +"Why do you stop, Margaret?" said Mrs. Everett. + +"When he comes out you won't be there," said Margaret--tears brimming +into her eyes. "I often see the meeting between you and him," she +continued. "When he comes out; when it is all over; he won't be old, as +men go, and he'll want you. Try and think of the very worst that can +happen--his innocence never being proved; even at the worst he'll want +you sorely when he is a free man again." + +"He won't have me. I shall be dead long, long before then; but I must +prove his innocence. I have an indescribable sensation that I am near +the truth while I am here, and that is why I came. Margaret, my heart is +on fire--the burning of that fire consumes me." + +At this moment the Squire entered the room; he looked bright, fresh, +alert, and young. He was now a man of extremely rapid movements; he came +up to Mrs. Everett and shook hands with her. + +"You have your bonnet on," he said. + +"Yes, I have been out for a walk," she replied. + +"And she has come in dead tired," said Margaret, glancing at her +husband. "Please go to your room now, Mrs. Everett," she continued, "and +take off your things. We are just going to breakfast, and I shall insist +on your taking a good meal." + +Mrs. Everett turned toward the door. When she had left the room Margaret +approached her husband's side. + +"I do believe she is right," she cried suddenly; "I believe her grief +will kill her in the end." + +"Whose grief, dearest?" asked Awdrey, in an absent-minded manner. + +"Whose grief, Robert? Don't you know? Mrs. Everett's grief. Can't you +see for yourself how she frets, how she wastes away? Have you no eyes +for her? In your own marvellous resurrection ought you, ought either of +us, to forget one who suffers so sorely?" + +"I never forget," said Awdrey. He spoke abruptly; he had turned his back +on his wife; a picture which was hanging slightly awry needed +straightening; he went up to it. Ann came in at the open window. + +"What possesses all you women to be out at cockcrow in this fashion?" +said her brother, submitting to her embrace rather than returning it. + +Ann laughed gleefully. + +"It's close on nine o'clock," she replied; "here are some daffodils for +you, Margaret"--she laid a great bunch by Mrs. Awdrey's plate. "You have +quite forgotten your country manners, Robert; in the old days breakfast +was long over at nine o'clock." + +"Well, let us come to table now," said the Squire. + +The rest of the party trooped in by degrees. Mrs. Everett was the last +to appear. Awdrey pulled out a chair near himself; she dropped into it. +He began to attend to her wants; then entered into conversation with +her. He talked well, like the man of keen intelligence and education he +really was. As he spoke the widow kept watching him with her bright, +restless eyes. He never avoided her glance. His own eyes, steady and +calm in their expression, met hers constantly. Toward the end of +breakfast the two pairs of eyes seemed to challenge each other. Mrs. +Everett's grew fuller than ever of puzzled inquiry; Awdrey's of a queer +defiance. In the end she looked away with a sigh. He was stronger than +she was; her spirit recognized this fact; it also began to be dimly +aware of the truth that he was her enemy. + +The Squire rose suddenly from his seat and addressed his wife. + +"I've just seen Griffiths pass the window," he said. "I'm going out now; +don't expect me to lunch." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +About an hour after her husband had left her, Hetty Vincent awoke. She +rubbed her eyes, sat up in bed, and after a moment's reflection began to +dress. She was downstairs, bustling about as usual, just as the +eight-day clock struck seven. Hetty attended to the household work +itself, but there was a maid to help her with the dairy, to milk the +cows, and undertake the heavy part of the work. The girl's name was +Susan. Hetty and she went into the dairy as usual now and began to +perform their morning duties. + +There were several cows kept on the farm, and the Vincents largely lived +on the dairy produce. Their milk and butter and cream were famous in the +district. The great pails of foaming milk were now being brought in by +Susan and the man Dan, and the different pans quickly filled. + +The morning's milk being set, Hetty began to skim the pans which were +ready from the previous night. As she did so she put the cream at once +into the churn, and Susan prepared to make the butter. + +"Hold a bit, ma'am," she said suddenly, "we never scalded out this churn +properly, and the last butter had a queer taste, don't you remember?" + +"Of course I do," said Hetty, "how provoking; all that cream is wasted +then." + +"I don't think so," answered Susan. "If we pour it out at once it won't +get the taste. Please hold that basin for me, ma'am, and I'll empty the +cream that is in the churn straight into it." + +Hetty did so. + +Susan set the churn down again on the floor. + +"If you'll give me that stuff in the bottle, ma'am," she said, "which +you keep in the cupboard, I'll mix some of it with boiling water and +wash out the churn, and it'll be as sweet as a nut immediately." + +"The water is already boiling in the copper," said Hetty. + +The girl went off to fill a large jug with some, and Hetty unlocked the +cupboard from which she had taken the bottle of laudanum the night +before. The chemical preparation required for sweetening the churn +should have stood close to the laudanum bottle. It was not there, and +Susan, who was anxious to begin her work, fetched a stepladder and +mounting it began to search through the contents of the cupboard. + +"I can't find the bottle," she cried, "but lor! ma'am, what is this +black stuff? It looks sum'mat like treacle." + +"No, it is not; let it alone," said Hetty in alarm. + +"I don't want to touch it, I'm sure," replied Susan. "It's got a good +big 'poison' marked on it, and I'm awful frightened of that sort o' +thing." + +"It's toothache cure," said Hetty. "Ef you swallowed a good lot of it it +'ud kill you, but it's a splendid thing to put on cotton-wool and stuff +into your tooth if it aches badly. Just you step down from the ladder, +and I'll have a look for the bottle we want, Susan." + +The bottle was nowhere to be found in the cupboard but was presently +discovered in another corner of the dairy; the morning's work then went +on without a hitch. + +At his accustomed hour Vincent came in to breakfast. He looked moody and +depressed. As he ate he glanced many times at Hetty, but did not +vouchsafe a single word to her. + +She was in the mood to be agreeable to him and she put on her most +fascinating airs for his benefit. Once as she passed his chair she laid +her small hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder. The man longed +indescribably to seize the little hand and press its owner to his hungry +heart, but he restrained himself. Mrs. Everett's words were ringing in +his ear: "Your wife holds a secret." + +Hetty presently sat down opposite to him. The sunshine was now streaming +full into the cheerful farm kitchen, and some of its rays fell across +her face. What a lovely face it was; pale, it is true, and somewhat +worn, but what pathetic eyes, so dark so velvety; what a dear rosebud +mouth, what an arch and yet sad expression! + +"She beats every other woman holler," muttered the man to himself. "It's +my belief that ef it worn't for that secret she'd love me. Yes, it must +be true, she holds a secret, and it's a-killing of her. She ain't what +she wor when we married. I'll get that secret out o' her; but not for no +thousand pounds, 'andy as it 'ud be." + +"Hetty," he said suddenly. + +"What in the world is the matter with you, George? You look so moody," +said Hetty. + +"Well, now, I may as well return the compliment," he replied, "so do +you." + +"Oh, I'm all right," she answered, with a pert toss of her head. "Maybe, +George," she continued, "you're bilious; you ate summat that disagreed +wi' you last night." + +"Yes, I did," he replied fiercely. "I swallered a powerful lot o' +jealousy, and it's bad food and hard to digest." + +"Jealousy?" she answered, bridling, and her cheeks growing a deep rose. +"Now what should make you jealous?" + +"You make me jealous, my girl," he answered. + +"I! what in the world did I do?" + +"You talked to Squire--you wor mad to see 'im. Het, you've got a secret, +and you may as well out wi' it." + +The imminence of the danger made Hetty quite cool and almost brave. She +uttered a light laugh, and bent forward to help herself to some more +butter. + +"You must be crazy to have thoughts o' that sort, George," she said. +"Ain't I been your wife for five years, and isn't it likely that ef I +had a secret you'd have discovered it, sharp feller as you are? No, I +was pleased to see Squire. I was always fond o' 'im; and I ain't got no +secret except the pain in my side." + +She turned very pale as she uttered the last words and pressed her hand +to the neighborhood of her heart. + +Vincent was at once all tenderness and concern. + +"I'm a brute to worry yer, my little gell," he said. "Secret or no +secret, you're all I 'as got. It's jest this way, Het, ef you'd love me +a bit, I wouldn't mind ef you had fifty secrets, but it's the feelin' +that you don't love me, mad as I be about you, that drives me stark, +staring wild at times." + +"I'll try hard to love you ef you wish it, George," she said. + +He left his seat and came toward her. The next moment he had folded her +in his arms. She shivered under his embrace, but submitted. + +"Now that's better," he said. "Tryin' means succeeding 'cording to my +way o' thinking of it. But you don't look a bit well, Het; you change +color too often--red one minute, white the next--you mustn't do no sort +o' work this morning. You jest put your feet up this minute on the +settle and I'll fetch that novel you're so took up with. You like +readin', don't yer, lass?" + +"At times I do," said Hetty, "but I ain't in the mood to read to-day, +and there's a heap to be done." + +"You're not to do it; Susan will manage." + +"George, she can't; she's got the dairy." + +"Dan shall manage the dairy. He's worth two Susans, and Susan can attend +to the housework. Now you lie still where I've put you and read your +novel. I'll be in to dinner at twelve o'clock, as usual, and ef you +don't look more spry by then I'll go and fetch Dr. Martin, that I will." + +"I wouldn't see him for the world," said Hetty in alarm. "Well, I'll +stay quiet ef you wish me to." + +The rest of the morning passed quickly. Until her husband was quite out +of sight Hetty remained on the settle in the cosy kitchen; then she went +up to her room, and taking a hat out of the cupboard began to pull it +about and to re-arrange the trimming. She put it on once or twice to see +if it became her. It was a pretty hat, made of white straw with a broad +low brim. It was trimmed simply with a broad band of colored ribbon. On +Hetty's charming head it had a rustic effect, and suited her particular +form of beauty. + +"It don't matter what I wear," she murmured to herself. "'Taint looks +I'm a-thinking of now, but I may as well look my best when I go to him. +Once he thought me pretty. That awful evening down by the brook when I +gathered the forget-me-nots--I saw his thought in his eyes then--he +thought well of me then. Maybe he will again this evening. Anyhow I'll +wear the hat." + +At dinner time Hetty once more resumed the role of an invalid, and +Vincent was charmed to find her reclining on the settle and pretending +to read the yellow-backed novel. + +"Here's a brace of young pigeons," he said; "I shot 'em an hour ago. You +shall have 'em cooked up tasty for supper. You want fattening and +coaxing a bit. Ah, dinner ready; just what I like, corned beef and +cabbage. I am hungry and no mistake." + +Susan had now left the house to return to her ordinary duties, and the +husband and wife were alone. Hetty declared herself much better; in +fact, quite well. She drew her chair close to Vincent, and talked to him +while he ate. + +"Now I call this real cosy," he said. "Ef you try a bit harder you'll +soon do the real thing, Het; you'll love me for myself." + +"Seems like it," answered Hetty. "George, you don't mind my going down +to see aunt this afternoon, do you?" + +She brought out her words coolly, but Vincent's suspicions were +instantly aroused. + +"Turn round and look at me," he said. + +She did so bravely. + +"You don't go outside the farm to-day, and that's flat," he said. "We +won't argufy on that point any more; you stop at 'ome to-day. Ef you're +a good girl and try to please me I'll harness the horse to the gig this +evening, and take yer for a bit of a drive." + +"I'd like that," answered Hetty submissively. She bent down as she spoke +to pick up a piece of bread. She knew perfectly well that Vincent would +not allow her to keep her appointment with Squire. But that appointment +must be kept; if in no other way, by guile. + +Hetty thought and thought. She was too excited to do little more than +pick her food, and Vincent showered attentions and affectionate words +upon her. At last he rose from his seat. + +"Well, I've 'ad a hearty meal," he cried. "I'll be in again about four +o'clock; you might have a cup o' tea ready for me." + +"No, I won't," said Hetty; "tea is bad for you; you're up so early, and +you're dead for sleep, and it's sleep you ought to have. You come home +about four, and I'll give you a glass o' stout." + +"Stout?" said the farmer--he was particularly partial to that +beverage--"I didn't know there was any stout in the house," he +continued. + +"Yes," she replied, laughing gayly, "the little cask which we didn't +open at Christmas; it's in the pantry, and you shall have a foaming +glass when you come in at four; go off now, George, and I'll have it +ready for you." + +"All right," he said; "why, you're turning into a model wife; quite +anxious about me--at least, it seems like it. Well, I'll turn up for my +stout, more particular ef you'll give me a kiss along wi' it." + +He went away, and Hetty watched him as he crossed the farmyard; her +cheeks were flushed, and her heart beat high. She had made up her mind. +She would drug the stout. + +Vincent was neither a lazy nor a sleepy man; he worked hard from early +morning until late at night, indulging in no excesses of any kind, and +preferring tea as a rule to any other beverage; but stout, good stout, +such as Hetty had in the little cask, was his one weakness; he did like +a big draught of that. + +"He shall have a sleep," said Hetty to herself. "It'll do him a power of +good. The first time I swallered a few drops of aunt's toothache cure I +slept for eight hours without moving. Lor! how bad I felt afore I went +off, and how nice and soothed when I awoke. Seemed as if I couldn't be +cross for ever so long. George shall sleep while I'm away. I'll put some +of the nice black stuff in his stout--the stuff that gives dreams--he'll +have a long rest, and I can go and return and he'll never know nothing +about it." + +She made all her preparations with promptitude and cunning. First, she +opened the cask, and threw away the first glass she drew from it. She +then tasted the beverage, which turned out, as she expected it would, to +be of excellent quality. Hetty saw in imagination her husband draining +off one or two glasses. Presently she heard his step in the passage, and +ran quickly to the pantry where the stout was kept, concealing the +little bottle of laudanum in her pocket. She poured what she thought a +small but safe dose into the jug, and then filled it up with stout. Her +face was flushed, and her eyes very bright, when she appeared in the +kitchen with the jug and glass on a tray. Vincent was hot and dead +tired. + +"Here you are, little woman," he cried. "Why, if you ain't a sort o' +ministering angel, I don't know who is. Well, I'm quite ready for that +ere drink o' your'n." + +Hetty filled his glass to the brim. It frothed slightly, and looked, as +Vincent expressed it, prime. He raised it to his lips, drained it to the +dregs, and returned it to her. She filled it again. + +"Come, come," he said, smiling, and half-winking at her, and then +casting a longing glance at the stout, "ain't two glasses o'er much." + +"Not a bit of it," she answered. "You're to go to sleep, you know." + +"Well, p'raps I can spare an hour, and I am a bit drowsy." + +"You're to lie right down on the settle, and go off to sleep. I'll wake +you when it is time." + +He drank off another glass. + +"You won't run away to that aunt o' your'n while I'm drowsing?" he said. + +"No," she replied. "I would not do a shabby sort of trick like that." + +He took her hand in his, and a moment later had closed his eyes. Once or +twice he opened them to gaze fondly at her, but presently the great, +roughly hewn face settled down into repose. Hetty bent over him, laid +her cheek against his, and felt his forehead. He never stirred. She then +listened to his breathing, which was perfectly quiet and light. + +"He's gone off like a baby. That's wonderful stuff in aunt's bottle," +muttered Hetty. Finally, she threw a shawl of her own over him, drew +down the blind of the nearest window, and went on tiptoe out of the +kitchen. + +"He'll sleep for hours. I did," she said to herself. + +She put the little bottle back into its place in the dairy and moved +softly about the house. She was to meet the Squire at six. It was now +five o'clock. It would take her the best part of an hour to walk to the +Court. She went up to her room, put on her hat, and as she was leaving +the house, once again entered the kitchen. Vincent's face was pale +now--he was in a dead slumber. She heard his breathing, a little quick +and stertorous, but he was always a heavy breather, and she thought +nothing about it. She left the house smiling to herself at the clever +trick she had played on her husband. She was going to meet the Squire +now. Her heart beat with rapture. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +Awdrey's cure was complete; he had passed right through the doom of his +house, and got out on the other side. He was the first man of his race +who had ever done that; the others had forgotten as he forgot, and had +pined, and dwindled, and slipped and slipped lower and lower down in the +scale of life until at last they had dropped over the brink into the +Unknown beyond. Awdrey's downward career had been stopped just in time. +His recovery had been quite as marvellous as his complaint. When he saw +his own face reflected in the pond on Salisbury Plain the cloud had +risen from his brain and he remembered what he had done. In that instant +his mental sky grew clear and light. He himself had murdered Horace +Frere; he had not done it intentionally, but he had done it; another man +was suffering in his stead; he himself was the murderer. He knew this +absolutely, completely, clearly, but at first he felt no mental pain of +any sort. A natural instinct made him desirous to keep his knowledge to +himself, but his conscience sat light within him, and did not speak at +all. He was now anxious to conceal his emotions from the doctor; his +mind had completely recovered its balance, and he found this possible. +Rumsey was as fully astonished at the cure as he had been at the +disease; he accompanied Awdrey back to London next day, and told +Margaret what a marvellous thing had occurred. Awdrey remembered all +about his son; he was full of grief for his loss; he was kind and loving +to his wife; he was no longer morose; no longer sullen and apathetic; in +short, his mental and physical parts were once again wide awake; but the +strange and almost inexplicable thing in his cure was that his moral +part still completely slumbered. This fact undoubtedly did much to +establish his mental and physical health, giving him time to recover his +lost ground. + +Rumsey did not profess to understand the case, but now that Awdrey had +quite come back from the borderland of insanity, he advised that +ordinary remedies should immediately be resorted to; he told Margaret +that in a few months her husband would be as fully and completely able +to attend to the duties of life as any other man of his day and station. +He did not believe, he said, that the strange attack through which +Awdrey had passed was ever likely to return to him! Margaret and her +husband shut up their house in town, and went abroad; they spent the +winter on the continent, and day by day Awdrey's condition, both +physical and mental, became more satisfactory. He slept well, he ate +well; soon he began to devour books and newspapers; to absorb himself in +the events of the day; to take a keen interest in politics; the member +for Grandcourt died, and Awdrey put up for the constituency. He was +obliged to return suddenly to England on this account, and to Margaret's +delight elected to come back at once to live at the Court. The whole +thing was arranged quickly. Awdrey was to be nominated as the new +candidate for Grandcourt; he was to have, too, his rightful position as +the Squire on his own property. Friends from all round the country +rejoiced in his recovery, as they had sincerely mourned over his strange +and inexplicable illness. He was welcomed with rejoicing, and came back +something as a king would to take possession of his kingdom. + +On the night therefore, that he returned to the Court, the higher part +of his being began to stir uneasily within him. He had quite agreed to +Margaret's desire to invite Mrs. Everett to meet them on their return, +but he read a certain expression in the widow's sad eyes, and a certain +look on Hetty's face, which stirred into active remorse the conscience +which had suffered more severely than anything else in the ordeal +through which he had lived. It was now awake within him, and its voice +was very poignant and keen; its notes were clear, sharp, and +unremitting. + +In his excellent physical and mental health his first impulse was to +defy the voice of conscience, and to live down the deed he had +committed. His first wish was to hide its knowledge from all the world, +and to go down to his own grave in the course of time with his secret +unconfessed. He did not believe it possible, at least at first, that the +moral voice within could not be easily silenced; but even on the first +night of his awakening he was conscious of a change in himself. The +sense of satisfaction, of complete enjoyment in life and all its +surroundings which had hitherto done so much for his recovery, was now +absent; he was conscious, intensely conscious, of his own hypocrisy, and +he began vehemently to hate and detest himself. All the same, his wish +was to hide the thing, to allow Mrs. Everett to go down to the grave +with a broken heart--to allow Everett to drink the cup of suffering and +dishonor to the dregs. + +Awdrey slept little during the first night of his return home. In the +morning he arose to the full fact that he must either carry a terrible +secret to his grave, or must confess all and bear the punishment which +was now awarded to another. His strong determination on that first +morning was to keep his secret. He went downstairs, putting a full guard +upon himself. Margaret saw nothing amiss with him--his face was full of +alertness, keenness, interest in life, interest in his fellow-creatures. +Only Mrs. Everett, at breakfast that morning, without understanding it, +read the defiance, the veiled meaning in his eyes. He went away +presently, and spent the day in going about his property, seeing his +constituents, and arranging the different steps he must take to insure +his return at the head of the poll. As he went from house to house, +however, the new knowledge which he now possessed of himself kept +following him. On all hands he was being welcomed and rejoiced over, but +he knew in his heart of hearts he was a hypocrite of the basest and +lowest type. He was allowing another man to suffer in his stead. That +was the cruellest stab of all; it was that which harassed him, for it +was contrary to all the traditions of his house and name. His mental +health was now so perfect that he was able to see with a wonderfully +clear perception what would happen to himself if he refused to listen to +the voice of conscience. In the past, while the cloud was over his +brain, he had undergone terrible mental and physical deterioration; he +would now undergo moral deterioration. The time might come when +conscience would cease to trouble him, but then, as far as his soul was +concerned, he would be lost. He knew all this, and hated himself +profoundly, nevertheless his determination grew stronger and stronger to +guard his secret at all hazards. The possibility that the truth might +out, notwithstanding all his efforts to conceal it, had not occurred to +him, to add to his anxieties. + +The day, a lovely one in late spring, had been one long triumph. Awdrey +was assured that his election was a foregone conclusion. He tried to +think of himself in the House; he was aware of the keenness and +freshness of his own intellect; he thought it quite possible that his +name might be a power in the future government of England. He fully +intended to take his rightful position. For generations men of his name +and family had sat in the House and done good work there--men of his +name and family had also fought for their country both on land and sea. +Yes, it was his bounden duty now to live for the honor of the old name; +to throw up the sponge now, to admit all now would be madness--the worst +folly of which a man could be capable. It was his duty to think of +Margaret, to think of his property, his tenants, all that was involved +in his own life. + +Everett and Mrs. Everett would assuredly suffer; but what of that if +many others were saved from suffering? Yes, it was his bounden duty to +live now for the honor of the old name; he had also his descendants to +think of. True his child was gone, but other children would in all +probability yet be his--he must think of them. Yes, the future lay +before him; he must carry the burden of that awful secret, and he would +carry it so closely pressed to his innermost heart that no one should +guess by look, word, manner, by a gloomy eye, by an unsmiling lip, that +its weight was on him. He would be gay, he would be brave, he would +banish grief, he would try to banish remorse, he would live his life as +best he could. + +"I must pay the cost some day," he muttered to himself. "I put off the +payment, and that is best. There is a tribunal, at the bar of which I +shall doubtless receive full sentence; but that is all in the future; I +accept the penalty; I will reap the wages by and by. Yes, I'll keep my +secret to the death. The girl, Hetty, knows about it, but she must be +silenced." + +Awdrey rode quickly home in the sweet freshness of the lovely spring +evening. He remembered that he was to meet Hetty; the meeting would be +difficult and also of some importance, but he would be guarded, he would +manage to silence her, to quiet her evident fears. Hetty was a +guileless, affectionate, and pretty girl; she had been wonderfully true +to him; he must be good to her, for she had suffered for his sake. It +would be best to make an excuse to send Hetty and her husband to Canada; +Vincent, who was a poor man, would doubtless be glad to emigrate with +good prospects. Yes, they must go; it would be unpleasant meeting Hetty, +knowing what she knew. Mrs. Everett must also not again be his guest; +her presence irritated him, he disliked meeting her eyes; and yet he +knew that while she was in the house he dared not shirk their glance; +her presence and the knowledge that her pain was killing her made the +sharp voice within him speak more loudly than he could quite bear. Yes, +Mrs. Everett must go, and Hetty must go, and--what was this memory which +made him draw up his horse abruptly?--his lost walking-stick. Ridiculous +that such a trifle should worry a man all through his life; how it had +haunted him all during the six years when the cloud was over his brain. +Even now the memory of it came up again to torment him. He had murdered +his man with that stick; the whole thing was the purest accident, but +that did not greatly matter, for the man had died; the ferrule of +Awdrey's stick had entered his brain, causing instant death. + +"Afterward I hid it away in the underwood," thought Awdrey. "I wonder +where it is now--doubtless still there--but some day that part of the +underwood may be cut down and the stick may be found. It might tell +tales, I must find it." + +He jogged his horse, and rode slowly home under the arching trees of the +long avenue. He had a good view of the long, low, rambling house +there--how sweet it looked, how homelike! But for this secret what a +happy man he would be to-night. Ah, who was that standing at his office +door? He started and hastened his horse's steps. Hetty Vincent was +already there waiting for him. + +"I must speak to her at once," he said to himself. "I hope no one will +see her; it would never do for the people to think she was coming after +me. This will be a disagreeable interview and must be got over quickly." + +The Squire rode round the part of the avenue which led directly past the +front of the long house. His wife, sisters, and Mrs. Everett were all +seated near the large window. They were drinking tea and talking. +Margaret's elbow rested upon the window-ledge. She wore a silk dress of +the softest gray. Her lovely face showed in full profile. Suddenly she +heard the sound of his horse's steps and turned round to greet him. + +"There you are; we are waiting for you," she called out. + +"Come in, Robert, and have a cup," called out Dorothy, putting her head +out of the window. + +Dorothy was his favorite sister. Under other circumstances he would have +sprung from his horse, given it to the charge of a groom who stood near, +and joined his wife and friends. Now he called back in a clear, incisive +voice: + +"I have to attend to some business at my office, and will be in +presently. Here, Davies, take my horse." + +The man hurried forward and Awdrey strode round to the side entrance +where his office was. + +Hetty, looking flushed and pretty in her rustic hat with a bunch of +cowslips pinned into the front of her jacket, stood waiting for him. + +Awdrey took a key out of his pocket. The office had no direct +communication with the house, but was always entered from outside. He +unlocked the door and motioned Hetty to precede him into the room. She +did so, he entered after her, locked the door, and put the key into his +pocket. The next thing he did was to look at the windows. There were +three large windows to the office, and they all faced on to a grass lawn +outside. Any one passing by could have distinctly seen the occupants of +the room. + +Awdrey went and deliberately pulled down one of the blinds. + +"Come over here," he said to Hetty. "Take this chair." He took another +himself at a little distance from her. So seated his face was in shadow, +but the full light of the westering sun fell across hers. It lit up her +bright eyes until they shone like jewels, and gave a bronze hue to her +dark hair. The flush on her cheeks was of the damask of the rose; her +brow and the rest of her face was milky white. + +Long ago, as a young man, Awdrey had admired Hetty's real beauty, but no +thought other than that of simple admiration had entered his brain. His +was not the nature to be really attracted by a woman below himself in +station. Now, however, his pulse beat a little faster than its wont as +he glanced at her. He remembered with a swift, poignant sense of regret +all that she had done for him and suffered for him. He could see traces +of the trouble through which she had lived in her face; that trouble and +her present anxiety gave a piquancy to her beauty which differentiated +it widely from the ordinary beauty of the rustic village girl. As he +watched her he forgot for a moment what she had come to speak to him +about. Then he remembered it, and he drew himself together, but a pang +shot through his heart. He thought of the small deceit which he was +guilty of in drawing down the blind and placing himself and his auditor +where no one from the outside could observe them. + +"You want to speak to me," he said abruptly. "What about?" + +"You must know, Mr. Robert," began Hetty. Her coral lips trembled, she +looked like some one who would break down into hysterical weeping at any +moment. + +"This must be put a stop to," Awdrey bestowed another swift glance upon +her, and took her measure. "I cannot pretend ignorance," he said, "but +please try not to lose your self-control." + +Hetty gulped down a great sob; the tears in her eyes were not allowed to +fall. + +"Then you remember?" she said. + +Awdrey nodded. + +"You remember everything, Mr. Robert?" + +Awdrey nodded again. + +"But you forgot at the time, sir." + +Awdrey stood up; he put his hands behind him. + +"I forgot absolutely," he said. "I suffered from the doom of my house. A +cloud fell on me, and I knew no more than a babe unborn." + +"I guessed that, sir; I was certain of it. That was why I took your +part." + +Awdrey waited until she was silent. Then he continued in a monotonous, +strained tone. + +"I have found my memory again. Four or five months ago at the beginning +of this winter I came here. I visited the spot where the murder was +committed, and owing to a chain of remarkable circumstances, which I +need not repeat to you, the memory of my deed came back to me." + +"You killed him, sir, because he provoked you," said Hetty. + +"You were present and you saw everything?" + +"I was, sir, I saw everything. You killed him because he provoked you." + +"I killed him through an accident. I did so in self-defence." + +"Yes, sir." + +Hetty also stood up. She sighed deeply. + +"The knowledge of it has nearly killed me," she said at last, sinking +back again into her seat. + +"I am not surprised at that," said the Squire. "You did what you did out +of consideration for me, and I suppose I ought to be deeply indebted to +you"--he paused and looked fixedly at her--"all the same," he continued, +"I fully believe it would have been much better had you not sworn +falsely in court--had you not given wrong evidence." + +"Did you think I'd let you swing for it?" said the girl with flashing +eyes. + +"I should probably not have swung for it, as you express it. You could +have proved that the assault was unprovoked, and that I did what I did +in self-defence. I wish you had not concealed the truth at the time." + +"Sir, is that all the thanks you give me? You do not know what this has +been to me. Aunt Fanny and I----" + +"Does your aunt, Mrs. Armitage, know the truth?" + +"I had to tell Aunt Fanny or I'd have gone mad, sir. She and me, we +swore on the Bible that we would never tell mortal man or woman what I +saw done. You're as safe with Aunt Fanny and me, Mr. Robert, as if no +one in all the world knew. You were one of the Family--that was enough +for aunt--and you was to me----" she paused, colored, and looked down. +Then she continued abruptly, "Mr. Everett was nothing, nothing to me, +nothing to aunt. He was a stranger, not one of our own people. Aunt +Fanny kept me up to it, and I didn't make one single mistake in court, +and not a soul in all the world guesses." + +"One person suspects," said Awdrey. + +"You mean Mrs. Everett, sir. Yes, Mrs. Everett is a dreadful woman. She +frightens me. She seems to read right through my heart." + +The Squire did not reply. He began to pace up and down in the part of +the room which was lying in shadow. Hetty watched him with eyes which +seemed to devour him--his upright figure was slightly bent, his bowed +head had lost its look of youth and alertness. He found that conscience +could be troublesome to the point of agony. If it spoke like this often +and for long could he endure the frightful strain? There was a way in +which he could silence it. There was a path of thorns which his feet +might tread. Could they take it? That path would lead to the complete +martyrdom, the absolute ruin of his own life. But life, after all, was +short, and there was a beyond. Margaret--what would Margaret feel? How +would she bear the awful shock? He knew then, a flash of thought +convinced him, that he must never tell Margaret the truth if he wished +to keep this ghastly thing to himself, for Margaret would rather go +through the martyrdom which it all meant, and set his conscience and her +own free. + +Awdrey looked again at Hetty. She was ghastly pale, her eyes were almost +wild with fear--she seemed to be reading some of his thoughts. All of a +sudden her outward calm gave way, she left her seat and fell on her +knees--her voice rose in sobs. + +"I know what you're thinking of," she cried. "You think you'll tell--you +think you'll save him and save her, but for God's sake----" + +"Do not say that," interrupted Awdrey. + +"Then for the devil's sake--for any sake, for my sake, for your own, for +Mrs. Awdrey's, don't do it, Squire, don't do it." + +"Don't do----" began Awdrey. "What did you think I was going to do?" + +"Oh, you frightened me so awfully when you looked like that--I thought +you were making up your mind. Squire, don't tell what you know--don't +tell what I've done. I'll be locked up and you'll be locked up, and Mrs. +Awdrey's heart will be broke, and we'll all be disgraced forever, and, +Squire, maybe they'll hang you. Think of one of the family coming to +that. Oh, sir, you've no right to tell now. You'll have to think of me +now, if you'll think of nothing else. I've kept your secret for close on +six years, and if they knew what I had done they would lock me up, and I +couldn't stand it. You daren't confess now--for my sake, sir." + +"Get up, Mrs. Vincent," said Awdrey. "I can't talk over matters with you +while you kneel to me. You've done a good deal for me, and I'm bound to +consider your position. Now, I'm going to tell you something which +perhaps you will scarcely understand. I remembered the act of which I +was guilty several months ago, but until last night my conscience did +not trouble me about it. It is now speaking to me, and speaking loudly. +It is impossible for me to tell you at present whether I shall have +strength of mind to follow it and do the right--yes, the right, the only +right thing to do, or to reject its counsels and lead a life of deceit +and hypocrisy. Both paths will be difficult to follow, but one leads to +life, the highest life, and the other to death, the lowest death. It is +quite possible that I may choose the lowest course. If I do, you, Hetty +Vincent, will know the truth about me. To the outside world I shall +appear to be a good man, for whatever my sufferings, I shall endeavor to +help my people, and to set them an outward example of morality. I shall +apparently live for them, and will think no trouble too great to promote +their best interests. Only you, Hetty, will know me for what I am--a +liar--a man who has committed murder, and then concealed his crime--a +hypocrite. You will know that much as I am thought of in the county here +among my own people, I am allowing an innocent man to wear out his life +in penal servitude because I have not the courage to confess my deed. +You will also know that I am breaking the heart of this man's mother." + +"The knowledge won't matter to me, Squire. I'd rather you were happy and +all the rest of the world miserable. I'd far, far rather." + +"Do you think that I shall be happy?" + +"I don't know," cried Hetty. "Perhaps you'll forget after a bit, and +that voice inside you won't speak so loud. It used to trouble me once, +but now--now it has grown dull." + +"It will never cease to speak. I know myself too well to have any doubt +on that point, but all the same I may take the downward course. I can't +say. Conscience has only just begun to trouble me. I may obey its +dictates, or I may deliberately lead the life of a hypocrite. If I +choose the latter, can you stand the test?" + +"I have stood it for five years." + +"But I have not been at home--the Court has been shut up--an absentee +landlord is not always to the front in his people's thoughts. In the +future, things will be different. Look at me for a moment, Hetty +Vincent. You are not well--your cheeks are hollow and your eyes are too +bright. Mrs. Everett is persuaded that you carry a secret. If she thinks +so, others may think the same. Your aunt also knows." + +"Aunt is different from me," said Hetty. "She didn't see it done. It +don't wear her like it wears me. But I think, sir, now that you have +come back, and I am quite certain that I know your true mind, and when I +know, too, that you are carrying the burden as well as me, and that we +two,"--she paused, her voice broke--"I think, sir," she added, "that it +won't wear me so much in the future." + +"You must on no account be tried. If I resolve to keep the secret of my +guilt from all the rest of the world, you must leave the country." + +"Me leave the country!" cried Hetty--her face became ghastly pale, her +eyes brimmed again with tears. "Then you would indeed kill me," she +said, with a moan--"to leave you--Mr. Robert, you must guess why I have +done all this." + +"Hush," he said in a harsh tone. He approached the window, where the +blind was drawn up. He saw, or fancied he saw--Mrs. Everett's dark +figure passing by in the distance. He retreated quickly into the shaded +part of the room. + +"I cannot afford to misunderstand your words," he said, after a pause, +"but listen to me, Hetty, you must never allude to that subject again. +If I keep this thing to myself I can only do it on condition that you +and your husband leave the country. I have not fully made up my mind +yet. Nothing can be settled to-night. You had better not stay any +longer." + +Hetty rose totteringly and approached the door. Awdrey took the key from +his pocket, and unlocked it for her. As he did so he asked her a +question. + +"You saw everything? You saw the deed done?" + +"Yes, sir, I saw the stick in your hand, and----" + +"That is the point I am coming to," said the Squire. "What did I do with +the stick?" + +"You pushed it into the midst of some underwood, sir, about twenty feet +from the spot where----" She could not finish her sentence. + +"Yes," said Awdrey slowly. "I remember that. Has the stick ever been +found?" + +"No, Mr. Robert, that couldn't be." + +"Why do you say that? The underwood may be cut down at any moment. The +stick has my name on it. It may come to light." + +"It can't, sir--'tain't there. Aunt Fanny and me, we thought o' that, +and we went the night after the murder, and took the stick out from +where you had put it, and weighted it with stones, and threw it into the +deep pond close by. You need not fear that, Mr. Robert." + +Awdrey did not answer. His eyes narrowed to a line of satisfaction, and +a cunning expression came into them, altogether foreign to his face. + +He softly opened the door, and Hetty passed out, then he locked it +again. + +He was alone with his conscience. He fell on his knees and covered his +face. + +"God, Thy judgments are terrible," he groaned. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +There was a short cut at the back of the office which would take Hetty +on to the high road without passing round by the front of the house. It +so happened that no one saw her when she arrived, and no one also saw +her go. When she reached the road she stopped still to give vent to a +deep sigh of satisfaction. Things were not right, but they were better +than she had dared hope. Of course the Squire remembered--he could not +have looked at her as he had done the night before, if memory had not +fully come back to him. He remembered--he told her so, but she was also +nearly certain that he would not confess to the world at large the crime +of which he was guilty. + +"I'll keep him to that," thought Hetty. "He may think nought o' +himself--it's in his race not to think o' theirselves--but he'd think o' +his wife and p'raps he'd think a bit o' me. There's Mrs. Everett and +there's her son, and they both suffer and suffer bad, but then agen +there's Mrs. Awdrey and there's me--there's two on us agen two," +continued Hetty, rapidly thinking out the case, and ranging the pros and +cons in due order in her mind, "yes, there's two agen two," she +repeated. + +"Mrs. Everett and her son are suffering now--then it 'ud be Mrs. Awdrey +and me--and surely Mrs. Awdrey is nearer to Squire, and maybe I'm a bit +nearer to Squire than the other two. Yes, it is but fair that he should +keep the secret to himself." + +The sun had long set and twilight had fallen over the land. Hetty had to +walk uphill to reach the Gables, the name of her husband's farm. It +would therefore take her longer to return home than it did to come to +the Court. She was anxious to get back as quickly as possible. It would +never do for Vincent to find out that she had deceived him. If he slept +soundly, as she fully expected he would, there was not the least fear of +her secret being discovered. Susan never entered the house after four in +the afternoon. The men who worked in the fields would return to the yard +to put away their tools, but they would have nothing to do in connection +with the house itself--thus Vincent would be left undisturbed during the +hours of refreshment and restoration which Hetty hoped he was enjoying. + +"Yes, I did well," she murmured to herself, quickening her steps as the +thought came to her. "I've seen Squire and there's nought to be dreaded +for a bit, anyway. The more he thinks o' it the less he'll like to see +himself in the prisoner's dock and me and Mrs. Awdrey and aunt as +witnesses agen 'im--and knowing, too, that me, and, perhaps, aunt, too, +will be put in the dock in our turn. He's bound to think o' us, for we +thought o' him--he won't like to get us into a hole, and he's safe not +to do it. Yes, things look straight enough for a bit, anyway. I'm glad I +saw Squire--he looked splendid, too, stronger than I ever see 'im. He +don't care one bit for me, and I--his eyes flashed so angry when I +nearly let out--yes, I quite let out. He said, 'I can't affect to +misunderstand you.' Ah, he knows at last, he knows the truth. I'm glad +he knows the truth. There's a fire inside o' me, and it burns and +burns--it's love for him--all my life it has consumed within me. There's +nought I wouldn't do for 'im. Shame, I'd take it light for his sake--it +rested me fine to see 'im, and to take a real good look at 'im. Queer, +ain't it, that I should care so much for a man what never give me a +thought, but what is, is, and can't be helped. Poor Vincent, he worships +the ground I walk on, and yet he's nought to me; he never can be +anything while Squire lives. I wonder if Squire thought me pretty +to-night. I wonder if he noticed the wild flowers in the bosom of my +jacket--I wonder. I'm glad I've a secret with 'im; he must see me +sometimes, and he must talk on it; and then he'll notice that I'm +pretty--prettier than most girls. Oh, my heart, how it beats!" + +Hetty was struggling up the hill, panting as she went. The pain in her +side got worse, owing to the exercise. She had presently to stop to take +breath. + +"He said sum'mat 'bout going away," she murmured to herself; "he wants +me and Vincent to leave the country, but we won't go. No, I draw the +line there. He thinks I'll split on 'im. I! Little he knows me. I must +manage to show him that I can hold my secret, so as no one in all the +world suspects. Oh, good God, I wish the pain in my side did not keep on +so constant. I'll take some of the black stuff when I get in; it always +soothes me; the pain will go soon after I take it, and I'll sleep like a +top to-night. Poor George, what a sleep he's havin'; he'll be lively, +and in the best o' humors when he wakes; you always are when you've +taken that black stuff. Now, I must hurry on, it's getting late." + +She made another effort, and reached the summit of the hill. + +From there the ground sloped away until it reached the Gables Farm. +Hetty now put wing to her feet and began to run, but the pain in her +side stopped her again, and she was obliged to proceed more slowly. She +reached home just when it was dark; the place was absolutely silent. +Susan, who did not sleep in the house, had gone away; the men had +evidently come into the yard, put their tools by, and gone off to their +respective homes. + +"That's good," thought Hetty. "Vincent's still asleep--I'm safe. Now, if +I hurry up he'll find the place lighted and cheerful, and everything +nice, and his supper laid out for him, and he'll never guess, never, +never." + +She unlatched the gate which led into the great yard; the fowls began to +rustle on their perches, and the house dog, Rover, came softly up to +her, and rubbed his head against her knee; she patted him abstractedly +and hurried on to the house. + +She had a latchkey with which she opened the side door; she let herself +in, and shut it behind her. The place was still and dark. + +Hetty knew her way well; she stole softly along the dark passage, and +opened the kitchen door. The fire smouldered low in the range, and in +the surrounding darkness seemed to greet her, something like an angry +eye. When she entered the room, she did not know why she shivered. + +"He's sound asleep," she murmured to herself; "that lovely black stuff +ha' done 'im a power o' good. I'll have a dose soon myself, for my heart +beats so 'ard, and the pain in my side is that bad." + +She approached the fireplace, opened the door of the range, and stirred +the smouldering coals into the semblance of a blaze. By this light, +which was very fitful and quickly expired, she directed her steps to a +shelf, where a candlestick and candle and matches were placed. She +struck a match, and lit the candle. With the candle in her hand she +then, softly and on tiptoe, approached the settle where her husband lay. +She did not want to wake him yet, and held the candle in such a way that +the light should not fall on his face. As far as she could tell he had +not stirred since she left him, two or three hours ago; he was lying on +his back, his arms were stretched out at full length at each side, his +lips were slightly open--as well as she could see, his face was pale, +though he was as a rule a florid man. + +"He's sleepin' beautiful," thought Hetty, "everything has been splendid. +I'll run upstairs now and take off my hat and jacket and make myself +look as trim as I can, for he do like, poor George do, to see me look +pretty. Then I'll come down and lay the supper on the table, and then +when everything is ready I think I'll wake him. He fell asleep soon +after four, and it's a good bit after eight now. I slept much longer +than four hours after my first dose of the nice black stuff, but I think +I'll wake 'im when supper is ready. It'll be real fun when he sees the +hour and knows how long he 'as slept." + +Holding her candle in her hand Hetty left the kitchen and proceeded to +light the different lamps which stood about in the passages. She then +went to her own nice bedroom and lit a pair of candles which were placed +on each side of her dressing glass. Having done this, she drew down the +blinds and shut the windows. She then carefully removed her hat, took +the cowslips out of the bosom of her dress, kissed them, and put them in +water. + +"Squire looked at 'em," she said to herself. "He didn't touch 'em, no, +but he looked at 'em, and then he looked at me and I saw in his eyes +that he knew I were pretty. I was glad then. Seemed as if it were worth +living just for Squire to know that I were really pretty." + +She placed the flowers in a jug of water, folded up her jacket and +gloves, and put them away with her hat in the cupboard in the wall. She +then, with the candle still in her hand, went downstairs. + +The kitchen felt chilly, and Hetty shivered as she entered it. All of a +sudden a great feeling of weakness seemed to tremble through her slight +frame; her heart fluttered too, seeming to bob up and down within her. +Then it quieted down again, but the constant wearing pain grew worse and +ached so perceptibly that she had to catch her breath now and then. + +"I'll be all right when I can have a good dose," she thought. She went +to the window, farthest from the one near which Vincent was lying, and +drew down the blind; then going to the coal cellar she brought out some +firewood and large knobs of coal. She fed the range and the fire soon +crackled and roared. Hetty stood close to it, and warmed her hands by +the blaze. + +"What a noise it do make," she said to herself. "It ought to wake him; +it would if he worn't sleepin' so sound from that lovely black stuff. +Well, he can keep on for a bit longer, for he were dead tired, poor man. +I'll get his supper afore I wake 'im." + +She went out to the scullery, turned on the tap and filled the kettle +with fresh cold water. She set it on the stove to boil, and then taking +a coarse white cloth from a drawer laid it on the centre table. She took +out plates, knives and forks and glasses for two, put them in their +places, laid a dish of cold bacon opposite Vincent's plate, and some +bread and a large square of cheese opposite her own. Having done this, +she looked at the sleeping man. He was certainly quiet; she could not +even hear him breathing. As a rule he was a stertorous breather, and +when first they were married Hetty could scarcely sleep with his +snoring. + +"He don't snore to-night--he's resting wonderful," she said to herself. +"Now, I just know what I'll do--he mayn't care when he wakes for nothing +but cold stuff--I'll boil some fresh eggs for his supper, and I'll make +some cocoa. I'll have a nice jug of milk cocoa and a plate of eggs all +ready by the time he wakes." + +She fetched a saucepan, some milk, and half-a-dozen new-laid eggs. Soon +the cocoa was made and poured into a big jug, the eggs just done to a +turn were put upon a plate; they were brown eggs, something the color of +a deep nut. + +"I could fancy one myself," thought Hetty; "I ain't eat nothing to speak +of for hours. Oh, I do wish the pain in my side 'ud get better." + +She pressed her hand to the region of her heart and looked around her. +The farm kitchen was now the picture of comfort--the fire blazed +merrily. Hetty had lit a large paraffin lamp and placed it in the centre +of the table; it lit up the cosy room, even the beams and rafters +glistened in the strong light; shadows from the fire leaped up and +reflected themselves on the sleeper's face. + +"He's very white and very still," thought Hetty; "maybe he has slept +long enough. I think I'll wake him now, for supper's ready." + +Then came a scratching at the window outside, and the fretful howl of a +dog. + +"There's Rover; what's the matter with him? I wish he wouldn't howl like +that," thought the wife. "I hate dogs that howl. Maybe I had best let +'im in." + +She ran to the kitchen door, flew down the passage, and opened the door +which led into the yard. + +"Rover, stop that noise and come along in," she called. + +The great dog shuffled up to her and thrust his head into her hand. She +brought him into the kitchen. The moment she did so he sat down on his +haunches, threw up his head, 'and began to howl again. + +"Nonsense, Rover, stop that noise," she said. She struck him a blow on +his forehead, he cowered, looked at her sorrowfully, and then tried to +lick her hand. She brought him to the fire; he came unwillingly, +slinking down at last with his back to the still figure on the settle. + +"Queer, what's the matter with him?" thought Hetty. "They say, folks do, +that dogs see things we don't; some folks say they see sperrits. Aunt +would be in a fuss if Rover went on like that. Dear, I am turning +nervous; fancy minding the howl of a dog. It's true my nerves ain't what +they wor. Well, cocoa will spoil, and eggs will spoil, and time has come +for me to wake Vincent. What a laugh we'll have together when I tell 'im +of his long sleep." + +She approached the sofa now, but her steps dragged themselves as she +went up to it and bent down over her husband and called his name. + +"George!" she said. "George!" He never moved. She went a little nearer, +calling him louder. + +"George, George, wake up!" she said. "Wake, George, you've slept for +over four hours. Supper is ready, George--cocoa and eggs, your favorite +supper. Wake! George, wake!" + +The dog howled by the fire. + +"Rover, I'll turn you out if you make that noise again," said Hetty. She +went on her knees now by the sleeping man, and shook him. His head moved +when she did so and she thought he was about to open his eyes, but when +she took her hands away there was not a motion, not a sound. + +"What is it?" she said to herself. For the first time a very perceptible +fear crept into her heart. She bent low and listened for the breathing. + +"He do breathe gentle," she murmured. "I can scarcely hear; do I hear at +all. I think I'll fetch a candle." + +In shaking the farmer she had managed to dislodge one of his hands, +which had fallen forward over the edge of the settle. She took it up, +then she let it fall with a slight scream; it was cold, icy cold! + +"Good God! Oh, God in heaven! what is it?" muttered the wife. + +The real significance of the thing had not yet flashed upon her +bewildered brain, but a sick fear was creeping over her. She went for +the candle, and bringing it back, held it close to the ashen face. It +was not only white, it was gray. The lips were faintly open, but not a +breath proceeded from them. The figure was already stiff in the icy +embrace of death. + +Hetty had seen death before; its aspect was too unmistakable for her not +to recognize it again. She fell suddenly forward, putting out the candle +as she did so. Her face, almost as white as the face of the dead man, +was pressed against his breast. For a brief few moments she was +unconscious. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +The twilight darkened into night, but Awdrey still remained in the +office. After a time he groped for a box of matches, found one, struck a +match, took a pair of heavy silver candlesticks from a cupboard in the +wall, lit the candles which were in them, and then put them on his +office table. The room was a large one, and the light of the two candles +seemed only to make the darkness visible. Awdrey went to the table, +seated himself in the old chair which his father and his grandfather had +occupied before him, and began mechanically to arrange some papers, and +put a pile of other things in order. His nature was naturally full of +system; from his childhood up he had hated untidiness of all sorts. +While he was so engaged there came a knock at the office door. He rose, +went across the room, and opened it; a footman stood without. + +"Mrs. Awdrey has sent me to ask you, sir, if you are ready for dinner." + +"Tell your mistress that I am not coming in to dinner," replied Awdrey. +"Ask her not to wait for me; I am particularly busy, and will have +something later." + +The man, with an immovable countenance, turned away. Awdrey once more +locked the office door. He now drew down the remaining blinds to the +other two windows, and began to pace up and down the long room. The +powers of good and evil were at this moment fighting for his soul--he +knew it; there was a tremendous conflict raging within him; it seemed to +tear his life in two; beads of perspiration stood on his brow. He knew +that either the God who made him or the devil would have won the victory +before he left that room. + +"I must make my decision once for all," he said to himself. "I am wide +awake; my whole intellectual nature is full of vigor; I have no excuse +whatever; the matter must be finally settled now. If I follow the +devil----" he shrank as the words formed themselves out of his brain; he +had naturally the utmost loathing for evil in any form, his nature was +meant to be upright; at school he had been one of the good boys; one of +the boys to whom low vices, dishonorable actions of any kind, were +simply impossible; he had had his weaknesses, for who has not?--but +these weaknesses were all more or less akin to the virtues. + +"If I choose the devil!" he repeated. Once again he faltered, trembling +violently; he had come to the part of the room where his father's old +desk was situated, he leaned up against it and gazed gloomily out into +the darkness which confronted him. + +"I know exactly what will happen if I follow the downward path," he said +again. "I must force myself to think wrong right, and right wrong. There +is no possible way for me to live this life of deception except by +deceiving myself. Must I decide to-night?" + +He staggered into the chair which his father used to occupy. His father +had been a man full of rectitude; the doom of the house had never +overtaken him; he had been a man with an almost too severe and lofty +code of honor. Awdrey remembered all about his father as he sat in that +chair. He sprang again to his feet. + +"There is no use in putting off the hour, for the hour has come," he +thought. "This is the state of the case. God and the devil are with me +to-night. I cannot lie in the presence of such awful, such potent +Forces. I must face the thing as it is. This is what has happened to me. +I, who would not willingly in my sober senses, hurt the smallest insect +that crawls on the earth, once, nearly six years ago, in a sudden moment +of passion killed a man. He attacked me, and I defended myself. I killed +him in self-defence. I no more meant to kill him than I mean to commit +murder to-night. Notwithstanding that fact I did it. Doubtless the +action came over me as a tremendous shock--immediately after the deed +the doom of my house fell on me, and I forgot all about what I myself +had done--for five years the memory of it never returned to me. Now I +know all about it. At the present moment another man is suffering in my +stead. Now if I follow the devil I shall be a brute and a scoundrel; the +other man will go on suffering, and his mother, whose heart is already +broken, may die before he recovers his liberty. Thus I shall practically +kill two lives. No one will know--no one will guess that I am leading a +shadowed life. I feel strong enough now to cover up the deed, to hide +away the remorse. I feel not the least doubt that I shall be outwardly +successful--the respect of my fellow-men will follow me--the love of +many will be given to me. By and by I may have children, and they will +love me as I loved my father, and Margaret will look up to me and +consult me as my mother looked up to and consulted my father, and my +honor will be considered above reproach. My people too will rejoice to +have me back with them. I can serve them if I am returned for this +constituency--in short, I can live a worthy and respected life. The +devil will have his way, but no one will guess that it is the devil's +way--I shall seem to live the life of an angel." + +Awdrey paused here in his own thought. + +"I feel as if the devil were laughing at me," he said, speaking half +aloud, and looking again into the darkness of the room--"he knows that +his hour will come--by and by my span of life will run out--eventually I +shall reach the long end of the long way. But until that time, day by +day, and hour by hour, I shall live the life of the hypocrite. Like a +whited sepulchre shall I be truly, for I shall carry hell here. By and +by I shall have to answer for all at a Higher Tribunal, and meanwhile I +shall carry hell here." He pressed his hand to his breast--his face was +ghastly. "Shall I follow the devil? Suppose I do not, what then?" + +There came another tap at the office door. Awdrey went across the room +and opened it. He started and uttered a smothered oath, for Margaret +stood on the threshold. + +"Go away now, Maggie, I can't see you; I am very much engaged," he said. + +Instead of obeying him she stepped across the threshold. + +"But you have no one with you," she said, looking into the darkness of +the room. "What are you doing, Robert, all by yourself? You look very +white and tired. We have finished dinner--my uncle has come over from +Cuthbertstown, and would like to see you--they all think it strange your +being away. What is the matter? Won't you return with me to the house?" + +"I cannot yet. I am particularly engaged." + +"But what about? Uncle James will be much disappointed if he does not +see you." + +"I'll come to him presently when I have thought out a problem." + +Margaret turned herself now in such a position that she could see her +husband's face. Something in his eyes seemed to speak straight to her +sympathies,--she put her arms round his neck. + +"Don't think any more now, my darling," she said. "Remember, though you +are so well, that you were once very ill. You have had no dinner, it is +not right for you to starve yourself and tire yourself. Come home with +me, Robert, come home!" + +"Not yet," he replied. "There is a knot which I must untie. I am +thinking a very grave problem out. I shall have no rest, no peace, until +I have made up my mind." + +"What can be the matter?" inquired Margaret. "Can I help you in any +way?" + +"No, my dearest," he answered very tenderly, "except by leaving me." + +"Is it anything to do with accounts?" she asked. She glanced at the +table with its pile of letters and papers. "If so, I could really render +you assistance; I used to keep accounts for Uncle James in the old days. +Two brains are better than one. Let me help you." + +"It is a mental problem, Maggie; it relates to morals." + +"Oh, dear me, Robert, you are quite mysterious," she said with a ghost +of a smile; but then she met his eyes and the trouble in them startled +her. + +"I wish I could help you," she said. "Do let me." + +"You cannot," he replied harshly, for the look in her face added to his +tortures. "I shall come to a conclusion presently. When I come to it I +will return to the house." + +"Then we are not to wait up for you? It is getting quite late, long past +nine o'clock." + +"Do not wait up for me; leave the side door on the latch; I'll come in +presently when I have made up my mind on this important matter." + +She approached the door unwillingly; when she reached the threshold she +turned and faced him. + +"I cannot but see that you are worried about something," she said. "I +know, Robert, that you will have strength to do what is right. I cannot +imagine what your worry can be, but a moral problem with you must mean +the victory of right over wrong." + +"Maggie, you drive me mad," he called after her, but his voice was +hoarse, and it did not reach her ears. She closed the door, and he heard +her retreating footsteps on the gravel outside. He locked the door once +more. + +"There spoke God and my good angel," he murmured to himself. "Help me, +Powers of Evil, if I am to follow you; give me strength to walk the path +of the lowest." + +These words had scarcely risen in the form of an awful prayer when once +again he heard his wife's voice at the door. She was tapping and calling +to him at the same time. He opened the door. + +"Well?" he said. + +"I am sorry to disturb you," she replied, "but you really must put off +all your reflections for the time being. Who do you think has just +arrived?" + +"Who?" he asked in a listless voice. + +"Your old friend and mine, Dr. Rumsey." + +"Rumsey!" replied Awdrey, "he would be a strong advocate on your side, +Maggie." + +"On my side?" she queried. + +"I cannot explain myself. I think I'll see Rumsey. It would be possible +for me to put a question to him which I could not put to you--ask him to +come to me." + +"He shall come at once," she answered, "I am heartily glad that he is +here." + +So he turned back and went to the house--she ran up the front +steps--Rumsey was in the hall. + +"My hearty congratulations," he said, coming up to her. "Your letter +contained such good news that I could not forbear hurrying down to +Grandcourt to take a peep at my strange patient; I always call Awdrey my +strange patient. Is it true that he is now quite well?" + +"Half an hour ago I should have said yes," replied Margaret; "but----" + +"Any recurrence of the old symptoms?" asked the doctor. + +"No, nothing of that sort. Perhaps the excitement has been too much for +him. Come into the library, will you?" + +She entered as she spoke, the doctor following her. + +"I wrote to you when I was abroad," continued Margaret, "telling you the +simple fact that my husband's state of health had gone from better to +better. He recovered tone of mind and body in the most rapid degree. +This morning I considered him a man of perfect physical health and of +keen brilliant intellect. You know during the five years when the cloud +was over his brain he refused to read, and lost grip of all passing +events. There is no subject now of general interest that he cannot talk +about--all matters of public concern arouse his keenest sympathies. +To-day he has been nominated to stand for his constituency, vacant by +the death of our late member. I have no doubt that he will represent us +in the House when Parliament next sits." + +"Or perhaps before this one rises," said the doctor. "Well, Mrs. Awdrey, +all this sounds most encouraging, but your 'but' leads to something not +so satisfactory, does it not?" + +"That is so; at the present moment I do not like his state. He was out +and about all day, but instead of returning home to dinner went straight +to his office, where he now is. As far as I can see, he is doing no +special work, but he will not come into the house. He tells me that he +is facing a problem which he also says is a moral one. He refuses to +leave the office until he has come to a satisfactory conclusion." + +"Come, he is overdoing it," said the doctor. + +"I think so. I told him just now that you had arrived; he asked me to +bring you to him; will you come?" + +"With pleasure." + +"Can you do without a meal until you have seen him?" + +"Certainly; take me to him at once." + +Mrs. Awdrey left the house, and took Dr. Rumsey round by the side walk +which led to the office. The door was now slightly ajar; Margaret +entered the doctor following behind her. + +"Well, my friend," said Dr. Rumsey, in his cheerful voice, "it is good +to see you back in your old place again. Your wife's letter was so +satisfactory that I could not resist the temptation of coming to see you +for myself." + +"I am in perfect health," replied Awdrey. "Sit down, won't you, Rumsey? +Margaret, my dear, do you mind leaving us?" + +"No, Robert," she answered. "I trust to Dr. Rumsey to bring you back to +your senses." + +"She does not know what she is saying," muttered Awdrey. He followed his +wife to the door, and when she went out turned the key in the lock. + +"It is a strange thing," he said, the moment he found himself alone with +his guest, "that you, Rumsey, should be here at this moment. You were +with me during the hour of my keenest and most terrible physical and +mental degradation; you have now come to see me through the hour of my +moral degradation--or victory." + +"Your moral degradation or victory?" said the doctor; "what does this +mean?" + +"It simply means this, Dr. Rumsey; I am the unhappy possessor of a +secret." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes--a secret. Were this secret known my wife's heart would be broken, +and this honorable house of which I am the last descendant would go to +complete shipwreck. I don't talk of myself in the matter." + +"Do you mean to confide in me?" asked the doctor, after a pause. + +"I cannot; for the simple reason, that if I told you everything you +would be bound as a man and a gentleman to take steps to insure the +downfall which I dread." + +"Are you certain that you are not suffering from delusion?" + +"No, doctor, I wish I were." + +"You certainly look sane enough," said the doctor, examining his patient +with one of his penetrating glances. "You must allow me to congratulate +you. If I had not seen you with my own eyes I could never have believed +in such a reformation. You are bronzed; your frame has widened; you have +not a scrap of superfluous flesh about you. Let me feel your arm; my +dear sir, your muscle is to be envied." + +"I was famed for my athletic power long ago," said Awdrey, with a grim +smile. "But now, doctor, to facts. You have come here; it is possible +for me to take you into my confidence to a certain extent. Will you +allow me to state my case?" + +"As you intend only to state it partially it will be difficult for me to +advise you," said the doctor. + +"Still, will you listen?" + +"I'll listen." + +"Well, the fact is this," said Awdrey, rising, "either God or the devil +take possession of me to-night." + +"Come, come," said Rumsey, "you are exaggerating the state of the case." + +"I am not. I am going through the most desperate fight that ever +assailed a man. I may get out on the side of good, but at the present +moment I must state frankly that all my inclinations tend to getting out +of this struggle on the side which will put me into the Devil's hands." + +"Come," said the doctor again, "if that is so there can be no doubt with +regard to your position. You must close with right even though it is a +struggle. You confess to possessing a secret; that secret is the cause +of your misery; there is a right and a wrong to it?" + +"Undoubtedly; a very great right and a very grave wrong." + +"Then, Awdrey, do not hesitate; be man enough to do the right." + +Awdrey turned white. + +"You are the second person who has come here to-night and advised me on +the side of God," he said. + +"Out with your trouble, man, and relieve your mind." + +"When I relieve my mind," said Awdrey, "my wife's heart will break, and +our house will be ruined." + +"What about you?" + +"I shall go under." + +"I doubt very much if your doing right would ever break a heart like +your wife's," said Rumsey, "but doing wrong would undoubtedly crush her +spirit." + +"There you are again--will no one take the Devil's part? Dr. Rumsey, I +firmly believe that it is much owing to your influence that I am now in +my sane mind. I believe that it is owing to you that the doom of my +house has been lifted from my brain. When I think of the path which you +now advocate, I could curse the day when you brought me back to health +and sanity. A very little influence on the other side, a mere letting me +alone, and I should now either be a madman or in my grave; then I would +have carried my secret to the bitter end. As it is----" + +There was a noise heard outside--the sound made by a faltering footstep. +The brush of a woman's dress was distinctly audible against the door; +this was followed by a timid knock. + +"Who is disturbing us now?" said Awdrey, with irritation. + +"I'll open the door and see," said the doctor. + +He crossed the room as he spoke and opened the door. An untidily dressed +girl with a ghastly white face stood without. When the door was opened +she peered anxiously into the room. + +"Is Mr. Awdrey in?--yes, I see him. I must speak to him at once." + +She staggered across the threshold. + +"I must see you alone, Squire," she said--"quite alone and at once." + +"This has to do with the matter under consideration," said the Squire. +"Come in, Hetty; sit down. Rumsey, you had best leave us." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +A real faint, or suspension of the heart's action, is never a long +affair. When Hetty fell in an unconscious state against the body of her +dead husband she quickly recovered herself. Her intellect was keen +enough, and she knew exactly what had happened. The nice black stuff +which gave such pleasant dreams had killed Vincent. She had therefore +killed him. Yes, he was stone dead--she had seen death once or twice +before, and could not possibly mistake it. She had seen her mother die +long ago, and had stood by the deathbed of more than one neighbor. The +cold, the stiffness, the gray-white appearance, all told her beyond the +possibility of doubt that life was not only extinct, but had been +extinct for at least a couple of hours. Her husband was dead. When she +had given him that fatal dose he had been in the full vigor of youth and +health--now he was dead. She had never loved him in life; although he +had been an affectionate husband to her, but at this moment she shed a +few tears for him. Not many, for they were completely swallowed up in +the fear and terror which grew greater and greater each moment within +her. He was dead, and she had killed him. Long ago she had concealed the +knowledge of a murder because she loved the man who had committed it. +Now she had committed murder herself--not intentionally, no, no. No more +had she intended to kill Vincent than Awdrey when he was out that night +had intended to take the life of Horace Frere. But Frere was dead and +now Vincent was dead, and Hetty would be tried for the crime. No, surely +they could not try her--they could not possibly bring it home to her. +How could a little thing like she was be supposed to take the life of a +big man? She had never meant to injure him, too--she had only meant to +give him a good sleep, to rest him thoroughly--to deceive him, of +course--to do a thing which she knew if he were aware of would break his +heart; but to take his life, no, nothing was further from her thoughts. +Nevertheless the deed was done. + +Oh, it was horrible, horrible--she hated being so close to the dead +body. It was no longer Vincent, the man who would have protected her at +the risk of his life, it was a hideous dead body. She would get away +from it--she would creep up close to Rover. No wonder Rover hated the +room; perhaps he saw the spirit of her husband. Oh, how frightened she +was! What was the matter with her side?--why did her heart beat so +strangely, galloping one, two, three, then pausing, then one, two, three +again?--and the pain, the sick, awful pain. Yes, she knew--she was sick +to death with terror. + +She got up presently from where she had been kneeling by her dead +husband's side and staggered across to the fireplace. She tried wildly +to think, but she found herself incapable of reasoning. Shivering +violently, she approached the table, poured out a cup of the cocoa which +was still hot, and managed to drink it off. The warm liquid revived her, +and she felt a shade better and more capable of thought. Her one +instinct now was to save herself. Vincent was dead--no one in all the +world could bring him back to life, but, if possible, Hetty would so act +that not a soul in all the country should suspect her. How could she +make things safe? If it were known, known everywhere, that she was away +from him when he died, then of course she would be safe. Yes, this fact +must be known. Once she had saved the Squire, now the Squire must save +her. It must be known everywhere that she had sought an interview with +him--that at the time when Vincent died she was in the Squire's +presence, shut up in the office with him, the door locked--she and the +Squire alone together. This secret, which she would have fought to the +death to keep to herself an hour ago, must now be blazoned abroad to a +criticising world. The lesser danger to the Squire must be completely +swallowed up in the greater danger to herself. She must hurry to him at +once and get him to tell what he knew. Ah, yes, if he did this she would +be safe--she remembered the right word at last, for she had heard the +neighbors speak of it when it a celebrated trial was going on in +Salisbury--she must prove an alibi--then it would be known that she had +been absent from home when her husband died. + +The imminence of the danger made her at last feel quiet and steady. She +took up the lighted candle and went into the dairy--she unlocked the +cupboard in the wall and took out the bottle of laudanum. Returning to +the kitchen she emptied the contents of the bottle into the range and +then threw the bottle itself also into the heart of the fire--she +watched it as it slowly melted under the influence of the hot fire--the +laudanum itself was also licked up by the hungry flames. That tell-tale +and awful evidence of her guilt was at least removed. She forgot all +about Susan having seen the liquid in the morning--she knew nothing +about the evidence which would be brought to light at a coroner's +inquest--about the facts which a doctor would be sure to give. Nothing +but the bare reality remained prominently before her excited brain. +Vincent was dead--she had killed him by an overdose of laudanum which +she had given him in all innocence to make him sleep--but yet, yet in +her heart of hearts, she knew that her motive would not bear +explanation. + +"Squire will save me," she said to herself--"if it's proved that I were +with Squire I am safe. I'll go to him now--I'll tell 'im all at once. +It's late, very late, and it's dark outside, but I'll go." + +Hetty left the room, leaving the dog behind her--he uttered a frightful +howl when she did so and followed her as far as the door--she shut and +locked the door--he scratched at it to try and release himself, but +Hetty took no notice--she was cruel as regarded the dumb beast's fear in +her own agony and terror. + +She ran upstairs to her room, put on her hat and jacket, and went out. +Stumbling and trembling, she went along the road until she reached the +summit of the hill which led straight down in a gentle slope toward +Grandcourt. She was glad the ground sloped downward, for it was +important that she should quicken her footsteps in order to see the +Squire with as little delay as possible. She was quite oblivious of the +lapse of time since her last visit, and hoped he might still be in the +office. She resolved to try the office first. If he were not there she +would go on to the house--find him she must; nothing should keep her +from his presence to-night. + +She presently reached Grandcourt, entered the grounds by a side entrance +and pursued her way through the darkness. The sky overhead was cloudy, +neither moon nor stars were visible. Faltering and falling she pressed +forward, and by and by reached the neighborhood of the office. She saw a +light burning dimly behind the closed blinds--her heart beat with a +sense of thankfulness--she staggered up to the door, brushing her dress +against the door as she did so--she put up her hand and knocked feebly. +The next instant the door was opened to her--a man, a total stranger, +confronted her, but behind him she saw Awdrey. She tottered into the +room. + +The comparative light and warmth within, after the darkness and chilly +damp of the spring evening, made her head reel, and her eyes at first +could take in no object distinctly. She was conscious of uttering +excited words, then she heard the door shut behind her. She looked +round--she was alone with the Squire. She staggered up to him, and fell +on her knees. + +"You must save me as I saved you long ago," she panted. + +"What is it? Get up. What do you mean?" said Awdrey. + +"I mean, Squire--oh! I mean I wanted to come to you to-day, but +Vincent,"--her voice faltered--"Vincent were mad wi' jealousy. He +thought that I ought not to see you, Squire; he had got summat in his +brain, and it made him mad. He thought that, perhaps, long ago, Squire, +I loved you--long ago. I'm not afeared to say anything to-night, the +truth will out to-night--I loved you long ago, I love you still; yes, +yes, with all my heart, with all my heart. You never cared nothin' for +me, I know that well. You never did me a wrong in thought or in deed, I +know that well also; but to me you were as a god, and I loved you, I +love you still, and Vincent, my husband, he must have seen it in my +face; but you did me no wrong--never, in word or in deed--only loved +you--and I love you still." + +"You must be mad, girl," said Awdrey. "Why have you come here to tell me +that? Get up at once; your words and your actions distress me much. Get +up, Hetty; try to compose yourself." + +"What I have come to say had best be said kneeling," replied Hetty; "it +eases the awful pain in my side to kneel. Let me be, Squire; let me +kneel up against your father's desk. Ah! that's better. It is my +heart--I think it's broke; anyhow, it beats awful, and the pain is +awful." + +"If you have come for any other reason than to say the words you have +just said, say them and go," replied Awdrey. + +Hetty glanced up at him. His face was hard, she thought it looked cruel, +she shivered from head to foot. Was it for this man she had sacrificed +her life? Then the awful significance of her errand came over her, and +she proceeded to speak. + +"Vincent saw the truth in my face," she continued. "Anyhow, he was mad +wi' jealousy, and he said that I worn't to come and see yer. He heard me +speak to yer last night, he heard me say it's a matter o' life and death +and he wor mad. He said I worn't to come; but I wor mad too, mad to +come, and I thought I'd get over him by guile. I put summat in his +stout, and he drank it--summat, I don't know the name, but I had took it +myself and it always made me a sight better, and I gave it to 'im in his +stout and he drank it, and then he slept. He lay down on the settle in +the kitchen, and he went off into a dead sleep. When he slept real sound +I stole away and I come to you. I saw you this evening and you spoke to +me and I spoke to you, and I begged of you to keep our secret, and I +thought perhaps you would, and I come away feelin' better. I went back +'ome, and the place were quiet, and I got into the kitchen. Vincent was +lying on the settle sound asleep. I thought nought o' his sleepin', only +to be glad, for I knew he'd never have missed me. I made his supper for +him, and built up the fire, and I lit the lamps in the house, and I took +off my outdoor things. The dog howled, but I didn't take no notice. +Presently I went up to Vincent, and I shook 'im--I shook 'im, 'ard, but +he didn't wake. I took his hand in mine, it wor cold as ice; I listened +for his breath, there wor none. Squire," said Hetty, rising now to her +feet, "my man wor dead; Squire, I have killed 'im, just the same as you +killed the man on Salisbury Plain six years ago. My husband is dead, and +I have killed him. Squire, you must save me as I saved you." + +"How?" asked Awdrey. His voice had completely altered now. In the +presence of the real tragedy all the hardness had left it. He sank into +a chair near Hetty's side, he even took one of her trembling hands in +his. + +"How am I to help you, you poor soul?" he said again. + +"You must prove an alibi--that's the word. You must say 'Hetty wor wi' +me, she couldn't have killed her man,' you must say that; you must tell +all the world that you and me was together here." + +"I'll do better than that," said Awdrey suddenly. + +"What do you mean?" Hetty started back and gazed at him with a queer +mixture of hope and terror in her face. "Better--but there ain't no +better," she cried. "Ef you don't tell the simple truth I'll be hanged; +hanged by the neck until I die--I, who saved you at the risk of my own +soul nearly six years gone." + +"I'll not let you be hanged," said Awdrey, rising. "Get up, Hetty; do +not kneel to me. You don't quite know what you have done for me +to-night. Sit on that chair--compose yourself--try to be calm. Hetty, +you just came in the nick of time. God and the devil were fighting for +my soul. In spite of all the devil's efforts God was getting the better +of it, and I--I didn't want him to get the best. I wanted the devil to +help me, and, Hetty, I even prayed to him that he might come and help +me. When I saw you coming into the room I thought at first that my +prayer was answered. I seemed to see the devil on your face. Now I see +differently--your presence has lifted a great cloud from before my +mind--I see distinctly, almost as distinctly as if I were in hell +itself, the awful consequences which must arise from wrong-doing. Hetty, +I have made up my mind; you, of all people, have been the most powerful +advocate on the side of God to-night. We will both do the right, +child--we will confess the simple truth." + +"No, Squire, no; they'll kill me, they'll kill me, if you don't help me +in the only way you can help me--you are stronger than me, Squire--don't +lead me to my death." + +"They won't kill you, but you must tell the whole truth as I will tell +the truth. It can be proved that you gave the poison to your husband +with no intent to kill--that matter can be arranged promptly. Come with +me, Hetty, now--let us come together. If you falter I'll strengthen you; +if I falter you'll strengthen me. We will go together at once and +tell--tell what you saw and what I did nearly six years ago." + +"What you did on Salisbury Plain?" she asked. + +"Yes, the time I killed that man." + +"Never, never," she answered; she fell flat on her face on the floor. + +Awdrey went to her and tried to raise her up. + +"Come," he said, "I have looked into the very heart of evil, and I +cannot go on with it--whatever the consequence we must both tell the +truth--and we will do it together; come at once." + +"You don't know what will happen to you," said Hetty. She shivered as +she lay prone before him. + +"No matter--nothing could happen so bad as shutting away the face of +God. I'll tell all, and you must tell all. No more lies for either of +us. We will save our souls even if our bodies die." + +"The pain--the pain in my side," moaned Hetty. + +"It will be better after we have gone through what is before us. Come, +I'll take your hand." + +She gave it timidly; the Squire's fingers closed over it. + +"Where are we to go?" she asked. "Where are you taking me?" + +"Come with me. I'll speak. Presently it will be your turn--after they +know all, all the worst, it will be your turn to speak." + +"Who are to know all, Squire?" + +"My wife, my sisters, Mrs. Everett, my friends." + +"Oh, God, God, why was I ever born!" moaned Hetty. + +"You'll feel better afterward," said Awdrey. "Try and remember that in +the awful struggle and ordeal of the next few minutes your soul and mine +will be born again--they will be saved--saved from the power of evil. Be +brave, Hetty. You told me to-night that you loved me--prove the +greatness of your love by helping me to save my own soul and yours." + +"I wonder if this is true," said Hetty. "You seem to lift me out of +myself." She spoke in a sort of dull wonder. + +"It is true--it is right--it is the only thing; come at once." + +She did not say any more, nor make the least resistance. They left the +office together. They trod softly on the gravel path which led to the +main entrance of the old house. They both entered the hall side by side. +Hetty looked pale and untidy; her hair fell partly down her back; there +were undried tears on her cheeks; her eyes had a wild and startled gleam +in them; the Squire was also deadly pale, but he was quiet and composed. +The fierce struggle which had nearly rent his soul in two was completely +over at that moment. In the calm there was also peace, and the peace had +settled on his face. + +Mrs. Henessey was standing in the wide entrance hall. She started when +she saw her brother; then she glanced at Hetty, then she looked again at +the Squire. + +"Why, Robert!" she said, "Robert!" + +There was an expression about Hetty's face and about Awdrey's face which +silenced and frightened her. + +"What is it?" she said in a low voice, "what is wrong?" + +"Where are the others?" asked the Squire. "I want to see them all +immediately." + +"They are in the front drawing-room--Margaret, Dr. Rumsey, Dorothy, my +husband and Dorothy's, and Margaret's uncle, Mr. Cuthbert." + +"I am glad he is there; we shall want a magistrate," said Awdrey. + +"A magistrate! What is the matter?" + +"You will know in a moment, Anne. Did you say Rumsey was in the +drawing-room?" + +"Yes; they are all there. Margaret is playing the "Moonlight +Sonata"--you hear it, don't you through the closed doors--she played so +mournfully that I ran away--I hate music that affects me to tears." + +Awdrey bent down and said a word to Hetty; then he looked at his sister. + +"I am going into the drawing-room, and Hetty Vincent will come with me," +he said. + +"I used to know you as Hetty Armitage," said Anne. "How are you, Hetty?" + +"She is not well," answered Awdrey for her, "but she will tell you +presently. Come into the drawing-room, too, Anne; I should like you to +be present." + +"I cannot understand this," said Anne. She ran on first and opened the +great folding-doors--she entered the big room, her face ablaze with +excitement and wonder--behind her came Awdrey holding Hetty's hand. +There was an expression on the Squire's face which arrested the +attention of every one present. Mr. Cuthbert, who had not seen him since +his return home, rose eagerly from the deep arm-chair into which he had +sunk, intending to give him a hearty welcome, but when he had advanced +in the Squire's direction a step or two, he paused--he seemed to see by +a sort of intuition that the moment for ordinary civilities was not +then. Margaret left her seat by the piano and came almost into the +centre of the room. Her husband's eyes seemed to motion her back--her +uncle went up to her and put his hand on her shoulder; he did not know +what he expected, nor did Margaret, but each one in the room felt with +an electric thrill of sympathy that a revelation of no ordinary nature +was about to be made. + +Still holding Hetty's hand, Awdrey came into the great space in front of +the fireplace; he was about to speak when Rumsey came suddenly forward. + +"One moment," he said. "This young woman is very ill; will some one +fetch brandy?" He took Hetty's slight wrist between his finger and +thumb, and felt the fluttering pulse. + +Anne rushed away to get the brandy. The doctor mixed a small dose, and +made Hetty swallow it. The stimulant brought back a faint color to her +cheeks, and her eyes looked less dull and dazed. + +"I have come into this room to-night with Hetty Vincent, who used to be +Hetty Armitage, to make a very remarkable statement," said Awdrey. + +Rumsey backed a few steps. He thought to himself: "We shall get now to +the mystery. He has made up his mind on the side of the good--brave +fellow! What can all this mean? What is the matter with that pretty +girl? She looks as if she were dying. What can be the connection between +them?" + +"What can be the connection between them?" was also the thought running +in the minds of every other spectator. Margaret shared it, as her +uncle's hand rested a little heavier moment by moment on her slight +shoulder. Squire Cuthbert was swearing heavily under his breath. The +sisters and their husbands stood in the background, prepared for any +"denouement"--all was quietness and expectancy. Mrs. Everett, who up to +the present instant had taken no part in the extraordinary scene, +hurried now to the front. + +"Squire," she said, "I don't know what you are going to say, but I can +guess. In advance, however, I thank you from my heart; a premonition +seizes me that the moment of my son's release is at hand. You have got +this young woman to reveal her secret?" + +"Her secret is mine," said Awdrey. + +Squire Cuthbert swore aloud. + +"Just wait one moment before you say anything," said Awdrey, fixing his +eyes on him. "The thing is not what you imagine. I can tell the truth in +half-a-dozen words. Mrs. Everett, you are right--you see the man before +you who killed Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain. Your son is innocent." + +"My God! You did this?" said Mrs. Everett. + +"Robert, what are you saying?" cried Margaret. + +"Robert!" echoed Anne. + +"Dear brother, you must be mad!" exclaimed Dorothy. + +"No, I am sane--I am sure I was mad for a time, but now I am quite sane +to-night. I killed Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain. Hetty Vincent saw +the murder committed; she hid her knowledge for my sake. Immediately +after I committed the deed the doom of my house fell upon me, and I +forgot what I myself had done. For five years I had no memory of my own +act. Rumsey, when I saw my face reflected in the pond, six months ago, +the knowledge of the truth returned to me. I remembered what I had done. +I remembered, and I was not sorry, and I resolved to hide the truth to +the death; my conscience, the thing which makes the difference between +man and beast, never awoke within me--I was happy and I kept well. But +yesterday--yesterday when I came home and saw my people and saw Hetty +here, and noticed the look of suffering on your face, Mrs. Everett, the +voice of God began to make itself heard. From that moment until now my +soul and the powers of evil have been fighting against the powers of +good. I was coward enough to think that I might hide the truth and +suffer, and live the life of a hypocrite." The Squire's voice, which had +been quite quiet and composed, faltered now for the first time. "It +could not be done," he added. "I found I could not close with the +devil." + +At this moment a strange thing happened. Awdrey's wife rushed up to him, +she flung her arms round his neck, and laid her head on his breast. + +"Thank God!" she murmured. "Nothing matters, for you have saved your +soul alive." + +Awdrey pushed back his wife's hair, and kissed her on her forehead. + +"But this is a most remarkable thing," said Mr. Cuthbert, finding his +tongue, and coming forward. "You, Awdrey--you, my niece's husband, come +quietly into this room and tell us with the utmost coolness that you are +a murderer. I cannot believe it--you must be mad." + +"No, I am perfectly sane. Hetty Vincent can prove the truth of my words. +I am a murderer, but not by intent. I never meant to kill Frere; +nevertheless, I am a murderer, for I have taken a man's life." + +"You tell me this?" said Squire Cuthbert. "You tell me that you have +suffered another man to suffer in your stead for close on six years." + +"Unknowingly, Squire Cuthbert. There was a blank over my memory." + +"I can testify to that," said Rumsey, now coming forward. "The whole +story is so astounding, so unprecedented, that I am not the least +surprised at your all being unable to make a just estimate of the true +circumstances at the present moment. Nevertheless, Awdrey tells the +simple truth. I have watched him as my patient for years. I have given +his case my greatest attention. I consider it one of the most curious +psychological studies which has occurred in the whole of my wide +experience. Awdrey killed Horace Frere, and forgot all about it. The +deed was doubtless done in a moment of strong irritation." + +"He was provoked to it," said Hetty, speaking for the first time. + +"It will be necessary that you put all that down in writing," said +Rumsey, giving her a quick glance. "Squire, I begin to see a ghost of +daylight. It is possible that you may be saved from the serious +consequences of your own act, if it can be proved before a jury that you +committed the terrible deed as a means of self-protection." + +"It was for that," said Hetty again. "I can tell exactly what I saw." + +The excited people who were listening to this narrative now began to +move about and talk eagerly and rapidly. Rumsey alone altogether kept +his head. He saw how ill Hetty was, and how all-important her story +would be if there was any chance of saving Awdrey. It must be put in +writing without delay. + +"Come and sit here," he said, taking the girl's hand and leading her to +a chair. All the others shrank away from her, but Mrs. Everett, whose +eyes were blazing with a curious combination of passionate anger and +wild, exultant joy, came close up to her for a moment. + +"Little hypocrite--little spy!" she hissed. "Don't forget that you have +committed perjury. Your sentence will be a severe one." + +"Hush," said Rumsey, "is this a moment--?" A look in his eyes silenced +the widow--she shrank away near one of the windows to relieve her +overcharged feelings in a burst of tears. + +"Sit here and tell me exactly what you saw," said Rumsey to Hetty. "Mr. +Cuthbert, you are doubtless a magistrate?" + +"Bless my stars, I don't know what I am at the present moment," said the +worthy Squire, mopping his crimson brow. + +"Try to retain your self-control--remember how much hangs on it. This +young woman is very ill--it will be all important that we get her +deposition before----" Rumsey paused; Hetty's eyes were fixed on his +face, her lips moved faintly. + +"You may save the Squire after all if you tell the simple truth," said +Rumsey kindly, bending toward her and speaking in a low voice. "Try and +tell the simple truth. I know you are feeling ill, but you will be +better afterward. Will you tell me exactly what happened? I shall put it +down in writing. You will then sign your own deposition." + +"I'll tell the truth," said Hetty--"is it the case that if I tell just +the truth I may save Squire?" + +"It is his only chance. Now begin." + +The others crowded round when Hetty began to speak; all but Mrs. +Everett, who still sat in the window, her face buried in her +handkerchief. + +Hetty began her tale falteringly, often trembling and often pausing, but +Rumsey managed to keep her to the point. By and by the whole queer story +was taken down and was then formally signed and sworn to. Rumsey finally +folded up the paper and gave it to Squire Cuthbert to keep. + +"I have a strong hope that we may clear Awdrey," he said. "The case is a +clear one of manslaughter which took place in self-defence. Mrs. +Vincent's deposition is most important, for it not only shows that +Awdrey committed the unfortunate deed under the strongest provocation, +but explains exactly why Frere should have had such animosity to the +Squire. Now, Mrs. Vincent, you have rendered a very valuable service, +and as you are ill we cannot expect you to do anything further +to-night." + +Here Rumsey looked full at Margaret. + +"I think this young woman far too unwell to leave the house," he +said--"can you have a room prepared for her here?" + +"Certainly," said Margaret; she went up to Hetty and laid one of her +hands on her shoulder. + +"Before Hetty leaves the room, there is something to be said on her own +account," said the Squire. + +He then related in a few words the tragedy which had taken place at the +Gable Farm. While he was speaking, Hetty suddenly staggered to her feet +and faced them. + +"If what I have told to-night will really save you, Squire, then nothing +else matters," she said; "I'm not afeared now, for ef I 'ave saved you +at last, nothing matters,"--her face grew ghastly white, she tumbled in +a heap to the floor. + +The doctor, Margaret, and the Squire rushed to her assistance, but when +they raised her up she was dead. + +"Heart disease," said Rumsey, afterward, "accelerated by shock." + + * * * * * + +A few more words can finish this strange story. At the Squire's own +request, Mr. Cuthbert took the necessary steps for his arrest, and +Rumsey hurried to town to get the interference of the Home Secretary in +the case of Everett, who was suffering for Awdrey's supposed crime in +Portland prison. The doctor had a long interview with one of the +officials at the Home Office, and disclosed all the queer circumstances +of the case. Everett, according to the Queen's Prerogative, received in +due course a free pardon for the crime he had never committed, and was +restored to his mother and his friends once again. + +Awdrey's trial took place almost immediately afterward at Salisbury. The +trial was never forgotten in that part of the country, and was the one +topic of conversation for several days in the length and breadth of +England. So remarkable and strange a case had never before been +propounded for the benefit of the jury, but it was evident that the very +learned Judge who conducted the trial was from the first on the side of +the prisoner. + +Hetty's all-important deposition made a great sensation; her evidence +was corroborated by Mrs. Armitage, and when Rumsey appeared as a witness +he abundantly proved that Awdrey had completely forgotten the deed of +which he had been guilty. His thrilling description of his patient's +strange case was listened to with breathless attention by a crowded +court. The trial lasted for two days, during which the anxiety of all +Awdrey's friends can be better imagined than described. At the end of +the trial, the jury returned a verdict of "Not Guilty." In short, his +strange case had been abundantly proved: he had done what he did without +intent to kill and simply as a means of self-defence. + +On the evening of his return to Grandcourt, he and Margaret stood in the +porch together side by side. It was a moonlight night, and the whole +beautiful place was brightly illuminated. + +"Robert," said the wife, "you have lived through it all--you will now +take a fresh lease of life." + +He shook his head. + +"It is true that I have gone through the fire and been saved," he said, +"but there is a shadow over me--I can never be the man I might have +been." + +"You can be a thousand times better," she replied with flashing eyes, +"for you have learned now the bitter and awful lesson of how a man may +fall, rise again, and in the end conquer." + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Dr. Rumsey's Patient, by L. T. Mead and Dr. Halifax + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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