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+Project Gutenberg's Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3), by Richard Dowling
+
+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: Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3)
+       A Romance
+
+Author: Richard Dowling
+
+Release Date: May 20, 2013 [EBook #42752]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TEMPEST-DRIVEN (VOL. III OF 3) ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
+Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+     1. Page scan source:
+        http://archive.org/details/tempestdrivenrom02dowl
+        (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           TEMPEST-DRIVEN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            TEMPEST-DRIVEN
+
+                              A Romance.
+
+
+
+
+                                  BY
+
+                           RICHARD DOWLING,
+
+       AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF KILLARD," "THE WEIRD SISTERS,"
+  "THE SPORT OF FATE," "UNDER ST. PAUL'S," "THE DUKE'S SWEETHEART,"
+           "SWEET INISFAIL," "THE HIDDEN FLAME," ETC.
+
+
+
+
+                         _IN THREE VOLUMES_.
+
+                              VOL. III.
+
+
+
+
+
+                               LONDON:
+              TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST., STRAND.
+                                1886.
+
+                       [_All rights reserved_.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                      CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,
+                         CRYSTAL PLACE PRESS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                              CONTENTS.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+SALMON AND COWS.
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+A FORTUNE LOST.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+A TELEGRAM FROM THE MAIL.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+THE TRAVELLERS.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+SOLICITOR AND CLIENT.
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+THE WIDOW'S THEORY OF THE CASE.
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+"WHERE'ER I CAME I BROUGHT CALAMITY."
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+A COMPACT.
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XL.
+
+AN EXPEDITION PROPOSED.
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLI.
+
+AT THE WHALE'S MOUTH.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLII.
+
+THE RED CAVE.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+A RETROSPECT.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+A LAST APPEAL.
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLV.
+
+BEYOND THE VEIL.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+AN EVENING WALK.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+CONCLUSION.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            TEMPEST-TOSSED
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+                           SALMON AND COWS.
+
+
+Luncheon that day at Carlingford House was a quiet, subdued meal.
+Edith Paulton, who was very small and vivacious, better-looking than
+Madge, and distinguished by shrewd discontent rather than the
+amiability which radiated from her elder sister, was the only one at
+the table that made an effort at being sprightly. Although she was not
+unsympathetic, she had a much more keen appreciation of her own
+annoyances and troubles than those of others. She took great liberties
+with her good-natured father and mother, and treated her brother as if
+he were a useless compound of slave, fool, and magnanimous mastiff.
+She was by no means wanting in affection, but she hated displays of
+sentiment, and felt desperately inclined to laugh on grave occasions.
+
+That day, when the two girls left the back room, they went straight to
+Madge's, where they talked over the arrival of Jerry O'Brien, for whom
+Edith strongly suspected Madge had a warmer feeling than friendship,
+and who, she felt morally certain, greatly to her secret delight, was
+over head and ears in love with Madge. The only human being in whom
+she had infinite faith was Madge. She did not consider any hero or
+conqueror of history good enough for her sister. To her mind, there
+was only one flaw in Madge: Madge would not worship Madge. Madge
+thought every one else in the world of consequence but herself. Edith
+thought Madge the only absolutely perfect person living, or that ever
+had lived--leaving out, of course, the important defect just
+mentioned. The younger girl had, in human affairs, a certain hardness
+and common-sense plainness which shocked the more sensitive sister.
+For instance, she could not see anything at all pathetic in Mrs.
+Davenport's situation.
+
+Before the bell rang for luncheon, she said to her sister:
+
+"I can't for the life of me see what is so terribly melancholy in Mrs.
+Davenport's case. I think she got out of it rather well. She didn't
+care anything for that dreadful old man who poisoned himself out of
+some horrid kind of spite. She hasn't been put in prison, and he left
+her a whole lot of money. So that as she isn't exactly an old maid, or
+a grandmother, she can marry any other horrid old man she likes. Oh,
+yes; I know she's very beautiful, and what you call young, Madge.
+She's not fifty yet, I suppose. Every woman _is_ young now until she's
+forty or fifty; and as to men, they don't seem to grow old now at any
+age. As long as a man doesn't use crutches, they say he is in the full
+vigour of manhood--that he's not marriageable until he's gray, and
+bald, and deaf of one ear, or can't read even with glasses. I suppose
+father will make her stop for dinner. I thought I'd laugh outright
+when I saw him go to her and call her 'child.' Child! Fancy calling a
+widow _child!_ If ever he calls me child again, I'll tell him, as far
+as I know, I have not buried any husband yet. But, Madge, if she
+_does_ stop for dinner, I'm not going to sit there and learn the very
+latest thing in the manners of widows. I'll go out for a walk after
+luncheon. Do you know, I think Jerry O'Brien is half in love with this
+beautiful widow! I'll ask him to come with me, I will; and you,
+good-natured fool, may sit within and catch the airs and graces of
+early widowhood, though I don't think they'll ever be of any use to
+you. You're certain to die an old maid. Alfred can't keep his eyes off
+her. It's a pity we haven't that nice Mr. Blake here--her old
+sweetheart. There, Madge, I don't mean a word I say, especially about
+Jerry O'Brien. I know he's madly in love with me. I'm going to give
+him a chance of proposing this evening. We'll walk as far as the
+Palace, and if you get separated from us, and see me holding my
+umbrella out from my side on two fingers--this way--just don't come
+near us, and you shall be my bridesmaid, and Jerry shall give you a
+present of a bracelet representing a brazen widow sitting on a silver
+salmon. There's the bell! Madge, love, I'm not a beast, only a brute.
+There!--I won't be rude again, and I'll try and rather like Mrs.
+Davenport. She'll be a neighbour of mine, you know, when I'm married
+to Jerry. I think I'll call him _Jer_ then."
+
+After luncheon, Mrs. Paulton suggested that Mrs. Davenport should lie
+down, as she must be quite worn out. But the latter would not consent
+to this. She said she felt quite refreshed, and in no need of rest, as
+she had slept well the previous night--although some memory of the
+Channel passage was in her brain, and the sound of the railway journey
+in her ears.
+
+The evening was fine. Neither Mrs. Davenport nor Alfred cared for a
+walk when it was suggested by Edith, but Jerry said he would like it
+of all things; so he and the two sisters set off down the fine, broad,
+prosperous-looking Dulwich Road, in the direction of the Crystal
+Palace.
+
+It is proverbially a small world, and the three pedestrians had not
+gone many hundred yards when whom should they see but Nellie Cahill,
+one of the firm friends and confidantes of the Paulton girls. Before
+the three came up with Miss Cahill, Edith gave a brief and graphic
+sketch of her to Jerry, who had not had the pleasure of meeting her
+before. She was good-looking, good-humoured, jolly, a dear old thing,
+mad as a March hare, true as steel, and last, though not least,
+interesting to him--a fellow country-woman of his, as her name
+betokened.
+
+He must be introduced to her. He must like her awfully. He must love
+her, if it came to that, unless, indeed, that slow coach Alfred had
+been before him--in which case he, Jerry, was to be exceedingly
+obliging and deferential; for any one would rather have a nice girl
+like Nellie for a sister-in-law than a thousand widows.
+
+Jerry was duly introduced, and said civil things and silly things, and
+the four walked on all abreast, until Edith suddenly remembered that
+she had to tell Nellie all about the reappearance of Mrs. Davenport,
+and a lot of other matters, in which two sober, steady-going,
+middle-aged people like Madge and Jerry could, by no stress of
+imagination, be supposed to take a sensible and hilarious interest. So
+the younger division of the party, comprised of Nellie Cahill and
+Edith Paulton, fell to the rear, and the other division kept the
+front. And thus, in spite of all Edith's designs on Jerry both for
+herself and Nellie, these two enterprising and eminently desirable and
+lovable young ladies lost all chance of his offering marriage to
+either that afternoon.
+
+A long story of the detestable villainy of the Fishery Commissioners
+had to be first and foremost related to Madge. Considering that she
+did not know what a weir was, and had never seen a salmon except on
+the table or the marble slab of a fish-shop, and that according to her
+notion the appearance of a Commissioner was something between a
+beefeater of the Tower of London and a Brighton boatman, she listened
+with great patience, and made remarks which caused Jerry to laugh
+sometimes, and plunge into profound technicalities at others. But it
+became quite plain that Jerry himself did not take any consuming
+interest in his own wrongs and the refined ruffianism of the
+Commissioners; for at a most bewildering description of the channel,
+and the draught of water, and the set of tides, and the idiosyncrasies
+of coal barges, he looked over his shoulder and, finding Edith and her
+friend a good way behind, stopped suddenly in his discourse and said:
+
+"Madge, I've been reeling off a lot of rubbish to you just to drop the
+others a good bit astern. I now want to say something very serious to
+you. Are you listening?"
+
+"Yes; but look at that cow! Did you ever see a more contented-looking
+creature in all your life?"
+
+She kept her face turned towards the hedge.
+
+"Confound the cow!" he cried. "Do you think I am going to give up
+talking of Bawn salmon and barges, and talk about Dulwich cows? Are
+you listening?"
+
+"I am. But did you--now--did you ever see such a lovely cow?"
+
+"Look here, Madge: If this is reprisal for my harangue about my
+miserable salmon weirs, I'll not say another word about them. Are you
+going to be friends with me?"
+
+"Yes--of course."
+
+Still the cow occupied her eyes, to judge by the way her head was
+turned.
+
+"I came out expressly to have a most serious talk with you on a most
+important matter----"
+
+"I am sure I was very sorry to hear about your salmon nets----"
+
+"Nets! Nets! Good heavens, Madge!--I never said a word about nets the
+whole time. I'm not a cot-man. Look here: you know it's only a few of
+the greatest minds that can attend to two things at the one time. You
+can't give your soul to fish and yet devote yourself to cows at the
+one moment, except you are a person like Julius Cæsar. He could
+dictate and write completely different things at the one time."
+
+"Could he? He must have been very clever."
+
+"Will you give up the cow? I want to talk of another beast."
+
+"Trout?"
+
+"No, not trout. Trout isn't a beast. If you're clever and smart, and
+that kind of thing, I won't talk about my beast."
+
+"What is your beast?"
+
+"A fool."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Are you not curious to know who the fool is?"
+
+"There are so many, one cannot be interested in all."
+
+"No; but you are interested in this one."
+
+Silence.
+
+"I say you are interested in Alfred."
+
+"Alfred!" She looked quickly round for the first time since the cow
+had attracted her attention. Her colour was vivid, and her breath came
+short. "Alfred a fool!"
+
+"Yes; he's hit--badly hit."
+
+"You don't think him ill?"--in alarm. The colour faded quickly.
+
+"I think him very bad."
+
+"His brain again. Oh, do tell me!"--pleadingly.
+
+"No. He told me all in the front room to-day. It's his heart this
+time."
+
+"His heart?"
+
+"Yes. Love."
+
+"Love! In love with whom?"
+
+"I forget."
+
+"You forget whom he is in love with?"
+
+"Yes. Another matter has put it out of my head. Madge, I'm a fool too.
+You needn't turn away. There are no more cows, Madge. Give up the
+salmon and cows, Madge, and have me instead! Will you, Madge? Give me
+your hand.... Thank you, love. Madge!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The other two have turned back. There is no one else in the road. May
+I kiss you?"
+
+She looked over her shoulder on the side away from him. Then she
+looked at him....
+
+"Thank you, darling. Let us turn back. I have touched the limits of my
+happiest road. Madge!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Yes, Jerry. Say 'Yes, Jerry.'"
+
+"Yes, Jerry."
+
+"That's better. I won't kiss you again until we get into the house. Do
+you think you can last out till then?"
+
+"I--I think so, Jerry."
+
+"That's right. Cultivate self-denial and obedience. You don't think it
+is respectable for a man to kiss his sweetheart on a public road?"
+
+"No."
+
+"That's right. Cultivate self-denial and obedience, but chiefly
+obedience. Don't you think it is the duty of woman to cultivate
+obedience chiefly?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"And if I asked it, you would, out of obedience to me, trample
+self-denial under foot?"
+
+"Certainly, Jerry, if you wished it."
+
+"I do. Oh, my Madge--my darling--my gentle love! Once more."
+
+"But Edith has turned round and sees us.... And my hat--you have
+knocked off my hat.... Thanks. Now pick up my hair-pin. It fell with
+the hat. What will Edith think?"
+
+"I'll tell her. I'll tell Edith quite plainly it was your
+self-restraint gave way, not mine."
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+                           A FORTUNE LOST.
+
+
+That day settled many things. Alfred had told O'Brien that no matter
+how unwise or rash it might seem, he had made up his mind to try his
+fate with Mrs. Davenport--not, of course, at that time, perhaps not
+very soon, but ultimately, and as soon as possible.
+
+Until that day--until he had seen her moved by the sense of her own
+loneliness, until he had seen the tears start into her eyes--he had
+not said even to himself that he loved her. He told himself over and
+over again that he would risk his prospects, his life, his honour for
+her. How his prospects or life could be imperilled he did not know,
+did not care. He had a modest fortune of his own, and her husband had
+left her the bulk of his great wealth. He would have preferred her
+poor rather than rich. But if she would marry him, he would not allow
+the fact that she had money to stand in the way of his happiness. She
+had for a while, owing to circumstances in which no blame attached to
+her, found herself labouring under a hideous suspicion. From the
+shadow of that suspicion she had emerged without blemish. She had been
+cruelly ill-used by fate, but it had been shown she was blameless.
+Where, then, could danger to his honour lie? Her beauty was
+undeniable; her family unexceptionable. She had been sold to an old
+man by a venal lover. In this lurked no disgrace to her. What could
+his father or mother find in her to object to? Nothing--absolutely
+nothing. That day his father and mother showed great pleasure in
+seeing her again. His father had suggested--nay, arranged--that he
+should accompany her on that long journey to Ireland.
+
+When Jerry O'Brien left Carlingford House that afternoon, he had no
+intention of asking Madge to be his wife. All the way from Kilbarry to
+London he had been assuring himself that nothing could be more
+injudicious than to say anything to her on the subject at present. He
+believed she was not indifferent to him. Little actions and words of
+hers had given him cause to hope. He was sure she preferred him to any
+other man in whose society he had ever seen her. She had smiled and
+coloured at his approach, and once or twice, when he had ventured to
+press her hand, he had suffered no reproach by word or look. All this
+made it only the more necessary for him to be on guard and not allow
+himself to be betrayed into a declaration until his affairs were
+settled. But the opportunity came, and he could not resist the
+temptation of telling her he loved her, and of hearing from her that
+he was loved by her. It is true no word had been said between them of
+an engagement even. The mere formality of speech was nothing.
+Practically he had asked her to be his wife, and she had plainly given
+him to understand she was willing to marry him.
+
+Madge got back to the house in a state of bewildered excitement. She
+confided nothing to her sister, and Edith behaved very well, never
+showing even a trace of curiosity or slyness. She persisted in talking
+of the most everyday topic. She wondered whether Miss Grant, the
+dressmaker, would keep her word?--whether this would be as bad a year
+for roses as last? She was of opinion the cold weather would not
+return. Nellie Cahill had told her the new play at the Ben Jonson was
+a complete failure, in spite of all said to the contrary, and so on.
+Madge replied in monosyllables or vacant laughs. When the girls got
+home, each went to her own room, and they did not meet again until
+dinner time. Madge decided she had no occasion to speak to her mother,
+or any one else, about what occurred on the Dulwich Road. It would be
+time enough to speak when Jerry said something more definite to her,
+or when either her father or mother spoke to her.
+
+Jerry sought Alfred, whom he found alone in the library. He had been
+carried beyond himself that afternoon, and did not feel in the
+position to administer to his friend a lecture on prudence. Alfred was
+of full age, and, in the way of money, independent of his father. Let
+him do as he pleased and take his chance, as any other man must in
+similar circumstances. He himself, for instance, would take advice in
+his love affair from neither Fishery Commissioners nor John O'Hanlon.
+
+"How far did you go?" asked Alfred, who looked flushed, radiant. He
+got up and began walking slowly about the room.
+
+"Oh, a little beyond the College. It isn't a very pleasant day out of
+doors. We met an old flame of yours--Miss Cahill."
+
+"Miss Cahill an old flame of mine! Why, I never was more than civil to
+the girl in all my life! Who invented that story for you?"
+
+"I don't think it was pure invention. Edith mentioned it to us."
+
+"'To us!' Good heavens, you don't mean to say she said anything of the
+kind in Miss Cahill's presence?"
+
+"Well, no--not exactly in her presence, but when she was near us. How
+did you get on since?"
+
+Jerry's object was to keep the conversation in his own hands, and
+prevent Alfred asking questions. To-morrow, when they were both clear
+of London, he might take his friend into his confidence, but not now.
+
+"Oh, dully enough," answered Alfred, with a look of disappointment.
+"My father went out, my mother is busy about the house, and Mrs.
+Davenport is in her room. She will, I hope, be able to come down to
+dinner. You don't think, Jerry," he asked, anxiously, while he paused
+before his friend, "that her health has suffered by all she has gone
+through?"
+
+"No; but I am quite sure your peace of mind has," replied Jerry, with
+a dry smile.
+
+With all his desire to be conciliatory, he could not wholly curb his
+tongue.
+
+"I," laughed the other, "was never happier in all my life. Why, only
+to think that she is under this roof now, and that we are going on a
+long journey with her to-morrow, and that I am to be near her for a
+whole month! It's too good to be true."
+
+"I hope not."
+
+"Well, Jerry, I hope not too; but it seems too good. I know you are
+one of those men who never give way to their feelings until they know
+exactly whither their feelings are taking them. It isn't every one who
+has such complete self-command as you. I am willing to risk everything
+in the world for a woman. Some men are too cautious to risk anything."
+
+"There's a good deal of truth and a good deal of rubbish in what you
+say," rejoined Jerry, colouring slightly, and concealing his face from
+his companion by going to the window and looking out at the evergreens
+and leafless trees in the front garden.
+
+Alfred's last speech had not been exactly a chance shot. He more than
+guessed Jerry cared a good deal for Madge; but the tone of the other
+had exasperated him, and he made an effort to compel silence, if not
+sympathy, from him. Jerry was not prepared to retort. He did not want
+to deny or assert his own susceptibility to the unconscious arts of
+any woman; and, above all, he did not wish Madge's name to be
+introduced even casually.
+
+At last dinner came. It was an informal, a substantial, cosy meal. No
+special preparations had been made for the guests. There was no
+display, no stint, no profusion. Jerry sat beside Madge, and Alfred
+between Edith and Mrs. Davenport. Jerry was the most taciturn--Madge
+the most demure of the party. Mr. Paulton was chatty, cordial, and
+particularly gracious to the widow. Mrs. Davenport was polite,
+impassable, absent-minded.
+
+When they were waiting for the joint, Mr. Paulton turned to Jerry, and
+said:
+
+"Are you depressed at the prospect of spending a while with an
+invalid? To look at you both, one would think it was you, not Alfred,
+who wants change of air."
+
+"And so it is," said Jerry, stealing a look at Madge.
+
+In order to divert attention from her, for she felt her face growing
+hot, she said:
+
+"I believe the south of Ireland is very mild?"
+
+"Oh, very!" Jerry answered, with startling vivacity. "It's the mildest
+climate in the world; but the people are not particularly mild: they
+are full of fire and fight. I have no doubt Alfred will come back a
+regular Milesian. You know those who live a while in Ireland always
+become more Irish than the Irish."
+
+"Never mind," said Mrs. Paulton. "He may become as Irish as he likes
+if he at the same time grows as well in health as we like."
+
+"I intend coming back quite a Goliath, mother. I shall eat and drink
+everything I see," said Alfred gaily.
+
+"You would find some of the things in the neighbourhood of Kilcash
+rather hard to chew. I think Mrs. Davenport will agree with me that it
+would take Goliath a long time to make a comfortable meal of the Black
+Rock, or to make a comfortable meal on it?"
+
+At the name of the Rock, Mrs. Davenport looked up and shuddered
+visibly, and said, as she rested slightly on the back of her chair:
+
+"The Black Rock is a hideous place."
+
+Then, turning to Alfred: "You must not go there."
+
+"I am altogether in the hands of this unprincipled wretch," answered
+Alfred, smiling and nodding at Jerry.
+
+"Then," said Jerry, "if you are not very civil--if you show a
+disposition to exhibit your Goliath-like prowess on me, I shall take
+you to the Black Rock, and first frighten the life out of you, and
+then throw you into the Puffing Hole, where, except you are the ghost
+of your own grandfather, or something equally monstrous, you will be
+promptly smashed into ten billions of invisible atoms."
+
+The rest of the dinner passed off quietly. When the dessert had been
+put on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, Mr. Paulton said:
+
+"Mr. O'Brien, I have often heard you talk of this Black Rock and the
+Puffing Hole, but I am afraid I never had the industry to ask you for
+a description of either. Are they very wonderful?"
+
+"There is nothing wonderful about the Rock, except its extent and
+peculiar shape and colour. But the Puffing Hole, although not unique,
+is curious and terrible."
+
+"I am doubly interested in them now, since I have the pleasure of
+numbering Mrs. Davenport among my friends. What are the Black Rock and
+Puffing Hole like?" He smiled, and bent gallantly towards the widow.
+
+"I think," said Jerry, "Mrs. Davenport herself is the best person to
+give you a description of either. Her house is near them, and she has
+lived, I may say, next door to them for years, and knows more than I
+do of the place. To make the matter even, if Mrs. Davenport will do
+the description I will do the narrative part of the tale. That is a
+fair division."
+
+Mrs. Davenport trembled slightly again, and was about to speak, when
+Mr. Paulton said, in a tone of impetuous persuasion:
+
+"Your house near these strange freaks of nature, Mrs. Davenport! Of
+course I did not know that, or I should not have dreamed of asking Mr.
+O'Brien for an account of them."
+
+The old man's belief was that it would divert Mrs. Davenport's mind
+from wholly gloomy subjects if she were only induced to speak of
+matters of general interest.
+
+She shook her head sadly.
+
+"It is true my home was for many years at Kilcash House, which is near
+the Black Rock. But----"
+
+She paused, and a peculiar smile took possession of her face. All eyes
+were fixed on her in expectation. No one cared to speak. What could
+that strange break mean? Surely, to describe a scene or phenomenon of
+the coast with which she was most familiar could not be very
+distressing?
+
+"But," she resumed, "it is my home no longer. It is true I am going
+back there for a little time--a few weeks; but that is only to arrange
+matters. I have now no home."
+
+The voice of the woman was almost free from emotion. It was slightly
+tremulous towards the end; but if she had been reading aloud a passage
+she but dimly understood, she could have displayed no less emotion.
+
+"No home!--no home!" said Mr. Paulton, so softly as to be only just
+audible. "I was under the impression you had been left Kilcash House."
+
+"Yes, my husband left me Kilcash House and other things--other
+valuable things--and a large sum of money. But----"
+
+Again she paused at the ominous "but."
+
+Again all were silent, and now even Mr. Paulton could not light on
+words that seemed likely to help the widow over her hesitation.
+
+"But I cannot take anything."
+
+Once more the old man repeated her words: "Cannot take anything! Are
+the conditions so extraordinary--so onerous?"
+
+He and O'Brien thought that the principal condition must be forfeiture
+in case she married Blake. This would explain much of what was now
+incomprehensible.
+
+"There are no conditions whatever in the will," she said in the same
+unmoved way.
+
+"No conditions! And yet you have no home, although your late husband
+has left you a fine house?"
+
+"Yes, and all that is necessary for the maintenance of that house;
+notwithstanding which, I have no home, and am a beggar."
+
+"Mrs. Davenport," cried the old man, with genuine concern, "what you
+say is very shocking. I hope it is not true."
+
+"I know this is not the time or place to talk of business. I know my
+business can have little or no interest for you."
+
+"Excuse me, my dear Mrs. Davenport, there is nothing out of place
+about such talk now, and you really must not say we take but slight
+interest in your affairs. On the contrary, we are very much interested
+in them. I think I may answer for every member of my family, and say
+that beyond our own immediate circle of relatives there is no lady in
+whom we take so deep an interest."
+
+The old man was solemn and emphatic.
+
+"I am sure," said Mrs. Paulton, looking round the table, "that my
+husband has said nothing but the simple fact."
+
+She turned her eyes upon the widow.
+
+"Mrs. Davenport, I hope you will always allow me to be your friend.
+Your troubles have, I know, been very great, and you are now no doubt
+suffering so severely that you think the whole world is against you.
+We, at all events, are not. Anything we can do for you we will; and,
+believe me, Mrs. Davenport, doing anything for you will be a downright
+pleasure."
+
+The widow bowed her head for a moment before speaking. It seemed as
+though she could not trust her voice. After a brief pause she sat up,
+and, resting the tips of the fingers of both hands on the table, said:
+
+"As I told you earlier to-day, I have been alone all my life, and the
+notion of fellowship is terrible to me, coming now upon me when my
+life is over."
+
+"Indeed you should not talk of your life being over. You are still
+quite young. Many a woman does not begin her life until she is older
+than you."
+
+"I am thirty-four, and that is not young for one to begin life."
+
+"But, may I ask," said Mr. Paulton, "how it is that the will becomes
+inoperative? How is it that you cannot avail yourself of your
+husband's bequests?"
+
+"My reasons for not taking my husband's money must, for the present--I
+hope for ever--remain with myself. Mr. Blake has told me certain
+things, and I have found out others myself. I am now without money--I
+do not mean," she said, flushing slightly, "for the present moment,
+for a month or two--but I am without any money on which I can rely for
+my support. I shall have to begin life again--or, rather, begin it for
+the first time. I shall have to work for my living, just as any other
+widow who is left alone without provision. This is very plain
+speaking, but the position is simple."
+
+"But, my dear Mrs. Davenport, you must not in this way give yourself
+up to despair," said Mr. Paulton, as he rose and stood beside her.
+
+"Despair!" she cried, looking up at him with a quick glance of angry
+surprise. "Despair! You do not think me so poor a coward as to
+despair. How can one who never knew hope know despair? I am in no
+trouble about the future. I shall take to a line of life in which
+there is room and to spare for such as I."
+
+"Do not do anything hastily, I have a good deal of influence left."
+
+Mrs. Paulton, who saw that Mrs. Davenport was excited, over-wrought,
+rose and moved towards the door. The others stood up, excepting Mrs.
+Davenport, who, as she was excited and looking up into Mr. Paulton's
+face, did not hear the stir or see the move.
+
+"I am most sincerely obliged to you, Mr. Paulton, but I greatly fear
+that, much as I know you would wish it, you could not aid me in my
+business scheme."
+
+"May I ask what the business is?"
+
+"The stage."
+
+"The stage, Mrs. Davenport! You astound me."
+
+"I have lived alone and secluded all my life. For the future I shall,
+if I can, live among thousands of people, whom I will _compel_ to
+sympathise with my mimic trials, since I never had any one to
+sympathise with my real ones. I shall flee from an obscurity greater
+than a cloister's to the blaze and full publicity of the footlights.
+You think me mad?"
+
+"No; ill-advised. Who suggested you should do this?"
+
+She glanced around, and saw that the ladies were waiting for her.
+
+"I beg your pardon," she said to them, as she rose and walked towards
+the door, which Alfred held open.
+
+She turned back as she went out, and answered Mr. Paulton's question
+with the two words:
+
+"Mr. Blake."
+
+Alfred closed the door. The three men looked in amazement at one
+another.
+
+"There's something devilish in her or Blake," said the old man.
+
+"Or both," said Jerry O'Brien.
+
+By a tremendous effort, Alfred Paulton sat down and kept still. He did
+not say anything aloud, but to himself he moaned:
+
+"If I lose her, my reason will go again--this time for ever!"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+                      A TELEGRAM FROM THE MAIL.
+
+
+When the men found themselves alone and somewhat calmed down after the
+excitement caused by Mrs. Davenport's astonishing announcement, Mr.
+Paulton and Jerry discussed the proposed step with great minuteness
+and intelligence, while Alfred sat mute and listless. He pleaded the
+necessity of his going to bed early on account of to-morrow's journey.
+In the course of the discussion between the two elder men, Jerry held
+that if she did take to the stage, she would make one of the most
+startling successes of the time.
+
+"She has beauty enough," he said, "to make men fools, and fire enough
+to make them lunatics. What a Lady Macbeth she would be!"
+
+Mr. Paulton was anything but a fogey. He did not forget that he had
+been once young, nor did he forget that, when young, a pretty face and
+a fine figure had seemed extremely bewitching things. He was liberal
+in all his views, except in the matter of betting. To that vice he
+would give no quarter whatever. He never once sought to restrain his
+son's reading, and Alfred had a latchkey almost as soon as he was tall
+enough to reach the keyhole. Although he did not smoke himself, he saw
+no objection to others, his son included, smoking in suitable places,
+and with moderation. He did not exclude shilling whist from his code,
+although he never played. He rarely went out after dinner now, but
+when he made his mind up to move, he did not think there was anything
+unbecoming in his visiting a theatre--the _front_ of a theatre, mind
+you, sir. He supposed and believed there were many excellent men
+behind the scenes, and he did not feel himself called upon to say
+that the majority of the ladies were not all that could be desired;
+but--ah, well, he would be very sorry--it would, in fact, break his
+heart if either of his daughters--Madge, for instance--went upon the
+stage.
+
+With the latter part of this somewhat long-winded speech Jerry
+heartily concurred. He felt furious and full of strength when he
+fancied Madge behind the curtain, subjected to dictation and
+uncongenial associations, not to speak of anything more disagreeable
+still. There were nasty draughts and nasty smells, and nasty ropes and
+nasty dust, and sometimes the carefully-attuned ear might catch a
+nasty word. It was blasphemy to think of Madge in such an atmosphere,
+amid such surroundings. And then fancy any "young man" of fifty-six
+putting his arm round Madge, and administering even a stage kiss to
+his darling! The thing was preposterous, and not to be entertained by
+any sane mind.
+
+Coffee was sent into the dining-room, and the whole household retired
+early.
+
+Alfred's reflections that night were the reverse of pleasant. He had
+that day seen the woman he loved. She had come before his eyes as
+unsought as the flowery pageant of summer. She had filled his heart
+with tropical heat, had set fancy dancing in his head, and restored
+strength and vigour to his invalid body. He had, before the moment his
+eyes rested on her that day, been satisfied with the hope of seeing
+her in weeks, months. She had come voluntarily, no doubt, without
+special thought of him, to their home; she had once more accepted
+their hospitality, and he and O'Brien were to accompany her to
+Ireland. They would not travel together, but he should know she was
+near--know she was in the same train, in the same steamboat; they
+should meet frequently on the journey, and, crowning thought of all,
+they had one common destination!
+
+He had that day spent some delicious minutes in her company. While she
+was by he had forgotten his late illness, his present weakness. The
+immediate moment had been filled with incommunicable joy, and the
+future with splendid happiness.
+
+What had befallen all this dream of enchantment? Ruin--ruin complete
+and irreparable! She was, owing to some secret and mysterious cause or
+other, no longer rich. In her own estimation she was a pauper. That
+was little. If that was all, it could be borne with a smile--nay, with
+gratitude; for riches would act as a lure to other men, and he wanted
+only herself and, if it might come in time, her love.
+
+She had determined to go upon the stage. That was bad--entirely bad;
+but if this evil resolve stood alone, it might be combated. If she had
+determined merely with herself to follow the profession of an actress,
+she might be persuaded to abandon her design. But the unfortunate
+course she had made up her mind to follow had been suggested by Blake,
+by an old lover who years ago was dear to her, and now was absolute in
+her counsels. This put an end to every hope that she could ever be
+his.
+
+Oh, weary day, and wearier night!
+
+If he could, he would back out of going to Ireland; but that was now
+impossible. Under the pressure of his great joy, he had told O'Brien
+of his love for Mrs. Davenport, and all arrangements had, at his
+request, been made for their setting off to-morrow. She must go
+to-morrow. While there is life there is hope. He was hoping against
+hope; but accidents did happen in many cases, and might happen in this
+one. No man was bound to despair; in fact, despair was cowardly and
+unmanly. It was the duty of every man to hope, and he would hope. He
+would go to Ireland to-morrow; he would put his chance against
+Blake's. If this disappointment were to kill him or drive him mad, he
+might as well enjoy the pleasure of being near her until his health or
+mind gave way finally.
+
+When he came to this decision he fell asleep.
+
+Next day broke chill and dismal, and none of the folk at Carlingford
+House seemed lively except Edith. Mrs. Paulton was depressed because
+her only son was going away from home and into a country of which she
+had a vague and unfavourable notion. O'Brien was sulky at the thought
+of being torn from the side of Madge, now that he might talk freely to
+her of love and their prospects, and the brutal Commissioners. Mrs.
+Davenport was depressed by a variety of circumstances and
+considerations, and Alfred had much to make him anything but cheerful.
+Mr. Paulton's seriousness--that was the strongest word which could
+fairly be applied to his humour--was due to the dulness of the
+weather, and a depreciation in the value of some shares held by him.
+
+During the day each of the travellers was more or less busy with
+preparations. Mrs. Davenport had to go to town early in order to
+transact business she had neglected the day before. Alfred stayed
+mostly in his room, and O'Brien, far from sweet-tempered, managed,
+through the unsought contrivance of Edith, to be a whole hour alone
+with Madge.
+
+"You know," he said to her, when preliminaries had been disposed of,
+"it's a beastly nuisance to have to go away from you now. I'd much
+rather stop, I assure you."
+
+"You are very kind."
+
+"Don't be satirical, Madge. No woman ever yet showed to advantage when
+satirical. I say it's a great shame to have to go away, particularly
+when it's only to save appearances; for now that Blake has once more
+come on the scene, all is up with poor Alfred. Upon my word, Madge, I
+pity him."
+
+"Do you like her, Jerry?"
+
+"No. I like you. I like you very much. You're not a humbug."
+
+"Is she?"
+
+"No. But she's too awfully serious. I cannot help thinking she ought
+to do everything to the slow music of kettledrums."
+
+"Why kettle-drums?"
+
+"I don't know. I suppose it's because the concerted kettle-drum
+is the most bald and arid form of harmonious row. I'm afraid my
+language is neither select nor expressive. But one can't help one's
+feelings--particularly when one's feelings make one like you. I really
+am sorry to have to leave you."
+
+"But you mustn't blame me for that."
+
+"Now you are quite unreasonable. You must know that a man without a
+grievance is as insipid as a woman without vanity."
+
+"Jerry, I'm not a bit vain; I never was a bit vain. What could I be
+vain about?"
+
+"Ungrateful girl! Have I not laid my hand and fortune, including the
+bodies of the murdered Commissioners, at your feet?"
+
+"You are silly, Jerry."
+
+"How am I silly? In having laid my hand and fortune and the
+bodies----"
+
+"No. In talking such nonsense."
+
+"And you are not vain of having made a conquest of me?"
+
+"Jerry, I'm very fond of you, and I don't like you to talk to me as if
+you thought I was only a silly girl whom you were trying to amuse with
+any silly things you could think of. I hope you don't believe I'm a
+fool?"
+
+"No. You are right, Madge: it's a poor compliment for a man to talk
+mere tattle to his sweetheart. I wonder, darling, if you would give me
+a keepsake, now that I am going away?"
+
+"No. I have no faith in keepsakes. I would not take any keepsake from
+you, because I shall need nothing to remind me of you when you are
+away."
+
+"Darling, nor I of you. And if things go wrong with me?"
+
+"They can't go wrong with you."
+
+"I mean if I come off worse in these business affairs."
+
+"That will not make any difference in you."
+
+"No. Nor in you, darling?"
+
+"No."
+
+He held her in his arms a while, and said no more. Thus they parted.
+
+It had been arranged that the two men should meet Mrs. Davenport at
+Euston. They were on the platform when she arrived. To their surprise
+she was not alone: Blake accompanied her. As soon as they came forward
+he shook hands with her, raised his hat, and retired.
+
+O'Brien and Paulton were greatly taken aback by Blake's presence. They
+busied themselves about her luggage, and then took seats in the same
+compartment with her. They were the only passengers in the
+compartment.
+
+As soon as the train was in motion she leaned forward to O'Brien, and
+said in a clear, distinct voice, the edge of which was not dulled by
+the rumble of the wheels:
+
+"You arrived the day before yesterday from Ireland?"
+
+"Yes," he answered, bending forward and looking into her inscrutable
+eyes.
+
+"You have been at Kilcash?"
+
+"Yes. I was there for about a month."
+
+"Did you hear a ghost story there?"
+
+He started and looked seriously at her.
+
+"Yes, I did. May I ask if you have heard anything about it?"
+
+"Yes. When I got back to Jermyn Street where I stayed, I found a
+letter there telling me that a ghost, the ghost of a man named Michael
+Fahey, had been seen in the neighbourhood of Kilcash."
+
+"At the Black Rock. I was going to tell the story yesterday at dinner,
+but it slipped by."
+
+"Do you know anything of this--apparition?"
+
+"I saw it myself, and two others saw it."
+
+"Where do we stop first?"
+
+"At Rugby."
+
+She took a note-book from her pocket, and wrote something in it. When
+the writing was finished, she tore out the leaf on which it was, and
+handed the leaf to O'Brien, saying:
+
+"Will you be kind enough to telegraph this from Rugby for me?"
+
+"It will have to be written on a form," he said, hesitatingly.
+
+"Will you oblige by writing it on a form for me? There is no reason
+why you shouldn't read it."
+
+When he got out at Rugby he read the message. It was addressed to
+Blake, and ran:
+
+"_Mr. O'Brien saw what I told you. Follow me to Ireland at once_."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+                           THE TRAVELLERS.
+
+
+It was impossible for O'Brien to tell Alfred the nature of the
+telegram he had just despatched to Blake. It would not be seemly to
+whisper or to write, and to leave the compartment with the proclaimed
+intention of seeking a smoking carriage would be a transparent device.
+There was nothing for it but to sit still and keep silent.
+
+The three travellers settled themselves in their corners, and
+pretended to go to sleep. Each had thoughts of an absorbing nature,
+but none had anything exceptionally happy with which to beguile the
+dreary midnight journey. It was impossible to see if Mrs. Davenport
+slept or not. She had, upon settling herself after leaving Rugby,
+pulled down her thick veil over her face, and remained quite
+motionless. Young Paulton was not yet as strong as he imagined, and
+the monotonous sound and motion soon fatigued him, and he fell asleep.
+
+Although O'Brien kept his eyes resolutely shut he never felt more
+wakeful in his life.
+
+What on earth could this woman want with this man of most blemished
+reputation and desperate fortune? She had seen him lately, and he had
+told her something of the mysterious appearance near the Puffing Hole;
+but it was not until after they had started from Euston that she had
+made up her mind to summon him to Ireland. What could she want him
+for? She was, according to her own statement, now no longer rich. She
+was no longer young. The best years of her beauty had passed away. No
+doubt she was still an extremely beautiful woman, but the freshness
+was gone. As far as he knew, Blake was the last man in the world to
+marry such a woman. And yet there was some secret bond, some concealed
+link between them. He was not unjust to her. He did not believe she
+would inveigle any man into a marriage, and he could not understand
+why this Blake was now even tolerable to her.
+
+However matters might go, it looked as if Alfred were certain to
+suffer. It was quite plain he was madly in love with her, and that she
+did not see, or was indifferent to his passion. She was not a
+coquette. She showed no desire to claim indulgence because of her sex
+or sorrows, and certainly exacted no privilege as a tribute to her
+beauty. To him she seemed hard, mechanical, cold. She had, it is true,
+broken down the day before, but that was under extreme pressure.
+Usually she was as unsympathetic, self-contained as bronze.
+
+Jerry was not a fool or a bigot, and he allowed to himself, with
+perfect candour, that although he looked on Alfred's passion as
+infatuation, he could understand it. He himself was no more in love
+with her than with the black night through which they were speeding;
+but if she, at that moment, raised her veil and stood before him and
+bade him undertake something unpleasant--nay, dangerous--he would
+essay it. Strength gives command to a man, beauty to a woman, love to
+either.
+
+At Chester the three got coffee, and once more took up their corners
+and affected to sleep or slept.
+
+When they reached the boat at Holyhead, Mrs. Davenport said good-night
+and descended to the ladies' cabin. The two friends got on the bridge,
+and as soon as the steamer had started O'Brien took Paulton to the
+weather bulwark, and told him the substance of the telegram Mrs.
+Davenport had sent to London.
+
+To O'Brien's astonishment, the younger man made nothing of the matter.
+It was simply a business affair, he said: nothing of any moment. From
+all they had heard, Blake knew more than they had supposed of the dead
+man's affairs; and now that Mrs. Davenport had resolved not to take
+the fortune her husband had left her, it was almost certain Blake
+could be of assistance to her.
+
+After a little while it was agreed that the bridge was too cold for
+Alfred, so both men went below and lay down. O'Brien fell asleep, and
+did not awake until he was called close to Kingstown.
+
+It was a dreary, cold, bleak morning, with thin sunlight. There had
+been rain in the night, and everything looked chill and depressing.
+The passage had been smooth, and none of the three had suffered by it
+beyond the spiritless depression arising from imperfect rest and
+fatigue.
+
+When they alighted at Westland Row, Jerry suggested that they should
+send on their luggage to the King's Bridge terminus, and seek
+breakfast.
+
+"Not my luggage," said Mrs. Davenport; "I am not going to Kilcash
+to-day. Kindly get me a cab. I will stay at the 'Tourists' Hotel.' I
+have telegraphed, as you know, to Mr. Blake to come over, and will
+send him word to meet me there. I am extremely obliged to both of you
+for all your kindnesses on the way."
+
+Alfred started, and Jerry looked surprised.
+
+"You are," the latter said, "quite sure you prefer staying here. Of
+course I do not presume to interfere; but perhaps it might be more
+convenient for you, Mrs. Davenport, if Mr. Blake followed you to
+Kilcash?"
+
+"I am quite sure," she said, decisively, "that it would be best for me
+to stay in Dublin for the present."
+
+"If you simply wanted rest, we could wait for you a day or two," said
+Alfred, out of whose face all look of animation had gone.
+
+"Thank you, I am not in the least tired; and if you will get me a cab,
+and tell the man to drive me to the 'Tourists', you will greatly
+oblige me."
+
+Nothing more was to be done or said. Her luggage was put on a cab, she
+again thanked the two friends, and saying she hoped to have an
+opportunity of soon seeing them at Kilcash House, said goodbye to
+them, and drove away.
+
+Alfred and Jerry O'Brien got breakfast, drove to the King's Bridge
+terminus, and started for the South in no very good humour.
+
+"It's always the way," thought the latter, despondingly. "Only for the
+infernal Commissioners and O'Hanlon's craze about his brain--bless the
+mark!--I need not have left London last month. Only for Alfred's
+infatuated impatience and his father's vicarious gallantry, I might be
+there now; and here are the Commissioners gone to sleep, O'Hanlon's
+head good for nothing, any number of future bills of costs, and we
+deserted by the object of young love and elderly gallantry! Upon my
+word, it's too bad. If O'Hanlon had only had the good sense to murder
+the Commissioners while suffering from temporary or permanent
+insanity, and Blake owned the good taste to run away with the
+widow--why, then, things would be wholesome and comfortable. As it is,
+they are simply-beastly."
+
+The two friends arrived late that night at the "Strand Hotel,"
+Kilcash, and went to bed almost immediately. Neither rose early next
+morning, but when they did get up, they found the weather magically
+improved. A few high silver clouds floated against the deep blue
+screen of sky, beyond which one knew the stars lay; for the grass and
+bare branches of trees flashed and blazed, not with the yellow light
+of the gaudy sun, but with rays that seemed glorious memories of
+midnight stars. The sea in the bay was calm as a lake, and joined upon
+the level margin of the sand smoothly, like a steady white flame
+spreading out from a dull-red lake of fire. The doors of the cottages
+were open, and people were abroad. Thin wreaths of smoke went up from
+hushed hearths. Hundreds of gulls sailed slowly up and down across the
+mouth of the bay. Now a dog barked, now a cock crew, now a wild bird
+whistled.
+
+Opposite Alfred, as he stood at his window, drinking in the peace of
+the scene, rose the sloping sides of the bay. On them were sheep
+grazing. Here the salt blasts from the Atlantic would let no wheat or
+oats, or grain of any other kind, prosper. Nothing would grow but
+short, poor grass, on which sheep picked up an humble livelihood. The
+harvest fields of Kilcash were beyond the bay, out there on the blue
+depths of the ocean, that great cosmopolitan common of the races of
+man.
+
+Little labour was ever to be done in Kilcash. Its farms, its
+workshops, its mines were in the sea. No child, until he himself went
+to sea, ever saw his father work. The men came home not merely to
+their houses, but to the village to rest. When they had hauled up
+their boats, and carried away the nets and sails and oars and masts,
+their labours were at an end. The women bore the fish up to the Storm
+Wall, whence it was thrown into carts and creels, and driven off to
+Kilbarry. The visitors who came to the place in summer did not work.
+They came avowedly to do nothing--to idle through the sunny weather,
+to play at fishing, play at boating, play at swimming, to make grave
+business of doing nothing.
+
+"I feel it doing me good already," said Alfred, as he threw up the
+window and spread his chest broad to take a full inspiration of the
+invigorating, balsamic air.
+
+After a late breakfast the two friends strolled out.
+
+"What shall we do to-day?" said Jerry, lighting a cigar.
+
+"What is there to be done?" asked Alfred, by way of reply.
+
+"Nothing," answered Jerry, throwing away the match--"absolutely
+nothing. It is because there is nothing to be done here I thought the
+place would do you good."
+
+"Not by way of change?" said Alfred, with a smile.
+
+"Well, doing nothing at Kilcash is very different from doing nothing
+in London. There you get up, eat breakfast, look at the morning
+papers, yawn over a book; write three notes to say you have no time to
+write a letter; wonder what the earlier portion of the day was
+intended for; resolve to go to bed early that night so as to find out
+the secret; dress; go out nowhere, anywhere; make a call on a person
+whom you don't want to see, and who doesn't want to see you; curse
+yourself for being so stupid as to look him up, and him for being so
+stupid as not to amuse you; buy a hairbrush you don't want; wonder
+where people can be going in hansoms at such an hour, and can't find
+out for the life of you where you could go in a hansom at that time,
+except to the British Museum, or Tower, or National Gallery, or some
+other place no respectable person ever yet went to; drop into a club
+for luncheon, and find that no one you ever saw before lunches at the
+club, and that those who do are intensely disagreeable; stroll into
+the park; pick up two dear old boys, who have been looking for you
+everywhere to tell you about something or other that makes you swear;
+back to the club to dinner, where you meet every man you care for, and
+dine; after dinner go somewhere or other--to Brown's, for instance, or
+to the theatre, or to see the performing Mastodon; afterwards cards or
+billiards, and bed at half-past two or three."
+
+"That's rather a full and exhausting programme for an idle day. It
+isn't much good here. What do you do here a day you do nothing?"
+
+"Nothing. Whether it's a busy or an idle day with you here, you can't
+do anything, except you get books and go in for the exact sciences.
+You couldn't buy a morning paper here for a sovereign, or a pack of
+cards for a hundred pounds. The hotel does not take in a paper at this
+time of the year, and only three come to the village--one each to the
+clergymen, and one to the police barracks. The garrison of the
+barracks is six men and a bull-terrier. There's no one to look at
+here, and no one to call on, except the echoes, which at this time of
+the year are uncommonly surly, not to say scurrilous. There is no
+fish, as the fish have all gone away on business; they come here only
+to stare at the summer visitors. The only thing one can do here is
+smoke--provided you don't buy the tobacco in the village."
+
+"And walk?" asked Alfred. "Cannot one walk here?"
+
+"Yes, mostly. Not always, though; for when it rains here you have to
+swim, and when it blows here, you have to fly."
+
+"But to-day, for instance, we can walk."
+
+O'Brien looked aloft, looked down in the light wind, and then out to
+sea.
+
+"Yes, I think it will keep fine."
+
+"Well, then, let us walk."
+
+"But I forgot to tell you there is no place to walk to."
+
+"Oh, yes, there is. I know more of the neighbourhood than you, short a
+time as I have been here."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Kilcash House. Jerry, don't laugh or don't abuse me. I can't help it.
+Let me see where she lived--where she will live again."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+                         SOLICITOR AND CLIENT.
+
+
+When Mrs. Davenport reached the "Tourists' Hotel," she asked to be
+shown into a private sitting-room. She had slept in the boat, and was
+in no need of repose. In reply to the servant, she desired breakfast
+to be brought, and asked for writing materials. She wrote out a
+telegram to Blake: "I am staying at the 'Tourists', and shall await
+you here." She wrote a couple of notes of no consequence, and then
+breakfasted. At the very earliest Blake could not reach Dublin until
+that evening. In the meantime she would go and see her late husband's
+solicitor, Mr. Vincent Lonergan.
+
+The old attorney received Mrs. Davenport with the most elaborate
+courtesy. He was tall, round-shouldered, white-haired, white-bearded,
+fresh-coloured, slow, oracular. He congratulated himself on meeting
+her for the first time, and fished up phrases of sympathy and
+condolence out of his inner consciousness, as though he was the first
+man in the world who had ever to refer to such matters. Then he
+paused, partly that his elaborate commonplaces might have time to sink
+into her mind, and partly that she might have time to collect her
+thoughts and bring her mind to the business of her visit.
+
+"May I ask you," she said, "how long you acted as solicitor to my late
+husband?"
+
+"About twelve years, I think. I can tell you exactly if you desire
+it."
+
+"I will not trouble you for the exact date. During those twelve years
+you were well acquainted with all Mr. Davenport's affairs, I dare
+say?"
+
+"With the legal aspect of his affairs, yes. With the business aspect
+of his affairs, no."
+
+"You know that he made large sums of money by speculating in foreign
+stocks and shares?"
+
+"I do not _know_ it. I have heard it."
+
+"From whom have you heard it?"
+
+"From several people--himself among the number."
+
+She paused a moment, and then said: "Your words seem to imply a doubt.
+You will, I am certain, give me all the information you can?"
+
+"Assuredly, my dear lady."
+
+"Then do you not know that he made his money out of foreign
+speculations?"
+
+"Permit me to explain: I did not intend to imply any doubt as to the
+way in which the late Mr. Davenport made his money. We solicitors get
+into a legal way of talking when we are at business; and, legally
+speaking, I have no knowledge of my own of how the late Mr. Davenport
+made his money, because the making of the money did not come directly
+under my observation. I _do_ know he told me he made it in foreign
+speculations, and I think you will be quite safe in taking it that he
+did make it abroad. We are now, as I take it, speaking of the time
+before your marriage with Mr. Davenport?"
+
+"Yes, of the time before my marriage."
+
+"Since then, you would naturally know more of his business affairs
+than I."
+
+"He spoke little to me of business, and I know hardly anything of his
+affairs."
+
+"As you know, you are largely benefited under the will. Roughly
+speaking, all his property goes to you, in addition to what you are
+entitled to under the marriage settlement."
+
+She made a slight gesture, as though putting these subjects aside.
+
+He made an elaborate gesture, indicating that he understood her, and
+that he was her obedient, humble servant. After another pause she
+asked:
+
+"Do you know anything of a man named Fahey--a man who was in some way
+or other connected with Mr. Davenport, and who was drowned or
+committed suicide many years ago, shortly after Mr. Davenport's
+marriage?"
+
+"Fahey--Fahey--Fahey? Yes, I do. I remember that he drowned himself
+near Kilcash House because the police were on his track for uttering
+forged bank-notes."
+
+"Do you know in what relation he stood to Mr. Davenport?"
+
+"I am under the impression he was some kind of humble hanger-on; but I
+am not sure."
+
+"You _know_ nothing of him?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Never saw him?"
+
+"Not to my knowledge."
+
+Another pause.
+
+"You were good enough to tell me a moment ago that you are acquainted
+with the legal business of my late husband. Suppose I did not wish to
+take any money or property under my late husband's will, how would the
+matter be?"
+
+"Not take your husband's money or property under the will! You are
+not, my dear Mrs. Davenport, thinking of anything so monstrous?" cried
+the old man, fairly surprised out of his measured tone and oracular
+manner.
+
+"Suppose I am. Have I, or shall I soon have, absolute control over
+what has been left to me?"
+
+"Certainly. There are no conditions. All will be yours absolutely."
+
+"Thank you. I am very much obliged. You will add further to my
+obligations to you if you will kindly hurry forward all matters in
+connection with the will. I am most anxious to have the money in my
+own hands."
+
+"Permit me to explain once more: I take it for granted you have not
+had leisure to read the copy of the will I forwarded to you?"
+
+She bowed.
+
+"In wills there are often very stupid conditions and provisions which
+govern the disposal of the property. In this case there are no
+conditions or provisions, so that you enter into possession quite
+untrammelled. You understand me when I say quite untrammelled?"
+
+"I understand."
+
+"So that if at any time it seemed well to you to----" He stopped. She
+had begun to rise, and he did not know whether it would be wise to
+complete the sentence or not.
+
+She stood before him holding out her hand as she finished what he had
+begun--"To marry again I should run no risk of forfeiting the money."
+
+"Precisely."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"Thank you. I am a little tired, and am not able to express my sense
+of your goodness to me during this interview. But I am, I assure you,
+grateful. I am not thinking of marriage. You will, I hope, be able to
+get everything into order soon. I must go now. Good-bye."
+
+He saw her into the cab waiting for her at the door, and then walked
+back to his private office.
+
+"A remarkable woman," he mused, "a remarkable and very fine woman. But
+I suppose she's mad. There's a screw loose in the heads of the
+Davenport family, and 'Evil communications corrupt good manners.'
+Perhaps she took the taint from him. There was no screw loose in his
+business head. He was as sharp as razors, and as close as wax. I think
+she's mad, or perhaps she's only a rogue. I suspect his money was not
+over clean, but that's no affair of mine. She married Davenport, every
+one said, for his money. She lived with him all these years for his
+money, every one said--although, for the life of me, I can't see what
+good it did him or her; and now he's gone, and the money is all hers,
+and she talks of doing away with it. Oh, she must be mad, for I don't
+see where the roguery could come in, unless--unless---- Ah, that may
+be it. By Jove, I'm sure that's it! Byron says, 'Believe a woman or an
+epitaph?' But he didn't mean it. Byron hardly ever meant what he said,
+and never what he wrote. It's a pity he never turned his attention to
+law. He never, as far as my reading has gone, did anything with law
+except to break all of it he could lay his hands on--civil and
+divine--especially divine, for that's cheap, and he was poor. She's a
+very fine woman, though. But what is this I was saying? Oh, yes. The
+only explanation of her conduct is that Blake, the blackguard Blake,
+has asked her, or is going to ask her, to marry him, and that she
+wants to test him by saying she is about to give away all her money to
+charitable institutions. That's the root of the mystery. And then,
+when she marries him, she'll throw all the money into his lap, and
+he'll spend it for her, and gamble it away and beat her. Anyway, he
+can't make quite a pauper of her, for even she herself can't destroy
+her marriage settlement, and the trustees won't stand any nonsense.
+_Always_ 'believe a woman _and_ an epitaph.' I wonder what kind of an
+epitaph will she put up to Davenport? Something about his name always
+reminding her of him--that she couldn't stand it, and so had to change
+it."
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+                 THE WIDOW'S THEORY OF THE CASE.
+
+
+When Mrs. Davenport got back to the hotel, she inquired if any
+telegram had come for her, and was told not. She seemed displeased,
+disappointed. She asked questions, and discovered that it would be
+next to impossible that her telegram could reach London before the
+departure of the morning mail. This put things right, for she felt
+certain that if Blake got her message he would have replied. He was on
+his way, and would be in Dublin that evening. In Dublin, yes; but how
+should he know where to seek her? She spoke to the manager, to whom
+she explained her difficulty.
+
+If the lady telegraphed to the mail-boat at Holyhead, the gentleman
+would be sure to get the message.
+
+She thanked the manager, and adopted his suggestion. The day was
+unpleasant under foot and overhead. There were no friends upon whom
+she wished to call. The ten years of secluded life at Kilcash House
+had severed all connection with old acquaintances, and she had made no
+new ones.
+
+She remained by herself in the sitting-room. She did not even try to
+read. She sat in the window, and kept her eyes turned towards the busy
+street. It could not be said she watched the crowds and vehicles, or
+was even conscious of their existence. She kept her eyes in their
+direction--that was all.
+
+Luncheon was brought in. She sat at the table for a quarter of an
+hour, ate something, and then went back to the old place at the
+window. It was dark before dinner appeared, but she did not ring for
+lights. When dinner was over, it was close to the time for the arrival
+of the mail. She put on her bonnet, and went to Westland Row terminus.
+The weather was still unpleasant, but she did not care, did not heed
+it. She had not long to wait in that dismal, squalid cavern at the
+foot of the stone steps leading down from the platform. The train
+rumbled in, and the passengers began to descend and pass between the
+double row of people. Suddenly she stepped forward and touched a man
+on the arm. He turned quickly, and looked at her, exclaiming:
+
+"You here, Marion! I got your telegram on the boat."
+
+"I was afraid it might miss you, so I thought it safer to come
+myself."
+
+"What extraordinary story is this? I can scarcely believe you were
+serious when you wired me yesterday from Rugby."
+
+"I was in no humour for jesting," she said. "This is no place to talk
+in. Wait until we get to the hotel."
+
+When they were seated in Mrs. Davenport's sitting-room, he waited for
+her to speak. She was in the arm of the couch--he by the table, with
+his elbow resting on it. They were facing one another. She clasped her
+hands in her lap and rested against the back of the couch. She was
+deadly pale, and when she spoke her voice was low, firm, and full of
+thought.
+
+"I want you to tell me _all_ you know about this man Fahey. Mind, you
+are to tell me all. There is no use in concealing anything now. I will
+not take a penny of that money. Speak plainly."
+
+"Not take the money, Marion! Are you mad?" he exclaimed, starting
+forward on his chair.
+
+"Not yet. The future of my reason will depend a good deal on the
+plainness of your speech. Go on."
+
+"But I have told you all that is worth telling."
+
+"Tell it to me all over again, and this time add everything, great or
+little, you can think of, you can recollect. Let me judge what is
+worth listening to, and what is not. I am waiting."
+
+"I know next to nothing of Fahey, and never saw the man in all my
+life. You are allowing this absurd story of his ghost to prey on you.
+You will make yourself ill."
+
+"Nothing is so bad as uncertainty. I am racked by uncertainty. Go on
+if you wish to do me a service."
+
+"Service! I'd die for your sake, Marion."
+
+"Then speak for my sake." She did not move or show any interest one
+way or the other in his words, although they had been spoken
+pleadingly, passionately.
+
+"At Florence, when he was seized by that delusion, he raved now and
+then, and in his ravings he said continually that there was a plot to
+rob and murder him. He did not include me in the conspiracy, but all
+others were leagued against him. At times he would become furious, and
+defy his imaginary foes, swearing that all of them together were
+powerless against him, as Fahey was loyal, and would be loyal to the
+death."
+
+"Loyal in what?"
+
+"I don't know. He did not say in either his sane or frantic moments."
+
+"What _did_ he say?"
+
+"That Fahey knew, but that no power on earth would drag the secret out
+of Fahey."
+
+"What secret?"
+
+"How should I know?"
+
+"Do you know?"
+
+"Upon my soul, Marion, I do not."
+
+"Well, and after that what would happen?"
+
+"He would laugh and snap his fingers at imaginary conspirators, and
+dare them to do their worst, and then he would break out into a laugh
+of triumph. And, as I hope to live, Marion, that's all."
+
+"Every word?"
+
+"Every syllable, I swear to you. Marion, I could not tell you a lie.
+Marion, I never loved you until now. If you bid me, I will die for
+you. If you tell me, I will go away and never see you again. Try me.
+Bid me go or bid me die. Tell me to do anything, if you will only
+believe I love you as I never loved you before--as I never loved any
+other woman in the world. Since you will not forgive me, since you
+will not give me your love for mine, since you will not let me be near
+you or see you, set me something to do by which I can show you I am
+sincere--madly in earnest."
+
+He bent towards her, and held out his hands, but did not leave his
+chair. His voice, his whole frame shook with excitement.
+
+She raised her hand and lowered it gently, as a signal that he was to
+be still and silent.
+
+He drew his arms and his body quickly back, and sat mutely regarding
+her.
+
+"I am sorry," she said, slowly, gently, "that you spoke in that strain
+now. This is not the time for such matters----"
+
+"Then a time may come, Marion--a time may come soon or late? I do not
+care when----"
+
+"No," she answered, quietly, resolutely.
+
+"That time came and went long ago. Be silent on that subject. I want
+to speak of long ago."
+
+He groaned, and struck his forehead with his clenched fist.
+
+"It was scarcely fair of me to ask you to come. Will you answer my
+questions?"
+
+"Ask me what you please. I'll do it. The only hope now left to me is
+that you will allow me to serve you."
+
+"My next question may be, must be painful to you."
+
+He laughed bitterly.
+
+"That does not matter. Nothing can matter now, except feeling I can be
+of no use to you."
+
+"What means of influence had you over my husband beyond what I knew
+of?"
+
+"I am not in the least pained by that question. I was a poor idiotic
+fool to give you up, but I could not support you if I married you on
+my own means then. I had no means. But still less could I, vile as I
+was, marry you on money got from him."
+
+"What influence had you?"
+
+"I had only one spell to conjure with."
+
+"And that was?"
+
+"The name of Fahey."
+
+"How did you employ that name?"
+
+"I said to him once, 'Is Fahey still loyal?' I said it half in jest.
+We were alone. He begged of me never to mention that name again, as it
+recalled his awful condition in Florence. He said if I would do him
+the favour of never referring to that circumstance or name, he would
+be my life-long debtor--adding: 'And I mean what I say, and that it
+shall have practical results.'"
+
+"He meant money."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Was that before or after he gave you the thousand pounds?"
+
+"Before--some months before. But now-poor Davenport is no more, and
+cannot be hurt by any one. And Fahey is dead, and can hurt no one,
+though foolish old women frighten themselves with the thought that
+they have seen his ghost. Did you know this Fahey?"
+
+She shuddered. This was the first sign of feeling she showed. What it
+sprang from he could not guess.
+
+"I did," she answered, unsteadily.
+
+"And you believe this story about the ghost?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"That"--with another shudder--"he is alive."
+
+"Alive, Marion--alive! You are overexcited. You are talking nonsense.
+Go and lie down. You are worn out."
+
+"I am. I feel my head whirling round. Leave me."
+
+He rose obediently to go.
+
+"My mind is giving way, Tom."
+
+That name spoken by her lips again rooted him to the spot.
+
+"They suspected you, Tom, of that awful deed, and they say he did it
+himself. I am going mad. Surely this is madness."
+
+"What--what! Marion!"
+
+"And now I suspect--_him!_"
+
+"Whom, in the name of heaven?"
+
+"Fahey. He was jealous of you both. Why did you put out the
+lights----"
+
+She tottered!
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+                "WHERE'ER I CAME I BROUGHT CALAMITY."
+
+
+Tom Blake was thunderstruck. They were both standing facing one
+another a few feet apart. Blake was not a man to be disturbed by a
+trifle. He had been a good deal about in the world, and had had
+experience of various kinds of men and women. Many years ago he had
+met this woman frequently, and in the end he made love to her.
+Although she accepted that love and returned it, she had never taken
+him fully into her confidence.
+
+In Marion Butler, as he knew her eleven or twelve years ago, there had
+always been a certain undefined reserve. She would not refuse to
+answer any question put to her, nor was there a doubt she answered
+truly and fully. But she always created the impression that there were
+questions which he could not devise or discover, and the answer to
+which he was in no way prepared for. He had no idea or hint of what
+these questions might be. He was in no way uneasy about them. He was
+convinced there were portions of her nature which would always be
+concealed from him; but he was not jealous or suspicious. He was not
+then even slightly disquieted by this blankness, this reticence. It
+had no more meaning for him than would her native tongue, had she been
+born a Hindoo and laid that language aside for English. She had told
+him she had never loved any one but him, and he believed her without
+the possibility of doubt. She promised to be his wife, and he believed
+she would have stood at the altar with him though death were his rival
+for the first kiss.
+
+But now he was amazed, confounded. He had never seen the man Fahey,
+but he had heard and read in the papers a little about him, and from
+all he had gathered he fancied Fahey was a kind of upper servant or
+hanger-on of some kind. Davenport had spoken to him of Fahey, but the
+talk had been very general and vague, except with regard to the
+conspiracy, and the former man always showed the greatest possible
+disinclination to hear anything, or be asked any questions relating to
+the latter. Blake had never run the risk of riding a free horse to
+death. He got money in large sums from Mr. Davenport, but he had been
+judicious. There was nothing so low or coarse as blackmail hinted at
+by Mr. Davenport. That gentleman and he were excellent friends, and he
+had had bad luck, or was in want of money for some other cause, and
+when men became alarmed about money matters, although they were quite
+innocent, they often did foolish things. Look at that idiot Fahey. So
+Mr. Davenport, because he was a gentleman and a friend of Blake's,
+gave him money out of mere courtesy and good nature, and not fear, as
+one gives to a strange fellow-pedestrian on the footway when the
+stranger carries a load. There was no more hint of threat or dread of
+fear in the case of Mr. Davenport's offering the money, or of Blake
+taking it, than in the case of the meeting of two unacquainted
+wayfarers.
+
+He had thought nothing the widow could tell him would take him by
+surprise, and here he now was fairly breathless and amazed. There was
+no doubt in his mind this Fahey had not been the social equal of
+Marion Butler, and Blake was of opinion the man's origin had been much
+lower than Mr. Davenport's, though whence the dead man had sprung he
+did not exactly know. Kilcash House had not always been the dead man's
+property. He had bought it only a little while before his marriage.
+Davenport seemed to be a man accustomed to meet men only. He was not
+by any means at his ease in an ordinary mixed company, and he had
+explained this to Blake by saying that until comparatively late in
+life he had been almost wholly a business man and unaccustomed to the
+society of ladies.
+
+But now what ghastly light shone on the dire tragedy of the Crescent
+House in Dulwich! What a wonderful revelation was this! Fahey, the
+humble follower of the dead man, had been an admirer of the dead man's
+wife; and he who had been declared dead a decade of years ago was by
+her believed to be living, and to have been connected directly with
+her husband's death! No wonder he was giddy. No wonder he could find
+no words to speak to her. No wonder he could only stand and gaze at
+her in stupid fear, revolving in a dim light the ghostly pageant of
+the past.
+
+It was she who broke the silence.
+
+"I wish I were dead!"
+
+Her voice recalled him to her presence and the immediate hour. He took
+her by the hand, led her to a seat, and began pacing up and down the
+room without speaking.
+
+"Advise me," she went on, after a pause. "Advise me, out of mercy. If
+I were dead, there would be no lips to tell, no soul to suspect the
+horrors by which I am haunted. Advise me. You know more of me than any
+other living being. Shall I die?"
+
+Still he could not speak. Her question came to his ears as though it
+were something apart from her personality and his consideration--as
+though it were a tedious impertinence rising from an indifferent
+source. Although he knew he was in that room with the widow of Louis
+Davenport, and that she had just said she believed Fahey was alive,
+and had killed her husband from jealousy, he could not give the
+situation substantial form. There were confounding murmurs in his
+ears, and indeterminable shadows floating before his eyes. His mind
+was clamorous for quiet, and the clamour stunned and confounded him.
+
+"Speak to me," she pleaded. "I am not deserted, yet I am alone. I have
+always been alone since I can first remember. Only I myself have
+broken the solitude in which I lived. Once, long ago, I thought you
+were coming towards me from a distance, to share my solitude, but
+you--you--went by. I felt like a castaway on a desolate island, who
+sees a sail bear down upon him in the twilight, only to find the
+morning sea a barren desert of water. Should I die? That is not a hard
+question for you to answer, is it?"
+
+"No; not a hard question, Marion. You must live."
+
+"For what?"
+
+If she had asked this question an hour ago, before she told him her
+horrible suspicions, he would readily have answered, "For me." As it
+was, such an answer would have seemed flippant, profane. But an answer
+of some kind must be made. He could find no answer, and said merely,
+"Give me time."
+
+She sat upright on her chair. One hand and arm rested on the table,
+the white hand lying open upon the leaf, the thumb holding on by the
+edge. Her head and face were thrust forward, her chin projecting, the
+forehead reclining. Her eyes, wide open, followed him closely,
+intently, but not eagerly. She seemed curious, more than anxious. It
+was as though she took but a reflected interest in the question,
+although the reply might govern her action. She waited for him
+patiently. He was a long time before he spoke.
+
+"Marion," he said at length, "if I am to be of any use to you--if even
+my advice is to be of service to you--I must know all--all, without
+reserve of any kind. On the face of it, your question is absurd.
+Supposing you had no code--no religious feeling in the matter; suppose
+you had no fear or hope of the other world, what earthly good could
+come of your doing violence to yourself?--of your throwing away your
+life suddenly?"
+
+While he was saying this, he continued to walk up and down the room,
+with his eyes bent on the floor.
+
+Her eyes had continued to follow him in the same close, intent way.
+Still they lacked eagerness. She was a pupil anxious to know--not an
+enthusiast impatient to act.
+
+"It would," she answered, with no trace of emotion, "close up his
+grave for ever, and give peace to his name."
+
+"Your husband's--your husband's grave and name! Come, Marion, let us
+be frank."
+
+"In what am I uncandid?"
+
+"You did not--you swore at the inquest you did not--love your husband,
+and now you are talking of killing yourself for his sake. Marion, you
+cannot hold such words candid."
+
+He paused in his walk, and stood before her. He looked at her a
+moment, and then averted his gaze. Her eyes, although they rested
+intelligently on him, did not appear to identify him. They were the
+eyes of one occupied with the solution of a mental problem, aided by
+formula of which he was merely the source.
+
+"Thomas Blake," she said, "I once thought you might grow to understand
+me, and then I came to the conclusion you never could. You are now
+further off than ever. Louis Davenport was my husband, and I belonged
+to him. I belong to him still. I swore--as they were good enough to
+remind me at the inquest--to love, honour, and obey him. I did not
+come to love him as women love their husbands, but my feeling towards
+him was whole and loyal. I was his, and I am his; and if my death, now
+that he is dead, can benefit him or comfort his name with quiet, I am
+willing to die. Do not be alarmed. I shall make no unpleasantness
+here. Do you think I am in the way of his rest?"
+
+"Marion, you are talking pure nonsense. Why, your feelings as a
+Christian alone----"
+
+"Who told you I was a Christian? I tell you I am a Pagan. Leave me at
+least the Pagan virtues of courage and fearlessness." She did not
+move.
+
+He looked at her. There could be no doubt she was sincere. Mad as her
+words sounded, they must be taken at the full value of their ordinary
+meaning.
+
+"I will not seek to break down your resolution or turn your purpose
+aside. But before I can be of any real use to you in the way of
+advice, you must trust me wholly. How am I to judge of your duty
+unless I know the entire case? Tell me all you know. Tell me all that
+passed between you and this Fahey, and all you know of the relations
+between him and your husband."
+
+"I will tell you all you need know."
+
+"Do you think you are a good judge of where your confidence in a
+matter of this importance should end?"
+
+"I think I am. At all events, I shall be reticent if I consider it
+better not to speak."
+
+"Well, then, go on, Marion, and tell me all you may. Mind, the more I
+know the more likely I am able to be of use to you."
+
+She passed the hand not resting on the table across her forehead.
+
+"Sit down," she said. "I can speak with greater ease while you are
+sitting."
+
+He took a chair directly opposite her, and she began:
+
+"All that I said at the inquest is true, and I told the whole truth in
+answer to any questions I was asked; but I did not say all that was in
+my mind. I have had bitter trials in my life. I will not refer again
+to what was once between you and me; and, remember, in anything I may
+say I shall have no thought of that. I put that away from my mind
+altogether, and it will be ungenerous of you if you draw any deduction
+towards our relations in the past from anything I may say. Is that
+understood?"
+
+"Perfectly, Marion. I know you too well to fancy for a moment you
+could be guilty of the mean cowardice of talking at any one. Go on."
+
+"Thank you. I am glad you think I am no coward." She still kept her
+hand before her face, as though to concentrate her attention upon her
+mental vision. "As I said at that awful inquest, there was never
+anything ever so slightly like a quarrel between Mr. Davenport and me.
+Except that we lived almost exclusively at Kilcash House, which was
+dull, I had little or nothing to complain of; and the great quiet and
+isolation of that place did not affect me much, for I had small or no
+desire to go out into the world, and after a few years it would have
+given me more pain than pleasure to have to mingle in society. Very
+shortly after my marriage I met Michael Fahey for the first time----"
+
+"What was he like?" asked Blake, interrupting her.
+
+"He was tall and slender. His hair was brown, his eyes light in
+colour--blue, I think. He wore a moustache of lighter colour than his
+hair, and small whiskers of the same colour. He was good-looking in a
+way----"
+
+"What kind of way?"
+
+"Well, a soft and gentle way. At first he struck me as being a man who
+was weak, mentally and physically. Later I had reason to think him a
+man of average, if not more than average, physical strength."
+
+"About how old was he then?"
+
+"I could not say exactly. Under thirty, I should think. He also struck
+me as a man of not quite good social position. His manners were
+uneasy, apprehensive, and his English uncertain. He was restless and
+ill at ease, and for my own peace of mind I was glad when I parted
+from him; for it struck me he would be much more comfortable if he and
+my husband were left alone together.
+
+"My husband spoke to me in the highest terms of Fahey, and said that
+although he wished nothing to be said about it just then, or until he
+gave me leave to mention it, Fahey had done him useful service in his
+time. That was all Mr. Davenport volunteered, and I asked no question.
+I was sure of one thing more--namely, that the less I was with Michael
+Fahey the better my husband would be satisfied.
+
+"I smiled when this conviction came first upon me. Up to the moment I
+felt it I had in my mind treated this Fahey as a kind of upper
+servant, who was to be soothed into unconsciousness that he was not an
+equal. For a short time I felt inclined to expostulate with Mr.
+Davenport on the absurdity of fancying Fahey could think of me save as
+the wife of his patron; but I kept silence, partly out of pride and
+partly out of ignorance of the relations which really existed between
+this man and my husband. You may, or may not, have heard of a
+circumstance which occurred shortly after my marriage?"
+
+"I remember nothing noteworthy. Tell me what it was."
+
+"At that time it was Mr. Davenport's habit to keep large sums of money
+in the house. Once upon his having to go away for a few days, he left
+me the keys of the safe in which the money was locked up. While he was
+away, an attempt was made to rob the house. A door was forced from
+outside, and two men were absolutely in my room, where I kept the key
+of the safe, when Fahey, who was staying in the village of Kilcash at
+the time, rushed in and faced the thieves. I was aroused and saw the
+struggle. Fortunately the men were unarmed. The light was dim--only my
+low night lamp.
+
+"The first blow Fahey struck he knocked one of the men through a
+window. Then he and the other man struggled a long time, and at last
+the thief broke loose and escaped by the way he had come in. Fahey had
+overheard the two thieves plan the robbery in the village, and had
+followed them that night to our house. My husband wished the matter to
+be kept quiet, and so it was hushed up.
+
+"The next time I met Fahey after that night I was alone on the downs.
+He was alone too. I stopped to thank him. I do not remember exactly
+what I said--commonplace words of gratitude, no doubt. While I was
+speaking I was close to him, and gazing into his face. I cut my speech
+short, for I saw a look in his eyes that told me I was not indifferent
+to him."
+
+The widow's hand fell from her face, and she looked at her visitor
+with an expression of trouble and dismay.
+
+"There was nothing distressing or alarming in that," said Blake, with
+an encouraging smile. "You must remember you were then, as you are
+now, an exquisitely lovely woman.
+
+
+        "'No marvel, sovereign lady; in fair field
+          Myself for such a face had boldly died.'"
+
+
+"Ay, ay," she said, with a shudder and a glance of horror round the
+room. "In the stanza before the one from which you quote my fate is
+written:
+
+
+        "'Where'er I came I brought calamity.'"
+
+
+She stared before her, shuddered again, and sighed.
+
+"Well?" said he. "You have more to tell me?"
+
+"Yes; I'll go on."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+                              A COMPACT.
+
+
+Mrs. Davenport rested slightly against the back of her chair, and
+resumed:
+
+"'Mrs. Davenport,' said Fahey, 'what I have done for you was nothing.
+It was really not done for you at all. It was done for Mr. Davenport,
+not you. The thieves did not want to steal you. They wanted to steal
+Mr. Davenport's money. If I may presume to ask you for that rose, I
+shall consider myself more than repaid for what I have done.'
+
+"I gave him the rose. He bowed, and said: 'Yes, they were stupid,
+mercenary fools. They thought a few pounds of more value than anything
+else in the world. I am not a rich man, and I care very little for
+money itself. I care more for what it may bring with it. I would not
+care to be the richest man in the world. I have in my time, Mrs.
+Davenport, been the humble means of forwarding Mr. Davenport's plans
+for making money. He is a rich man. He is rich in more ways than
+money.' Here he raised the rose to his lips and kissed it. I stood
+amazed. I could not speak or move."
+
+"Are you sure the man was serious, and that he meant it fully?--or was
+it only a piece of elaborate gallantry?" asked Blake, in perplexity.
+
+"There can be no doubt whatever of his absolute sincerity. Listen. I
+merely smiled, as if I did not catch his drift, and moved as though I
+would resume my walk towards home. He lifted his hat, and, standing
+uncovered, with his hat in one hand and the rose I had given him in
+the other, said:
+
+"'I would not give this rose for all Mr. Davenport's money, and
+I know more about his money than any other man living. Mr. Davenport
+and I have been close friends for a long time. It is my nature
+to be loyal. I have been loyal to him. If I liked I could do him
+injury--irreparable injury. If I cared, I could ruin him utterly. But
+it is my nature to be loyal. Do you credit me?'
+
+"For a few seconds I did not answer. I believed he was crazy, and I
+thought that I must soothe him in some way and get off. I had become
+apprehensive, so I said: 'I am perfectly sure of your loyalty to Mr.
+Davenport. I have always heard my husband speak of you in the highest
+terms, I hope we may soon have the pleasure of seeing you again at the
+House.'
+
+"'Not yet,' he said--'do not leave me yet. I want to say a few more
+words to you. It is easy to listen. Listen, pray. I would not, as I
+said before, give that rose for all his money. If I chose to speak,
+things might be different with him. By fair means or by foul, I will
+not say which, I could make his wealth melt like snow in the sun. But
+I have no caring, no need for wealth. I shall not hurt him if you will
+make me two promises. Will you make the two promises I ask?'
+
+"By this time I felt fully persuaded I was in the presence of a
+madman. I looked around and could see no one but the man before me. We
+were not a hundred yards from the edge of the cliff. I no longer
+thought him physically weak; his encounter with the thieves had
+settled that point. If he were mad, the promise would count for
+nothing. There could be no doubt he was insane. I resolved to try him:
+'How is it possible for me to make two promises to you until I know
+what they are?'
+
+"'Your husband trusts me--you may trust me. Do you promise?'
+
+"'First let me know what the promises are.'
+
+"'That you will say nothing of what I have said to you to Mr.
+Davenport, and that, if ever I have it in my power to do you another
+service, and do it, you will give me another rose.'
+
+"'Yes; in both cases,' I answered. 'You may rest satisfied.'
+
+"I got away then and was very glad to escape. There was no occasion to
+speak to any one about this meeting with Fahey on the downs, unless
+indeed I firmly believed he was mad; and now that I had time to recall
+all he had said, and review all his actions, I began seriously to
+question my assumption as to his insanity. I took the first
+opportunity of asking my husband if there was anything remarkable
+about Fahey. Mr. Davenport seemed a good deal put out by the question,
+and asked me what I meant. I said I thought Fahey was odd at times. My
+husband said Fahey was all right, and did not seem disposed to go on
+any further with the conversation.
+
+"I did not meet Fahey again for a long time--I mean months. He then
+seemed quite collected; but before wishing good-bye, he said
+significantly: 'A man may disappear at any moment on a coast like
+this, and yet may not be dead. Now, suppose I were to disappear
+suddenly on this coast, you would think I had died, and that Mr.
+Davenport no longer ran any risk from my being talkative, or you any
+chance of being called upon for that other rose. I am not enamoured of
+this coast. I consider it dreary and inhospitable, and it would not at
+all surprise me if one day I packed up and fled far away, and stopped
+away until almost all memory of me was lost. Do you think, Mrs.
+Davenport, that if, after such an absence, I were to come back, you
+would recognise me?'
+
+"I answered that I was sure of it, and got away from him as soon as I
+could. Again I spoke to Mr. Davenport about Fahey's sanity. My husband
+did not seem to care about discussing the subject, and so I let the
+matter drop. Afterwards, when Fahey jumped into the Puffing Hole in
+order to avoid the police, I thought to myself that when he talked
+about disappearing from the coast he was much nearer the truth than he
+had any notion of.
+
+"All this occurred many years ago, but it made a great impression on
+my mind, and I have not forgotten a tittle of it. The words Fahey
+spoke, and the way he looked, are as plain to me now as if it all
+happened only yesterday. For a long time after Fahey had disappeared,
+I believed his death at the Black Rock was nothing more than a pure
+coincidence. Now and then, at long intervals, Mr. Davenport would
+refer to the matter, but always in tones of anxiety and doubt. I do
+not know why I got the notion into my head, but gradually it found its
+way there, until at last I became quite sure Fahey was not dead. On
+more than one occasion when I had ventured to suggest such an idea to
+Mr. Davenport's mind, he showed great emotion, and, after a few
+struggles, either directly dismissed or changed the subject.
+
+"If Fahey had been right about his power of disappearing from that
+coast without dying, why should I refuse to believe that Fahey could
+injure--nay, ruin, my husband, if he were to appear and make certain
+statements of matters within his own knowledge? What these matters
+were I could not guess. Since I saw you last I have got good reasons
+to feel sure my husband had no proper right to the money he possessed,
+and that this man Fahey was aware of the facts of the case."
+
+"How did you find all this out, Marion?" asked Blake, looking across
+at her with freshly awakened interest.
+
+"I found papers of my husband's."
+
+"Will you tell me how you believe he came by the money?"
+
+"No. And you must say nothing of this conversation to any living
+being."
+
+"Trust me, I will not."
+
+"The difficulties now are, Thomas Blake, that I believe my husband did
+not come fairly by his fortune, that Michael Fahey is still alive, and
+that he had a hand in the death of my husband."
+
+Blake knit his brows, rose, and recommenced walking up and down the
+room.
+
+"Mr. Jerry O'Brien, who travelled over from London with me, told me
+after we left Euston that he himself and Phelan, the boatman of
+Kilcash, had seen the ghost or body of Fahey on the cliffs just above
+the Black Rock."
+
+"It may have been a delusion."
+
+"Yes, it may; but the chances are ten thousand to one against it. He
+told me, too, that a friend of his had seen the same figure, clad in
+the same clothes it wore ten or a dozen years ago. The last-named
+phenomenon I cannot account for. But if you can believe that a man who
+jumped into the Puffing Hole years ago is still alive, all other
+beliefs in this case are easy. Now, Thomas Blake, I have spoken more
+fully to you than I have ever spoken to any other man. I want you to
+advise and help me.
+
+"How?" asked Blake, stopping in his walk and looking straight into her
+white, fixed, expressionless face.
+
+"By finding out Fahey and discovering whence my husband got his money.
+Then, if I may return it without disgracing his name or exposing him,
+I will, and if not----"
+
+"Well, Marion, if not?"
+
+"I shall put an end to my knowledge and myself, and so keep his grave
+quiet and silent for him."
+
+"Marion, this is sheer madness."
+
+"So much the better. If I do wrong in an access of insanity, no moral
+blame attaches to me or my act. Will you help me? Once upon a time I
+could have counted on your aid."
+
+"At that time you held out the promise of a glorious reward. Do you
+hold it out still, Marion?"
+
+"No. That thought must be put to rest for ever. You may think it
+monstrous that such being my mind, I should deliberately seek you and
+ask for your help. But I have no future, and you are all that is left
+to me of the past----"
+
+"Marion, Marion, for Heaven's sake don't say it is too late!" he
+cried, passionately, and advanced a step towards her.
+
+She retired two steps, and made an imperative gesture, bidding him
+stand still.
+
+"Stay where you are and listen to me. To quote again from the poem you
+quoted awhile ago, 'My youth,' she said, 'was blighted with a curse.'"
+
+"And," he said, pointing to himself, "if we alter the text slightly,
+we find 'This traitor was the cause.' Is not that what you mean,
+Marion? Do not spare me; I am meet for vengeance."
+
+"The present one is not a case for vengeance. But if you like you may
+in this matter expiate the past."
+
+"And when my expiation is complete, in what relation shall you and I
+stand to one another?"
+
+"In the same relation as before we met. You will be just to me, and
+help me in this matter, Thomas Blake. Remember that my life has not
+been very joyous."
+
+"But, Marion," he urged, softening his voice, and leaning towards her,
+"if I am to take what you say at its full value----"
+
+"I mean it all quite literally."
+
+"Then my expiation would assume the form of leading you to the tomb
+instead of the altar."
+
+She drew back, and said:
+
+"Yes, put it that way if you will. At one time I believed your hand
+was guiding me up to the altar, beyond which lay love and life, and
+all manner of good and bright things. We never reached the altar. But
+something happened, and there was a dull, dead pause in life, like the
+winter sleep of a lizard or the trance of the Sleeping Beauty, and
+then I awoke, and, to my horror, found the altar had been changed into
+a tomb, and the Fairy Prince into Death. There was no time for love. I
+had slept through the period of love. I had no power to hate, but I
+had the power and the will to die. You will help me?"
+
+"Not to die, Marion. I will help you to solve the mystery of this
+Fahey, and the relations between him and Mr. Davenport, and then when
+all has been cleared up, you may----"
+
+He held out his hand pleadingly.
+
+"Yes," she said, coldly, firmly, "when all has been cleared up, I may
+say--good-bye."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XL.
+
+                       AN EXPEDITION PROPOSED.
+
+
+When Jerry O'Brien said there was absolutely nothing to be done in
+Kilcash, he had told the naked truth. The weather was still far from
+genial, and Jerry and Alfred Paulton were the only visitors in that
+Waterford village. For a man of active habits, in full bodily and
+mental vigour, the place would have been the very worst in the world;
+but for an invalid who had never been a busy man, it was everything
+the most exacting could desire. If Alfred's mind had only been as
+peaceful as his surroundings, he would have picked up strength visibly
+from hour to hour.
+
+But his mind was not at ease. For good or evil, he did not care which,
+he had given his heart to that woman, and now once more the shadow of
+this objectionable, this disreputable man Blake, had come between her
+and him. The most disquieting circumstance in the case was that Blake
+had not intruded, but had been summoned by her. It is true that on
+closer examination this did not seem to point to a love affair between
+the two; for unless a woman was fully engaged to a man, she would
+scarcely, he being her lover, summon him to her side, under the
+circumstances in Mrs. Davenport's case.
+
+Such thoughts and doubts were not the best salve for a hurt
+constitution; and although Alfred recovered strength and colour from
+day to day, he did not derive as much benefit from Kilcash as if his
+mind had been even as untroubled as it had been when the journey from
+Dulwich began.
+
+Jerry was by no means delighted with affairs. He put the best face he
+could on things, but still he was not content. As far as he was
+concerned, the detested Fishery Commissioners had gone to sleep, but
+there was no forecasting the duration of their slumber. Any moment
+they might shake themselves, growl, wake, and swallow up all his
+substance.
+
+"Until they are done with this part of the unhappy country, I shall
+feel as if the country was overrun by 'empty tigers,' and I was the
+only wholesome piece of flesh after which the man-eaters hankered."
+
+O'Brien did not pretend to be a philosopher when his own fortune or
+comfort was threatened or assailed. He chafed and fumed when things
+went wrong, or when he could not get his way. Now he was compelled, in
+a great measure, to keep silent, for there would be a want of
+hospitality in displaying impatience of Kilcash to Alfred. He had
+confided to the latter the secret of his love for Madge, and the
+brother had grasped his hand cordially and wished him all luck and
+happiness. No man existed, he had said, to whom he would sooner
+confide the future of his sister. How was O'Brien to act with regard
+to writing to Madge? There had been nothing underhand or dishonourable
+in telling the girl of his love that day on the Dulwich Road. The
+declaration had in a measure slipped from him before any suitable
+opportunity occurred of talking to Mr. Paulton. But speaking to Madge
+under the excitement of the moment and the knowledge of approaching
+separation was one thing, and writing clandestinely to her quite
+another. If he wrote to her openly, inquiries as to the nature of the
+correspondence would certainly be made at home, and then their secret
+would be found out, and the thought of being found out in anything
+about which an unpleasant word could be said was unendurable. In the
+haste of leaving Carlingford House he had made no arrangement with
+Madge as to writing to her. It was absolutely necessary for him to
+risk a letter. He would not be guilty of the subterfuge of writing
+under cover of one of Alfred's letters. Accordingly he wrote a bright,
+cheerful, chatty note to Madge, beginning "My dear Miss Paulton," and
+ending "Yours most sincerely, J. O'Brien." To those who were not in
+the secret, nothing could have been more ordinary than this letter.
+But its meaning was plain to Madge. Among other things, he said the
+Commissioners had not yet done with him, and until they had he could
+not count upon another visit to Dulwich; and he begged her to give his
+kindest regards to Mr. Paulton, and to express a hope that he might
+soon enjoy the pleasure of a walk on the Dulwich Road, when he would
+tell her father all about the Bawn salmon and the wretched
+Commissioners. Until then he should not bother either of them with any
+account of himself or the villains who were lying in wait for him.
+This he intended to show that he would not write to her again until he
+had cleared up matters with her father. And now that he had got rid of
+this letter--it was a task, not a pleasure, to write it--what should
+he do? He had told himself and Alfred that even in summer there was
+not anything to be done in Kilcash. But he, O'Brien, was in full
+health and vigour, and began to feel uneventful idleness very irksome.
+Boating even with the pretence of fishing was out of the question, and
+one grew tired of strolling along the strand or downs when fine, and
+looking out of the windows at the unneeded rain when wet. Against the
+weariness of the long evenings he had brought books, cards, and chess
+from Kilbarry. Time began to hang heavily on his hands. Nothing more
+had been heard or seen of the ghost of Fahey, and the two friends had
+been a couple of times to see the outside of Kilcash House, whither,
+he believed, Mrs. Davenport had not yet arrived from Dublin.
+
+The weather was mild, moist, calm.
+
+"I'll tell you what we shall do, Alfred," said Jerry briskly at
+breakfast one morning.
+
+"What?" asked the other, looking up from his plate.
+
+"There isn't a ripple on the sea. I'll go see Jim Phelan, and get him
+to launch his boat."
+
+"Capital!" cried Alfred, who was in that state of convalescence when
+the daily addition to physical strength begets a desire to use it and
+yields indestructible buoyancy. "I should like a good long-sail of all
+things--or, indeed, a good pull. I'm sure I could manage an oar nearly
+as well as ever."
+
+"Nonsense!" said Jerry, dogmatically. "I will not be accessory to your
+murder, or allow you to commit suicide in my presence. I have had
+enough of inquests for my natural life. It's too cold for sailing, and
+you're not strong enough for rowing. But there are the caves. The time
+of the year does, not make any difference in them, so long as the sea
+is smooth. They are as warm in winter as in summer. We can bring
+torches and guns, and a horn and grub with us. A torchlight picnic
+would be a novelty to me, anyway. The echoes in some places are
+wonderful, and I'll answer for the food being wholesome. I'll go down
+to Phelan immediately after breakfast."
+
+Big Jim Phelan was at home in his cottage--not the shelter that
+covered him in the summer, but the one which the high and mighty of
+the land could rent for eight to twelve pounds a month when they
+wished to enjoy the sea.
+
+O'Brien explained his design.
+
+"Are you mad, sir?" said Jim, drawing back from the chair which he had
+placed for his unexpected guest.
+
+"No. Why? What's mad about it? I and my friend want to see the caves,
+and they are just as good at this time of year as in summer. Will you
+take us?--Yes or no? Or are you afraid?"
+
+"I'm not afraid of anything that swims or walks or flies, Mr.
+O'Brien," said Jim in a tone of indignant protest. "But nature is
+nature, and it's not right to fly in the face of nature."
+
+"Face of fiddlesticks!" said O'Brien. "What has nature to do with our
+going to visit the caves? If you don't take us, some one else will.
+what on earth do you mean by 'flying in the face of nature'?"
+
+"Go to the caves at this time of year!" said Jim, in a musing tone of
+voice. "Why, no one ever thought of such a thing before!"
+
+"What difference does that make? No strangers are here, except in
+summer; and of course the people of the village never want to go to
+the caves either winter or summer, unless they are paid. Come on, Jim;
+don't send me off to look for some one else. I like to stick to old
+friends."
+
+Phelan reflected awhile. There was no greater danger on such a day as
+this in going to the caves than on the finest day in July. But the
+novelty of the idea was almost too much for Jim. That any man in his
+sober senses could even during the dog-days want to go to the caves
+was wonderful enough; but that a man, and, moreover, a man who had
+lived most of his life hard by, could think of exploring those gloomy
+vaults in the chilly, damp days of spring, was too much for belief.
+O'Brien was liberal, and if he happened to spend a couple of the
+summer months at Kilcash, as he had hinted, Jim was certain to be a
+few pounds the better for it. But it wouldn't do to give in too
+easily.
+
+"Mr. O'Brien, if you're bent on going, of course I must take you. I'll
+go to the Cove of Cork for you, sir, single-handed, in my own yawl.
+But mind you, sir, it wasn't I that put you up to going. If you ask me
+my advice, I say don't go. I won't take any of the responsibility,
+mind, sir."
+
+"All right," cried O'Brien, with a laugh. "You know as well as I do
+that there is no danger on a calm day like this. How soon will you be
+ready?"
+
+"I'll have to get a man to go with me, and gather a few hands to help
+to launch the yawl. Will an hour be soon enough, sir?" said Jim, who,
+now that he had decided on action, was already busy in preparation.
+
+"Yes; an hour will do. How is the tide?"
+
+"About an hour flood."
+
+"And how will that answer for the Red Cave?"
+
+"Red Cave!" said Phelan, pausing suddenly in his preparation. "Is it
+Red Gap Cave you're thinking of going to, sir?"
+
+There was a sound of uneasiness in the boatman's voice.
+
+"Yes. Isn't it the largest? Isn't it the one they say has never been
+explored?"
+
+"Ay, sir. It never has been explored fully, and I don't suppose ever
+will--for what would be the good?--and it isn't over agreeable in
+there, with its windings and twistings, I can tell you. I don't mind
+much about the Red Cave itself; but, Mr. O'Brien, it's only a little
+bit beyond the Whale's Mouth, and you have some queer notions about
+that cursed place; and, mind, I'll have nothing to do with it for love
+or money."
+
+"I didn't say anything about the Whale's Mouth," said O'Brien, in a
+tone of irritation. "I asked you how is the tide for the Red Cave?
+Can't you answer a simple question?"
+
+"The tide is always right for the Red Cave," answered Phelan,
+sullenly. "You can always go into it when the water is smooth."
+
+"Very well. I'll expect you on the strand by the rocks in an hour;"
+and saying this, O'Brien left the cottage and set out for the hotel.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLI.
+
+                        AT THE WHALE'S MOUTH.
+
+
+Red Head is about a pistol-shot from the Black Rock to the east. It is
+a tall, perpendicular red cliff, more than a hundred feet high,
+projecting from the land a few hundred yards, and rising up sheer out
+of deep water. In places it overhangs slightly--in places reclines.
+The rocks of which it is formed are in no place angular, show no sharp
+fracture, declare no brittleness in formation. They are rounded and
+smooth like the human hand, abrupt nowhere, save in their giddy
+descent to the water.
+
+The middle of the Head is cleft in two a hundred yards inward. This
+cleft is called the Gap, or the Red Gap, and is as wide as the nave of
+St. Paul's. At the depth of a hundred yards in the Gap the height of
+the opening suddenly grows less, and the mouth of a huge cave is
+formed by the precipitous sides, and an irregular, blunted, Gothic
+roof of the same firm, smooth red rock. The vast chamber, or system of
+chambers, beyond, is the Red Gap Cave, for brevity called the Red
+Cave.
+
+At the time appointed, O'Brien and Paulton found Jim Phelan and his
+mate Tim Corcoran afloat on the bay by the flat stretch of rocks which
+served Kilcash as a landing-stage. Billy Coyne had brought down a
+basket of food, some torches, a crimson light, and gun--the torches
+and light to illumine the gloom, and the gun to awaken the echoes of
+the vast vault.
+
+The day was fair and bright, with chill spring sunshine. Overhead vast
+fields of silvery white clouds stretched motionless across the full
+azure sky. There was no breath of wind, no threat of rain, no look of
+anger anywhere. The waters of the bay moved inward with a silken
+ripple that scarcely stirred the yawl as she glided slowly onward.
+When she reached the open water beyond the bay, and headed first south
+and then east, she met the long, even Atlantic roller, which glided
+towards her and under her as silently and gently as a summer's breeze.
+No sound broke the plenteous silence but the ripple of the water
+against the sides, the snap of the oars in the rowlocks, and the dull
+beat of the waves against the foam-footed crags. No ship, no boat, no
+bird was in view. The solitude of the air and sea was complete. The
+sounds of the sea on the crags seemed not the distant notes of opening
+war, but the soft prelude to long, breathless peace.
+
+They rowed in silence until they were close to the Black Rock, until
+it rose dark, inhospitable, forbidding above them. Phelan was on the
+stroke, Corcoran on the bow oar. The yawl was now abreast the point at
+which the Black Rock joined the cliff at the westward. There was no
+rudder to the boat. On that coast rudders are looked on as foppery. In
+smooth weather the stroke steers from the rowlocks; in a sea-way some
+one steers with an additional oar from the sculling notch. O'Brien and
+Paulton were aft, but there was no oar in the sculling notch to steer
+with.
+
+They were keeping a clean wake, and owing to the swelling out of the
+Black Rock they would, if they held on as they were going, pass within
+a few score fathoms of the Whale's Mouth. It was now about half flood.
+
+All at once Jim Phelan began to ease without looking over his
+shoulder.
+
+"Pull, after oar--ease bow!" sang out O'Brien, quickly.
+
+The bow eased as ordered, but, contrary to the order, the stroke oar
+stopped pulling altogether, and Phelan looked up with an angry
+expression at O'Brien.
+
+"I said ease bow--pull stroke," said O'Brien, quickly, in a tone of
+irritation.
+
+"And I say--stop all," said Phelan, decisively.
+
+Corcoran rested on his oar, and for a few seconds O'Brien and Phelan
+sat looking at one another. It was plain O'Brien was angry, and that
+Phelan was resolute. Paulton had no key to the difficulty. The clumsy
+yawl rose to the top and slid into the trough of two long, slow
+rollers before either of the men spoke further.
+
+Jim Phelan peaked his oar and broke silence.
+
+"Mr. O'Brien, I told you I wouldn't, and I won't. That's all."
+
+"You won't what, you stubborn fool?"
+
+O'Brien was hot, but he had not lost his temper.
+
+"I told you," said Phelan, leaning his great body forward, and resting
+his hands on his thighs, "as plain as words could be that I'd have
+nothing to do with the Whale's Mouth. You may not care about your
+life, Mr. O'Brien, but I have people looking to me. You're
+independent, and can do what you like; but neither for you nor any
+other man will I go nearer than I think safe to the Whale's Mouth. The
+Red Gap is bad enough at this time of year; but not at this time of
+year or any other will I have anything to do with that cursed hole in
+the Black Rock here. Now, sir, am I to put about?"
+
+"I think you're taking leave of your senses, Phelan," said Jerry,
+testily. "What on earth put it into your head I wanted to go into the
+Whale's Mouth? Why, if I wanted to do anything half so plucky as that,
+I'd get a man with a _red_ liver, and a heart as big as a sparrow's!
+Give way, I tell you."
+
+An ugly look came into Phelan's face. He was not bad-tempered or
+quarrelsome, but he justly had the reputation of being the most daring
+and the strongest man in the village. He was not very intelligent, and
+this was the first time in his life he had been accused of cowardice.
+He felt more amazed than angry, but he felt some anger. He knew he
+could, if he chose, catch O'Brien by the feet and throw him over the
+gunwale as easily as the oar lying across his legs. For a moment he
+thought the cold swim would do O'Brien good, but almost instantly he
+saw the punishment would be out of proportion to the offence. He drew
+a deep breath, partly straightened himself, and, catching his oar,
+said:
+
+"Are we to go on to the Red Gap, sir?"
+
+"Yes, confound you!" said O'Brien, far from amiably. "Keep as close to
+the rock as you think is _safe, quite safe_, Phelan. I wouldn't risk
+your life for a thousand pounds."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said Phelan, sullenly. "Neither would I--in a cave;
+but if it came to anything between man and man----"
+
+"I know," broke in O'Brien, with a laugh, "you'd be glad to risk your
+neck to satisfy your anger."
+
+He had suddenly regained his good humour.
+
+"That's it," said Phelan, laconically, as the yawl moved on.
+
+Paulton looked in surprise from one to the other. O'Brien smiled and
+shook his head to reassure him, but said nothing. Visibly the spirits
+of the little party were damped.
+
+At length they were opposite the much-dreaded Whale's Mouth. The two
+rowers, at the request of O'Brien, peaked their oars a few fathoms out
+of the direct set of the in-draught, now at its greatest strength.
+
+The wall of rock, in which the opening of the cave appeared, was at
+this time of tide almost square, and considerably wider than the yawl
+was long. Nothing could be more harmless-looking than the Mouth. Its
+sides were smooth and almost perpendicular. No huge mass of rock hung
+threateningly on high; the water beneath was pellucid, green, gentle.
+No awful sounds issued from that Mouth. The internal sounds told of
+little disturbance or danger. No sign of conflict appeared on the
+sides of the Mouth or the water, or in the soft olive depths below. In
+the heat of summer a stranger would have found it almost impossible to
+deny himself the luxurious refreshment of repose in the moist twilight
+of that water-cave.
+
+No teeth were visible; but the lithe, subtle, unceasing, undulating
+tongue was there--the polished, subtle water. It rose and fell,
+seemingly, as the water round it, in indolent, purposeless
+indifference; and looking at the water merely, it seemed to make no
+greater progress onward than the water outside and around. Yet the
+gentle swelling and hollowing of the waves had a purpose underlying,
+though they seemed, like other waves, to move tardily, almost
+imperceptibly forward. But here the water was dragged onward occultly
+by some power, and for some purpose unknown. The roof of the Mouth and
+the jaws were powerless for evil. No teeth were visible in this
+gigantic Mouth, but the unsuspected, oily, slimy water was there lying
+in wait for the unwary, and fatal to all things that touched it.
+
+It was the tongue of the ant-bear that attracts, enfolds, and finally
+engulphs its prey in its noisome maw.
+
+"Is that the Whale's Mouth of which you told me, Jerry?" asked Alfred.
+
+"That's it," answered Jerry, shortly. He took up one of the torches
+lying on the stern-sheets and threw the torch towards the cave into
+the sea.
+
+"It doesn't appear very dreadful now--does it?"
+
+"Watch that torch. No sea looks very terrifying in a calm," said
+Jerry, sharply.
+
+He had not yet quite recovered from the passage of arms with Phelan.
+The boatman had annoyed him by extravagantly over-estimating the
+dangers and powers of the chasm, and Paulton now ruffled him by
+seeming to make nothing of them.
+
+Slowly but surely the torch was carried towards the Whale's Mouth.
+Slowly at first, but more quickly as it approached the rock, more
+quickly as it approached the cave. Second by second the rate
+increased, until, when it reached the Mouth and disappeared, it was
+hurrying on as fast as a man could walk.
+
+"That's strange!" said Alfred. "I think you told me no one has been
+able to find out where all this water goes to."
+
+"To a place that's more hot than comfortable," said Phelan grimly,
+directing a look of inquiry towards Jerry.
+
+"It all comes back again," said Jerry.
+
+"Barring what doesn't," muttered Phelan. "Pull a stroke or two, Tim,"
+he said to the other boatman. "The current is under her keel already,
+and bad as this world is, I haven't made my will yet. A couple of more
+strokes, Tim."
+
+He looked at Alfred and addressed him, although he could not do so by
+his name, as he had never heard it.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir; but if you'd like to make money, sir, I'll
+lay you the price of this day's work to a brass button you never see
+that torch again, and I'll lie by to watch for it until the ebb is
+done."
+
+Alfred did not answer. His eyes had been raised for a few moments, and
+were now firmly fixed on the plain of the Black Rock. Jerry was
+peering intently into the jaws of the Whale's Mouth. Phelan was
+looking into Alfred's face to see the effect of his offer.
+
+"Jerry!" cried Alfred, abruptly.
+
+"What?" asked Jerry, without moving his eyes from the cavern.
+
+"There's some one on the Black Rock."
+
+"Good heavens!" exclaimed O'Brien, looking up. "Not Fahey?"
+
+"No," said Alfred. "It's Mrs. Davenport!"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLII.
+
+                            THE RED CAVE.
+
+
+There was no mistaking that figure, and if the figure had not been
+ample confirmation of identity, there were the full widow's weeds,
+and, above all, the pale, placid face. The full light of the unclouded
+sun fell on her. The distance was not great, and she stood out in bold
+relief against the white field of cloud stretching across the northern
+sky.
+
+On impulse, Alfred rose in the boat, and took off his hat and bowed.
+
+She returned his salute, and without a moment's pause drew back from
+the edge on which she had been standing, and disappeared from view.
+
+"Mrs. Davenport!" said Phelan, forgetting his ill-humour in his
+surprise. "What a place for a lady to be all by herself! I thought
+Mrs. Davenport was away somewhere in foreign parts."
+
+Alfred sat down. The boatmen had resumed their oars, and the yawl was
+gliding steadily through the water.
+
+"Is the Rock really dangerous at this time?" asked Alfred anxiously of
+Phelan. O'Brien was buried in thought, and did not heed what the
+others were saying.
+
+"Not dangerous now, sir--not dangerous when the water is so smooth and
+the air so calm; but if there's a little sea on, and a little breeze,
+you never know what may happen here. Sometimes the sea alone will do
+it, and sometimes the wind alone will do it, and sometimes both
+together won't do it. You can only be sure she'll spout when the sea
+is high and the wind a strong gale from the south-west. What surprises
+me to see the lady there is because the place has a bad name, and she
+was just standing on the worst spot of all when we saw her first."
+
+"How a bad name, and how the worst place of all? Are you quite sure
+there is no danger to the lady now?" asked Alfred, struggling
+violently and successfully to conceal his extraordinary solicitude.
+
+"I am perfectly sure there is no danger of the spout now. The reason I
+said it has a bad name is because of all the people who were carried
+off that Rock; and where Mrs. Davenport stood is just the worst spot
+of all."
+
+"But Mrs. Davenport must know the Rock well. I dare say, as her house
+is near, she often comes to see it."
+
+"Ay, she may often come to see it. But to see it and to walk on it are
+different things. There are very few women in the village who would
+care to go on it without a man to lend them a hand. Why, sir, it's as
+slippery as ice, and two people fell and were killed on it out of
+regard to its slipperiness."
+
+"Is there no way of landing here?"
+
+"No, sir. You can't get a foot ashore anywhere nearer than Kilcash.
+You might, of course, land on many a rock here and there, but you
+couldn't get up the cliffs. It's iron-bound for miles."
+
+"But could not the lady be cautioned in some way? She could hear a
+shout even though we cannot see her. She cannot yet be out of
+hearing?" Paulton could scarcely sit still in the boat.
+
+"And suppose she could hear a shout, sir, what could you tell her she
+doesn't know? Do you think Mrs. Davenport has lived all these years
+and years a mile from the Black Rock, and doesn't know as much as any
+of us could tell her about it? Why, she lives nearer to it than any
+one else in the world! Her next-door neighbours are, I may say, the
+ghosts of men who lost their lives on that very spot."
+
+"What is that you're saying?" asked O'Brien, coming suddenly out of
+his reverie.
+
+"Only, sir, that Mrs. Davenport's next-door neighbours are the ghosts
+of the men who lost their lives on the Black Rock."
+
+O'Brien looked in amazement at the boatman. He had been recalled from
+his abstraction by the word "ghost;" but he had not fancied, when he
+asked his question, that the answer would lie so close to the thoughts
+which had been occupying his mind a moment before. For a while he
+could not clear his mind of the effect of this coincidence.
+
+"What on earth do you know or guess about the matter, Phelan?" he
+cried, quite taken off his guard.
+
+"I suppose I know as much about the Rock as any man of my years along
+the coast," answered Phelan, with a slight return of his former
+sullenness.
+
+O'Brien at once saw that he had made a mistake, that Phelan's words
+were perfectly consistent with ignorance of what he knew of the Fahey
+affair--or, indeed, with the absence of intention to refer to the
+Fahey affair. He hastened to put himself right.
+
+"Of course you do, Phelan," said he cordially. "No man knows more than
+you. Excuse me for what I said. I was thinking of something else when
+you spoke, and I did not exactly hear what you said. I did not mean to
+annoy you. I was only stupid myself."
+
+Jim Phelan considered this a very handsome and ample apology, not only
+for the words just then spoken, but for what had occurred a few
+minutes before.
+
+"He was thinking, poor gentleman," thought Phelan, "of those
+blackguards of Commissioners. I know how anxious a man gets about
+fish."
+
+"He was thinking," thought Alfred, "of Madge. I know all about that
+kind of thing."
+
+He had not been thinking of one or the other. He was wondering how
+Mrs. Davenport would have been affected if the figure of Fahey
+suddenly rose before her on that Rock.
+
+"This, sir," said the boatman, addressing Alfred, the stranger, "is
+what we call the Red Gap, and the cave beyond is what we call the Red
+Gap Cave--or the Gap Cave, or the Red Cave, for short."
+
+Alfred looked around him, and then up.
+
+Above towered the great perpendicular cliffs, silent and forlorn. From
+the dark green water at their bases, to the hard, dark line they made
+against the azure plain of sky that roofed the chasm, was no break, in
+form or colour, no noteworthy ledge or hollow, no clinging weeds below
+or verdurous patch above. All was smooth, and bluff, and huge, and
+liver-coloured.
+
+A peculiar silence, a silence of a new and startling quality, filled
+the gigantic cleft. The silence abroad upon the sea was that in which
+vast spaciousness engulfed sound. Here adamantine walls, beetling and
+threatening, a thousand feet thick, stood between the stagnant air and
+the large breathings of the sea. The atmosphere was dense, motionless,
+inert with salt vapours. The prodigious circumvallation of cliff
+crushed vitality out of the air. There was a breathless whisper of
+water against the sea line of the ramparts, and deep in the gorge of
+the cave a smothered snore, like the hushed breathing of some
+stupendous monster.
+
+The yawl glided slowly up between the closing walls of the Red Gap. No
+one spoke. The two boatmen were indifferent to the place. O'Brien and
+Paulton were lost in thoughts of diverse kinds, awakened by the
+spectacle of Mrs. Davenport on the Black Rock. None of the men was
+paying attention to the Gap.
+
+At last a sudden darkness fell upon the boat. O'Brien and Paulton
+looked up. The sky was no longer overhead. A gloom of purple brown was
+above them. The light of day stood like a lofty, luminous pillar in
+their wake. They had entered the Red Cave.
+
+The boatmen ceased rowing, and Phelan lit a torch.
+
+For a few moments nothing could be seen but the blazing red torch
+flare against a vast black blank, and round the glowing red boat a
+narrow pool of glaring orange water.
+
+No one moved. No sound informed the silence but the hiss of the torch
+and the profound sighs of distant, impenetrable hollows.
+
+The water illumined near the boat looked trustworthy, denser than
+water, a ruddy platform with shadowy verge. No undulation moved over
+its face save a dulling ripple caused by the boat's imperceptible
+motion. The boat and figures in it seemed the golden boss of a fiery
+brazen shield hung in a night of chaos.
+
+Alfred Paulton put his hand outward and downward. It touched the
+gleaming surface of the water. He drew his hand back with a start. The
+cold of the water froze his fingers, his soul. The water shone like
+solid metal, felt less buoyant than the ruddy air he breathed. Instead
+of resting on a firm plain of luminous beaten gold, the boat hung on a
+faint, thin fluid over a sightless abyss.
+
+This was a terrible place. Here was nothing but space for thought--for
+visions and fears too awful to dwell upon. Nothing was surer than that
+no loathsome dangers lurked, or swam, or hung pendulous above. Nothing
+was surer than that the imagination crouched back from dreads which
+had never affrighted it before.
+
+This water was only phantom water. It was no better than the spume of
+sea-mists held between invisible crags of blackness, of mute eternity.
+If one should fall out into that water, he would sink through it swift
+as lead through air. One would shoot down, and down, and down, giddy,
+but not stunned. One would sink--whither? Whither? To what fell
+intimacy with dripping rocks and clammy weeds and slime would one
+come? What agonising sense of impending gloom reaching infinitely
+upwards would lie upon one, as one fell! Would the falling ever cease?
+Never, never. Nor would one live, for to fall thus for a moment of
+time would serve to fill the infinite of eternity with chimeras of
+ebon adamant too foul for human eyes.
+
+The oars dipped. The boat moved forward into the immeasurable
+vagueness of shadow--into this sleeping chamber of night. It glided
+over the silent floor between hushed arras, which saw neither the
+gaudy sun that drowns in light the tender whisperings of the sea, nor
+the silver moon that hearkens forlorn to the faint complainings of the
+weary waves, arras woven of the flame of earth's primal fire, and
+limned by night in the smoke of ancient chaos.
+
+Something floated from the side of the boat and shone a while in the
+wake, and then was lost in the darkness as the boat moved slowly on.
+
+"Keep her west," whispered a voice in the boat.
+
+"We're keeping west," whispered another voice in the boat. The noise
+of the oars in the rowlocks clanked in the echoes like the
+complainings of a gigantic wheel whose bearings were dry. The whispers
+came back from the echoes like the whispers of a Titan whose teeth
+were gone, and whose tongue was thick with age or clumsy with disease.
+The voice of the giant seemed near--on a level with the head. It
+stirred the hair.
+
+The torch went out.
+
+"Light--give us light," whispered a voice in the boat.
+
+"Wait. Watch astern," whispered another voice.
+
+"Astern," whispered the awful, almost inarticulate voice close to the
+ear, in the hair.
+
+Then all was still. The oars stopped. All eyes were, unseeing, turned
+in the direction whence the boat had come. The faintest glimmer
+indicated the opening to the cave. All was black as the heart of
+unhewn granite.
+
+"Now watch," whispered a voice in the boat.
+
+"Now watch," whispered the echo against the throat and neck.
+
+"On no account start or stir. The report will be very loud. Hold on to
+the thwarts. I am going to fire!"
+
+Blended with the earlier portion of this speech, the echoes gave back
+a sharp battering sound like that of throwing metal from a height.
+This was the cocking of the gun.
+
+When this sound ceased, the echo whispered:
+
+"Fire!"
+
+A jagged rod of flame and luminous smoke shot outwards and upwards
+into the black void from the boat aft, and cleared the black space for
+a moment.
+
+Then the clash and clangour of a thousand shattered echoes close at
+hand bore downward on the head and bent the head, while out of
+far-reaching caverns thunders were torn with shrieks and yells and
+flung against concave-resounding roofs, until the whole still air of
+the monstrous hollows roared, and secret off-spring tombs of darkness,
+never seen by man, answered with fearful groans and shrieks of the
+Mother Cave.
+
+Paulton let go the thwart, bent his head, flung his arms up, and
+crossed them over his head.
+
+Here was the solid earth riven through and through with prodigious
+thunders of all the heavens!
+
+The roar of sound fell to a shout, the shout to a groan, the groan to
+a mutter. Then all was still, stiller than before--still with the
+silence of annihilation accomplished. Nothing that had been was. The
+echoes were dead, and would speak no more. The material had failed to
+be, and only darkness and the unweary spirit of man remained.
+
+A voice whispered, "Watch."
+
+Some lingering phantom of an echo whispered in ghostly gutturals,
+"Watch!"
+
+There was a hiss, a purple commotion on the surface of the water, in
+the air on the wake of the boat. A cone of intense red flame, as thick
+as a man's arm, rose up from the level of the water in the wake, and
+stood a cubit high:
+
+The air took fire and burned, and out from the brown darkness leaned
+huge polished pillars, copper-red, and broken walls, smooth pilasters,
+and architraves keen with light, and sightless gargoyles blurred with
+fire, and cloisters whose rich arches dripped with flame, and
+buttresses with fierce outlines impacted on plutonian shade, plinths
+with shafts of Moorish lightness and arabesques with ruby tags, sturdy
+bastions and flat curtains, broken Gothic windows, capitals of
+acanthus leaves flushed with ruddy flare.
+
+Aloft yawned arches and domes and hollow towers, vast in sombre
+distances and sultry with hidden fires. The secrets of their depths no
+eye could pierce. They were abysmal homes of viewless voices--homes of
+virgin night.
+
+Hither and thither, chapels and aisles and corridors and galleries,
+reached from the great central space into the copper gloom. Here above
+the surface of watery floor stood columns of fallen pillars, masses of
+broken walls, points of ruined spires.
+
+In the centre of the level floor rose a block of stone, flat, a little
+above the surface of the water, and on this the headless form of a
+colossal figure, showing in rude outline like an Egyptian sphinx.
+
+The ground was polished red granite here and there, ribbed with ruby
+marble, that shone with dazzling brightness against the aqueous glare.
+
+On the pedestal of the sphinx the men of the boat landed, and stood to
+gaze upon this Pompeii beneath Vesuvia's pall--this subterranean
+Venice in ruins--this water-floored Heliopolis without the sun!
+
+There was a loud hiss. The blood-red architecture thrust forward in
+fiercer light. A louder reverberating hiss, and all was dark!
+Everything had vanished--had drawn back into immeasurable darkness.
+The crimson light had burned down to the level of the tiny raft which
+bore it, and the water of the cave had quenched its flame.
+
+All was black darkness, turn which way one might.
+
+"Light!" whispered Paulton, overcome by what he had heard and seen.
+
+"What is that?" asked O'Brien, catching Phelan's hand, and pointing
+down to where the western gallery had glowed a minute ago. Light was
+seen piercing the cliff to the westward.
+
+For a while no answer was given. Then, in accents of awe and fear, the
+boatman answered:
+
+"A light--a light made by no mortal hand!"
+
+Far down in the gloom of the western gallery a yellow spot shone!
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+                            A RETROSPECT.
+
+
+Mrs. Davenport's visit to the Black Rock that day had not been one of
+mere curiosity, although nothing of import to her life was likely to
+result from it. Her career was over, if, indeed, it might be said ever
+to have begun.
+
+In her younger days she had been abandoned by the only man she had
+ever loved, and wed to a man whom she never loved, whom she could not
+even esteem. She had sworn to love her husband; she had fairly tried,
+and wholly failed. To her husband she had been a blameless wife, an
+admirable companion. He had signified his approval of her conduct by
+leaving her his fortune. All her lifetime she had been too proud to
+care for money, and now she could not take it. Her father had
+prevented her marrying the good-for-nothing, beggarly scamp, Tom
+Blake, and forced her into the arms of the elderly, rich, excellent
+Mr. Louis Davenport. In those days she had been torn by tempests of
+love and hate, of aspirations and despairs, which no mortal eye had
+seen, no mortal ear had heard. In the solitude of her own room, and of
+the woods about her father's home, she had wept and stormed, and
+pitied herself with the broken-hearted self-pity of youth. She had
+cast herself against the bars that confined her, and wished that the
+fury which shook her might end her. She had prayed in vain for death.
+In answer to her passionate appeals for a shroud, heaven sent her a
+bridal veil. When Blake gave her up, she did not care whether she
+walked into an open grave or up to the marriage altar. She took no
+interest in herself: why should she take interest in any one else?
+
+If Blake had asked her to fly with him then, she would have rushed
+into his arms with unspeakable eagerness and joy. But he sold his
+claim to her for a sum of money, and walked off with the cash in his
+pocket!
+
+She then knew she was beautiful--one of the most beautiful women in
+the country. Many men had sought her before Blake asked her for her
+love. But up to his coming she was heart-whole. She had never
+seriously considered any man. She thought little of the sex, of the
+race, herself included. She took but a weak interest in this world,
+and, up to the advent of her only sweetheart, would have stepped out
+of it any day without much reluctance. She was a dreamer, and told
+herself the hero of her dreams was not human. Then came Tom Blake, and
+forth went her whole heart to him. She gave him all the love she had
+to give. She told him her life had hitherto been dull, without
+expectation, hope, love, sunlight; but that, as he was now with her,
+and would, in spite of all opposition, be beside her all her life, her
+soul was filled with ineffable hope, with delicious love, and the
+dream-romance of her life had taken substantial form, which would be a
+thousand times sweeter than she had ever dared to figure in her
+thoughts.
+
+Her lover had no money. He had lost his patrimony. Her father had
+nothing to give her, and----
+
+And what?
+
+How was it to be? How could they live on nothing? She had been brought
+up a lady, but her father was hopelessly in debt--over head and ears
+in debt--and if he were ever so willing to do so, he was powerless to
+help them now, and could leave them nothing later.
+
+True--most sadly true. But what of that? Was Tom not her lover?--and
+was he going to die of hunger? Did he not think he could get enough
+money somehow to keep him from falling by the way?
+
+No doubt. But she had been tenderly, luxuriously brought up. He had no
+means of keeping her in any such position as she had all along in life
+enjoyed.
+
+But he could get bread? Not literally only bread, but as much as they
+paid a gamekeeper or a groom?
+
+Oh, nonsense! Of course he could. But gentlefolk could not live on the
+wages of a gamekeeper or a groom.
+
+Did he love her?
+
+Very much. But a gamekeeper got no more----
+
+Than a roof, and clothes, and food, and--love. How much did he love
+her?
+
+Oh, better than anything else in the world.
+
+Well, then, let him take time and look around him, and get house, and
+clothes, and food such as gamekeepers and grooms may have. Those would
+be his contributions to their lives. She would supply the love.
+
+But lady and gentleman could not live in such a way.
+
+Why not? He was a gentleman, and she was a lady, and poverty could
+take none of these poor possessions away, any more than riches could
+create them. Let him get a gamekeeper's wages, and she would share
+them with him, and give him all her love, every day renewed.
+
+But----
+
+Ah! Then all she had to give was not worth as much to him as a
+gamekeeper valued his own wife at. Good-bye. The air was damp, and
+this wood was chilly.
+
+Yes, it looked as if it were going to rain. She would not leave him
+thus. She would say good-bye to him, and give him one kiss at parting.
+
+She would say good-bye, and he might have as many kisses as he cared
+for, provided she got soon away--for it was going to rain. No man had
+ever kissed her but him. Kisses did not mean anything, or words
+either. Why did he draw back? She told him he might kiss her if he
+chose. Any man might kiss her now. Kisses or words did not mean
+anything. Well, good-bye. Whither was he going? It would surely rain.
+Whither, did he say?
+
+"To hell!"
+
+"No, not there. You are a gentleman, and gentlemen do not go there;
+only gamekeepers and grooms--and women such as I."
+
+She walked slowly away through the moist wood in the drizzling rain.
+
+He felt sorely sorry and hurt, and ill-used by fate; but he had a gay
+disposition, and was no dreamer. Besides, he was a man of the world,
+and devilishly pressed for money just then; so he took Louis
+Davenport's thousand pounds and went away.
+
+After a while she married the odd, rich, old bachelor, Louis Davenport
+(she did not care what man kissed her now), and he took her away to
+Kilcash House, and although he never laid any restraint upon her, she
+knew he did not care that she should go much abroad; so she lived
+almost wholly in the house, and rarely went out alone, and never had
+any guest at the place.
+
+Mr. Davenport was at home most of the time. Now and then he went away
+for a few days, and always came back alone. There were no callers at
+the house, and she at first hoped she might die, and when she found
+her bodily health unimpaired, looked forward with a sense of relief to
+the time when she should go mad.
+
+Still her mental health held out as well as her bodily health, and
+weeks grew into months, and found no change in her or her manner of
+life.
+
+But there came a slight change in her home. During the first few weeks
+of her married life no stranger ever crossed the threshold of Kilcash
+House.
+
+Now a tall, gaunt, humble-mannered man, of slow, soft speech and
+unpretending ways, was often with Mr. Davenport for a long time in the
+day, sometimes far into the night, The husband never took the wife
+into his business confidence, and the wife had no curiosity whatever.
+But from odd words she gathered that this young man, whose name was
+Michael Fahey, depended on her husband, and was helped and received by
+him because of some old ties between the families of both. She heard
+Fahey was staying at the village of Kilcash for his health, which was
+delicate, and that he was completely trustworthy and well-disposed
+towards Mr. Davenport.
+
+All this reached Mrs. Davenport without leaving any impression
+whatever on her mind beyond the simplest value of the words. Her
+husband introduced Fahey to her as a man in whom he took a sincere
+interest, and whom he wished her to think well of. Whether he intended
+his wife should or should not treat the stranger as an equal, she did
+not know, she did not care.
+
+For a time she took little heed of Fahey, but gradually it dawned upon
+her that in him she had a new admirer. She was accustomed to
+admiration, surfeited with it. Her love romance was at an end. She was
+married to a man for whom she did not care, from whom she did not
+shrink, to whom she owed no ill-will, who was in his poor, narrow,
+selfish way good and kind to her. If she had now any commerce with
+laughter, she would have laughed; but even the pathetically absurd
+experience she had had of love could not provoke a smile, and she
+simply took no heed, said no word, gave no sign. She did not feel
+angry, flattered, amused, even bored. She was past any of these
+emotions now. She would, she could be no more than indifferent.
+
+Nothing could be more respectful than Fahey's manner. He did not
+regard her as human. He worshipped her afar off. He ate his heart in
+silence. He breathed no word, no sigh, gave wilfully no sign. But she
+saw his downcast or averted face, and she read the homage in furtive
+glances of his wondering eyes.
+
+Then came the scene with the rose and her husband's absence abroad,
+followed by his return, and a brief history of the marvellous escape
+he had from that French bank, and his resolution that he would now
+settle down in life and speculate no more. She then had but a dim idea
+of what speculation meant, of what his business was.
+
+Soon came a day of mystery and horror to her.
+
+She was alone in the little sitting-room on the ground floor, purely
+her own. It faced west. Broad daylight flooded the garden before her,
+the rolling downs beyond.
+
+Suddenly the light of the window by which she sat was obscured. The
+window was opened by Fahey. She motioned him to enter. By way of reply
+he made an impatient gesture.
+
+"Is he in?" asked Fahey, breathlessly.
+
+"No," she answered. "Can I do anything for you?"
+
+She now saw he was in violent agitation, and physically distressed.
+
+He continued:
+
+"I have not a moment to spare. Say to him, 'All is well. All is safe
+for him.' I have arranged that."
+
+"Safe!" she answered. "Does any danger threaten my husband?"
+
+"Yes, while I am here--while I live."
+
+"You--you would not hurt him?"
+
+She remembered the look of admiration she had seen in this man's eyes,
+and rose and recoiled in horror.
+
+"Give him my message. Repeat all I have said, except this: 'I am not
+doing it for his sake, or my own sake, but for yours. Good-bye.' Tell
+no one else of my being here; no one but him--not a soul."
+
+In a moment he was gone.
+
+The next thing she heard of him was that he had drowned himself in the
+hideous Puffing Hole.
+
+At first she had been inclined to think Fahey's words referred solely
+to his feelings towards her; but when she learned he had drowned
+himself she doubted this. Against what was her husband secure? To say
+he was secure against Fahey's admiration for her would be the height
+of gratuitous absurdity. She cared no more for the young man than for
+any misty figure in a fable. He must be mad; yes, that was it. That
+supposition made all simple--explained everything.
+
+It was night when her husband returned. She, remembering Fahey's
+caution, and bearing in mind that walls have ears, went to the gate of
+the grounds, and there met Davenport. He had heard of Fahey's fate. It
+was dark--pitch dark--when she gave him the message with which she had
+been charged.
+
+"Poor Michael!" her husband said--"poor Michael! Unfortunate fellow!"
+
+He said no more then, and rarely spoke of the man afterwards.
+Davenport was not a communicative man, and there was nothing
+noteworthy in his silence.
+
+After her husband's death she went through his papers, and found
+evidence of a much closer intimacy between Fahey and him than she had
+till then suspected. There was no clear evidence in these documents.
+They were partly in her husband's handwriting, partly in Fahey's.
+There was an air of mystery in them, and she was certain many passages
+of them were figurative. But one dreadful secret she learned from them
+beyond all doubt: Louis Davenport had not come by his money fairly,
+and Fahey was an accomplice in his schemes. When leaving London for
+the Continent, she had carried those papers with her unread. There she
+opened them, with a view to destroying them, and burned them in
+terrified haste. She had never suspected her husband of dishonest
+actions. Now she felt perfectly sure he had come by his money foully.
+How, she did not know. The man had been her husband, and she would
+shield his memory from shame; but she would touch none of his money,
+let who would have it, when she got back to London.
+
+She was convinced Fahey had not thrown himself into the Puffing Hole
+for love of her, or because he was insane, but solely and simply
+because he and her husband were mixed up in crimes of some kind, and
+Fahey preferred death to discovery on his own part, and on her part
+too; for she would suffer from the exposure of her husband, and Fahey
+had nothing to expect from her. There was still a want of clearness
+and precision about the whole affair. But on her way back from France,
+she had no doubt her theory was right in the main.
+
+Before the inquest she had been in horror of revealing in court the
+history of the treatment she had received at the hands of Blake, and
+the bare notion that she, being then a married woman, had driven this
+man Fahey in a frenzy of self-sacrifice or devotion to drown himself,
+filled her mind with thoughts of shame and anguish, the contemplation
+of which nearly took away her own reason. She had contemplated making
+away with herself rather than face the ordeal of the court. She had
+been a recluse for years, and haughty in her consciousness of
+unblameableness all her life.
+
+On her return to London she heard the rumour of this apparition at the
+Puffing Hole. Phelan had told of the apparition to several people in
+Kilbarry. The news of it had got into the local papers, and London
+papers copied the account. No name was given but Fahey's, and attached
+to his name was a brief history of Fahey's disappearance years ago.
+
+Upon these two discoveries she resolved to go to Ireland and renounce
+all claim to the fortune her husband had left her. There could no
+longer be in her mind any doubt that her husband's fortune, or a
+portion of it, had been obtained by fraud. At Paulton's she met
+O'Brien, who, on the way to Ireland, told her he himself had seen
+Fahey.
+
+She was now quite sure Fahey was still alive. The horrible suspicion
+had taken hold of her mind that Fahey had, after keeping in hiding for
+years, poisoned her husband for her sake! In the light of her belief
+that Fahey still lived, the theory that her husband had poisoned
+himself while of unsound mind was absurd to her.
+
+Before setting out this day for the Black Rock she opened a drawer of
+her late husband's, took out a revolver she knew to be loaded, and
+dropped it into her pocket.
+
+When she left the edge of the Black Rock she walked carefully to the
+cliff and ascended by the path.
+
+When she reached the level of the downs she gazed round.
+
+She started. A loud explosion rose from beneath her feet. It was the
+gunfire of the boat and the tremendous reverberations from the caves
+and cliffs.
+
+She looked round in alarm. A minute ago she had been alone. Now
+Michael Fahey stood by her side!
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+                            A LAST APPEAL.
+
+
+"Michael Fahey! Michael Fahey!" cried Mrs. Davenport, slowly. "Am I
+awake and sane?"
+
+"Both," answered he, gently. "You are awake and sane, and I am Fahey,
+and alive. Nothing can be more incredible; but it is as I say, Mrs.
+Davenport. You will not betray me? You will not be unmerciful to me?
+Remember, I never meant to do you harm."
+
+She shrank back from him. Did this man, whose hands were reddened with
+her husband's blood, dare to plead to her for mercy. "Betray you! What
+do you mean? Do you call it betraying you to give you into the hands
+of justice? You will gain nothing by threats. I am not afraid of you;
+and I am not defenceless, even though I am alone." She moved further
+off, and pressed the revolver in her hand.
+
+He seemed dejected rather than alarmed. "What good can it do you? When
+I disappeared years ago, it was for the good of your husband----" He
+held out his hands appealingly to her.
+
+Her tone and attitude were firm, as she interrupted him. "You
+disappeared years ago for the good of my husband, and reappear for his
+death--for his murder! I can have no more words with you. I shall
+certainly not shield you from the consequences of your crime."
+
+"If you only knew me as well as you might--if you could only
+understand how I felt that day I was hunted like a beast, you could
+not believe I would willingly do anything to annoy, much less to harm
+you.... Mrs. Davenport," he burst out, vehemently, "I would have died
+then for you: I will die now if you bid me--die for that second rose."
+
+She looked at him with a glance of loathing, and gathered herself
+together as though she felt contaminated by contact with the air he
+breathed.
+
+"Go away at once. Your audacity is loathsome. Has it come to this with
+me, that I must bandy words with such a monster?"
+
+"Mrs. Davenport," said he, in a tone of expostulation, "I am very far
+from saying I am blameless. I have committed crimes for which the
+punishment would be great, but I was not alone in my crimes. I did not
+invent them."
+
+"And who invented the atrocious crime of last February? Who was in our
+house in Dulwich that night?"
+
+"I read the case, and saw that Mr. Thomas Blake was at your house on
+that night."
+
+"And where were you?"
+
+"In Brussels. Good heavens!--you cannot imagine I had anything to do
+with that awful night! The idea is too monstrous to resent--to think
+of for a moment. I swear to you I was in Brussels at the time, and
+that I never did, or thought of doing, any injury to your husband. I
+loved him well; but I loved some one else better---better than all the
+world besides."
+
+He did not look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on the sea.
+
+She moved as if to go.
+
+He heard the motion, and went to her and stood between her and the
+house.
+
+"I will not say another word about myself; but hear me out. If I have
+nothing to hope for, let me go away in the belief I am not unjustly
+suspected by you of hurting your husband. I never cared much for my
+life. Let me feel that when I die I shall not be worse in your eyes
+than I deserve to be. Mrs. Davenport, hear me."
+
+He entreated her with his voice, with his eyes, with his bent body,
+with his outstretched hands.
+
+Without speaking, she gave him to understand he might go on.
+
+"I knew Mr. Davenport years before I saw you. I had business
+connections with him which would not bear the light. You must have
+heard or guessed something of what we have been busy about?"
+
+She made no sign--said nothing.
+
+"I was a steel engraver. Now and then he wanted plates done. I did the
+plates for him."
+
+"What kind of plates?"
+
+She betrayed no emotion of any kind. Her voice was as calm as though
+she was asking an ordinary question.
+
+"You had better not know. It would do you no good to know. But do you
+believe me that I was hundreds of miles away from London that awful
+night?"
+
+"And what brought you back to this place now?"
+
+"I came back--because you are free!"
+
+She made a gesture of impatience and dissent.
+
+"You do not mean to say you will continue your suspicion in the face
+of my denial, in the face of my horror at the mere thought?"
+
+"But why should I take your unsupported word? If you are innocent, why
+were you so horrified at the mere thought of inquiry?"
+
+"But, good heavens! Mrs. Davenport, you did not for a moment imagine I
+was afraid of inquiry into anything which occurred in February? I
+thought the inquiry to which you referred had reference to some old
+transactions between me and Mr. Davenport?"
+
+"What were these transactions?"
+
+"I beg of you not to ask. What good can it do to go into matters so
+far back? You would find my answers of no advantage to you."
+
+"Were they of a business character?"
+
+"Purely of a business character, I assure you."
+
+"And they would not bear the light?"
+
+"Not with advantage to me."
+
+"Or to my husband?"
+
+"Or with advantage to your late husband."
+
+"And to you, and to you alone the secret of these transactions is now
+known?"
+
+"To me, and to me alone."
+
+She paused in thought. She held up her hand to bespeak his silence.
+After a few moments' pause, she said:
+
+"In the course of these transactions injury was done to some one? Was
+that not so?"
+
+"You are asking too much. Neither your happiness nor your fortune
+could be served by my answering your questions. I refuse to answer."
+
+With a gesture, she declined to be satisfied with this treatment.
+
+"I have no fortune and no happiness. Once you told me you would do
+anything I requested of you if I gave you a rose. There are no roses
+now. In all likelihood there will be no more roses while I live----"
+
+"While you live!"
+
+"Let me go on. I have not much to say. You could not prize a rose for
+its intrinsic value?"
+
+"No; but for two other considerations--for the fact that it had once
+been yours, and for what the gift of it from you to me might signify."
+
+"If I gave you a rose now it could signify nothing--mind, absolutely
+nothing. But if the mere fact that it belonged to me would make
+anything valuable in your eyes, I will give you my glove, or my
+bracelet, or this for your secret;" and she drew from her pocket the
+revolver and pointed it at him.
+
+He started towards her at the sight of the weapon, crying angrily:
+
+"What do you mean by carrying that? Great heavens, it cannot be that
+you came out here with the intention of committing suicide!"
+
+He looked at her in horror.
+
+"No," she answered quietly--"but with the intention of defending
+myself against you. I thought if I should meet you, and you had
+murdered my husband, and knew from me I had guessed it, that I might
+need _this_. But I have no evidence you did murder him, and I see no
+sign of guilt in you. Will you take it, or the bracelet, or the glove,
+or all three, and tell me about those transactions in which my husband
+was engaged with you?"
+
+"It is not enough for my secret," he said.
+
+"What more do you want? My purse?"
+
+She put those questions in a placid tone, and showed no impatience or
+scorn.
+
+"No," he said, shaking with conflicting passions, "I do not want your
+purse. If I wanted money, I could have had as much as any man could
+care for out of your husband's purse. I have enough for myself. You
+cured me of the love of money, and put another love in its place. Give
+me your hand, or fire."
+
+She raised her hand quickly, and flung the revolver from her over the
+cliff. It fell on the Black Rock beneath. The fall was followed by a
+long silence on both sides.
+
+"I make one last appeal to you," she cried in soft, supplicating
+tones--"one last appeal. I do not purpose keeping a penny of the
+money--not one farthing. Some papers which fell accidentally into my
+hands after my husband's death convinced me he came by his money
+dishonestly. He himself told me you had been of great service to him,
+and that your actions would not bear the light. Give me, for pity's
+sake, a chance of restoring this money to those who ought to have it.
+I did think of dying and shielding his memory, for if I died no one
+could be surprised at my leaving the wretched money to charities. But
+it would be better still to give what remains of the money to the
+rightful owners. Will you tell me who they are?"
+
+She caught his hand in hers and drew it towards her.
+
+He seized hers eagerly, and held it.
+
+"I will for this," he whispered. "We can give all his money back if
+you will."
+
+She snatched her hand away.
+
+"That is impossible, sir. I have told you so finally."
+
+She essayed to pass by him once more.
+
+"Only a minute. I cannot live openly in this country; I must go
+abroad. I have been concealed close to this place in the hope of
+meeting you. I may never see you again. Do not go for a minute. Your
+husband was always good and loyal to me, and I was always loyal to
+him. He dealt honourably with me in money matters. It was necessary
+for us to have a hiding-place near this, and I found it. Just before I
+disappeared he made up his mind to abandon business of all kinds. He
+had enough of money, and so had I--though of course he was a rich man
+compared with me. Well, as you know, I disappeared. I went, no matter
+where. I disappeared because I had no longer any business here, and
+because of another reason to which I will not again refer. That is all
+I have to say, except that I left documents which would be
+intelligible to your husband--they contained the clue to our
+hiding-place should I die or your husband want it--in Mr. John
+O'Hanlon's hands for Mr. Davenport and you. Nothing, I suppose, ever
+reached you about them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"That, then, is all I have to say."
+
+"You will tell me no more? Give me no key?"
+
+"Mr. Davenport left you his money. Why should I help you to get rid of
+it? Good-bye."
+
+He turned eastward, went along the cliff, and she moved off slowly in
+the direction of Kilcash House.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLV.
+
+                           BEYOND THE VEIL.
+
+
+It was Phelan who said it was not the hand of mortal man that had
+kindled the fire the four men in the Red Cave saw after the dying of
+the red light on the water.
+
+For a long time after he had spoken no human voice was heard. All was
+silence save the mystic whispers and breathings of the cave, which,
+after the prodigious clangour lately filling the void, were no more
+than the ripple of faint air flowing through mere night.
+
+The three men watched the light breathlessly. At first it seemed
+steady, but now it began to waver slowly this way and that way, like a
+warning hand admonishing or threatening, a spiritual hand beckoning or
+blessing.
+
+It was not crimson, as the other flame had been, but pale yellow, like
+the early east. It was not fierce and dazzling, but lambent and soft.
+It was not light in darkness, as a zenith moon, but light against
+darkness, as a setting star. It was independent, absolute, taking or
+giving nothing. Space lay between it and the eyes that saw; infinity
+between it and the sightless vault.
+
+There was something in this cave that killed you, and yet in that
+place you must not die.
+
+"Heaven be merciful to us!" whispered a human voice.
+
+"To us," whispered the phantom voice against the men's hair.
+
+"It's the corpse-candle of the dead men of the Black Rock," whispered
+Phelan.
+
+"Of the Black Rock!" echoed the spirit.
+
+The words "Black Rock" acted like a charm, and broke the terrible
+spell of the place. Never before had the name of that fatal and hated
+shelf of land sounded grateful to human ears.
+
+The two boatmen had been often in that stupendous cave before, had
+seen its colossal glories in the ruby flare, and heard its
+reverberating thunders in the inexorable gloom. But never until now
+had they gazed upon this weird light; they were certain that if it had
+existed when they had been visitors on other occasions they could not
+have missed observing it.
+
+What they now saw made a profound impression on them, and powerfully
+excited their superstitious minds. They had never rowed to the end of
+that eastern shaft of the labyrinth, but they knew from the sharp turn
+it struck west, and the great depth to which it penetrated, that the
+onward limit of it must be near the rear of the Black Rock.
+
+This filled them with doubt--uneasy doubt. Owing to the darkness and
+the nature of the remote light, they could not form an exact notion of
+its position, but they guessed it to be no less than a mile from the
+Red Gap, and, allowing for everything, that would be the back of the
+Black Rock.
+
+Why should there be a light at the back of the Black Rock? How could a
+light be accounted for there? except it was a corpse-candle on that
+murderous reef.
+
+It was a thought to shudder at.
+
+With the other two men the effect was wholly different. Neither had
+ever been in this marvellous place before; neither had seen its
+sights, or heard its sounds, or endured its darkness until now, and
+their imaginations had been powerfully excited and exercised. At one
+time they were exalted by the visible--at another overawed by the
+unseen. Sobriety of thought and familiarity of experience were absent,
+and they were face to face with things undreamed of and enormous, and
+with phantoms and monstrous ideas that baffled investigation and
+pursuit.
+
+But to them the mention of the Black Rock meant the re-entry of
+ordinary ideas and homely thoughts. It lay out there in the noonday
+sunlight beside the sunlit sea. It was part of the pastoral land where
+people sang and trees waved their leaves and winds bore perfumes.
+There was nothing more disquieting about it than about a ship, or a
+house, or a rampart.
+
+O'Brien's thoughts had now gone back to their ordinary course. If this
+light came from anywhere near the Black Rock, might it not have
+something to do with the Puffing Hole?
+
+The question was fascinating, alluring. It might prove a beacon to
+discovery.
+
+"Where do you think it is from, Phelan?" he asked, in a whisper.
+
+"Somewhere near the Black Rock. I can't say exactly where."
+
+"What do you believe it is?"
+
+"A corpse-candle. The corpse-candle of the men that the Rock killed."
+
+"Nonsense! You ought to know better. A corpse-candle is not for the
+dead--it's for the living."
+
+"Above ground it may be so. But under ground it may be different."
+
+"Let us go and see what it is."
+
+"Not a stroke."
+
+"What, Phelan!--afraid again? There's hardly a thing you are not
+afraid of."
+
+"I'm not afraid of you or any other man."
+
+"If you don't go to it with me, I'll swim to it."
+
+"If you do, it will be _your_ corpse-candle."
+
+"I don't care. If you won't go, I'll swim to it. If you don't make up
+your mind while I'm counting twenty, I'll dive off and swim."
+
+"It would be murder to let you, O'Brien. Put it out of your head. We
+won't let you go."
+
+None of the men could see where another was standing.
+
+O'Brien laughed.
+
+"You can't touch me--you can't stop me."
+
+"Whisht--whisht! For heaven's sake, don't laugh. This is no place for
+laughing with that candle before you."
+
+O'Brien laughed softly, and counted, "One."
+
+"If you laugh again, by heavens, I'll throw you in, O'Brien."
+
+"Two!" O'Brien laughed. "Then you won't let me count twenty? You
+launch me on my swim at 'three'?"
+
+"He'll bring the cliffs down on us."
+
+"Four! Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+Up to this the words and the laughter had been in whispers. This time
+O'Brien counted and laughed out loud.
+
+The effect was prodigious. Those vast chambers of solemn night had
+never before heard human laughter, and they roared and bellowed, and
+yelled and shrieked, and grumbled, as though furiously calling upon
+one another to rush together and tear asunder or crush flat the
+impious intruders who dared to profane with such sounds the sanctuary
+of their repose.
+
+"I'll go," whispered Phelan--"I'll go. But--wait!"
+
+A torch was now lit, and by the aid of its fitful flame the four men
+scrambled into the yawl. The two rowers took their places standing and
+facing the bow. O'Brien held the flaring torch on high, and the
+boatmen gave way.
+
+As they glided gently along, the irregular walls of the aisle came
+nearer to them out of the darkness with a nearness that was sinister
+and hateful. It was as though they crept close with the full intention
+of crushing the craft and grinding the men to death between their
+ponderous fangs and molars. They seemed avengers of the echoes
+outraged by the laughter.
+
+The luminous shaft still shone; but as they came nearer, the light
+grew whiter and less like flame. The red glare of the torch seemed to
+overcome it.
+
+The men watched it with starting eyes.
+
+The walls of the cave came closer out of the darkness, and the roof
+lowered.
+
+By this time Phelan had lost all his fears, and was as curious as the
+others to know what the light was.
+
+All at once he cried out--"Ease!"
+
+Both men stopped rowing. The sound of the oars ceased, and the noise
+of the ripple from the oars. All listened intently. A hissing sound
+could be distinctly heard--a loud hissing sound which they had not
+noticed before, because, no doubt, of the gradualness of their
+approach and the noises made by the rowers.
+
+"It's water--falling water. But, in the name of all the saints, where
+is it falling from, and how can we see it in the darkness? Give way,
+Tim."
+
+The cave grew narrower still, and now there was barely room for the
+shortened oars. The sides of it came closer, the roof lowered until it
+was no more than an arm's length above the heads of the standing men.
+The bright patch grew higher and broader. The torch still burned. A
+dull whiteness shone on the rocks.
+
+The luminous space now looked like a faintly-lighted sheet of glass.
+The hissing sound of the water had gathered intensity.
+
+"I don't know what's beyond, but I'll risk going through if you are
+willing," cried Phelan, who was now in a state of almost frenzy from
+suppressed excitement.
+
+"Go on--go on!" shouted O'Brien, who found it difficult to keep from
+jumping overboard.
+
+"Go on!" repeated Alfred, who, too, was now standing up.
+
+"Give way with a will!" shouted Phelan; and in a minute the boat shot
+through a thick sheet of foam and falling water, and glided into a
+placid pool.
+
+For a moment the men were blinded by the foam and water, and could see
+nothing.
+
+They rubbed their eyes, looked up obliquely, and were blinded once
+again.
+
+The mid-day sun flamed above their heads at the end of a stupendous
+tube.
+
+An indescribable cry arose. Then all was still.
+
+A crow flew between them and the sun. All bent their heads and
+crouched low as though instant death was rushing down upon them. The
+crow went by harmlessly.
+
+"Do you know where we are?" asked Phelan, in the voice of an awestruck
+child.
+
+"No."
+
+"At the bottom of the shaft of the old mine. It slants to the
+southward, and that's the sun!"
+
+They looked around: some wreckage floated on one side of the boat.
+
+"The planks that covered the mouth of the shaft. They must have fallen
+in."
+
+Something that was not a plank floated on the other side of the boat.
+
+It was the body of Fahey!
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+                           AN EVENING WALK.
+
+
+"Yes, Madge, 'twas an awful time. I never felt anything like it in my
+life; and as for Alfred, he was stunned with terror. You see, that old
+mine shaft had followed the soft part of the cliff (there's not much
+use in looking for copper in solid sandstone), and so was like a huge
+telescope, pointed south at some angle or other--the angle, I think,
+at which you are now holding your chin."
+
+"Jerry, don't talk nonsense."
+
+"You'd be very sorry indeed if I didn't. Well, we hauled the dreadful
+thing we had found into the boat, and then began to think of getting
+back; but Phelan, the boatman, swore he would not go through that
+awful Red Cave with it on board.
+
+"We looked round us to see the best thing we could do. We found we
+were in what I may call an under-ground pool, from which there were
+three ways out--one leading into the cliff, one leading in the
+direction of the sea, and the one by which we had entered. Am I tiring
+you with my long-winded description?"
+
+"No, Jerry--go on; I came out to hear all," said Madge, pressing the
+arm on which her own rested.
+
+"We first tried the way towards the sea, and found, to Phelan's
+amazement and consternation, that it led right under, or, rather,
+through the Puffing Hole. No power on earth could induce Phelan to go
+that way. When we made this discovery, I now plainly saw the meaning
+of those mysterious measurements and instructions left by the
+unfortunate Fahey, and the means by which he had effected his
+extraordinary disappearance years ago. He had jumped down and swum
+inward to where we had found his dead body. In his 'Memorandum,' 'Rise
+15.6 lowest' meant what I had expected--the rise of the lowest tide.
+'At lowest minute of lowest forward with all might undaunted,' meant
+that one entering at the Whale's Mouth at the lowest minute of the
+lowest tide was to push forward with all vigour.... But, Madge
+darling, this must bore you to death?"
+
+"No, Jerry, I love to hear it. Just fancy having the hero of such an
+adventure telling it quietly to me on the Dulwich Road!"
+
+"Twenty years hence how sick you'll be of these same adventures! You
+will then have heard them told at least a thousand times to every
+fresh acquaintance I make--man, woman, or child. But you'll be
+very tired of me also, sweetheart, and you shall go to sleep in an
+easy-chair while I prate on."
+
+"Don't say such horrid things, or I shall cry. Please go on."
+
+"Ah, well, you may bully me now, but you won't then. Where did I leave
+off, darling?" He pressed her arm and she pressed his.
+
+"At the man going up under the Puffing Hole. The paper he left with
+your solicitor."
+
+"Our solicitor--say our solicitor."
+
+"Our solicitor. There! But how tiresome you are!"
+
+"Oh, ay! I have the whole thing off by heart. The 'Memorandum' goes
+on, 'The foregoing refers to s-c-u-l-l-s with only one s-k-u-l-l any
+lowest, or any last quarter, but great forward pluck required for
+this. In both cases (of course!) left.' You see, here he underlines
+the words 'sculls' and 'skull,' which shows something unusual was
+meant. Remembering everything, 'sculls' evidently meant _sculls_, as
+very few people have more than one skull, and 'skull' meant what it
+seems to mean--your head. By-the-way, I beg your pardon. It's only men
+have skulls, not angels.'
+
+"Jerry, I'm going home."
+
+"Well, I won't, I won't! Put your arm back. Let us, in fact, have an
+armed peace."
+
+"This kind of thing, Jerry, is very bitter, and I feel as if--as
+if--as if----"
+
+"As if what?"
+
+"As if I can't help liking you--sometimes when you're nice."
+
+"I'll be good and nice. Well, what he meant was that when you wanted
+to get at his hiding-place by the sea, in a boat pulling sculls, you
+came and did certain things; and that when you wanted to get there by
+jumping down the Puffing Hole, you did other things.
+
+"When we came back to the foot of the shaft the sun had gone off it,
+and it was comparatively dark. We tried the passage leading inward,
+and here we found Fahey's hiding-place. It was a small low cave, with
+a rocky ledge about as wide as the footway we are walking on....
+Madge, are those new boots? They look new. I wonder did I ever tell
+you I think you have awfully pretty feet."
+
+"I give you up. You are incorrigible."
+
+"As I was saying, we found a ledge of rock about as broad as your
+foot. This was Fahey's retreat, and here were all the materials used
+by the forgers of bank-notes. How Fahey got them there unobserved is
+the puzzle. He must have brought them piecemeal Here, beyond all
+doubt, were printed the notes forged upon the bank of Bordelon and
+Company, of Paris, by means of which Mr. Davenport stole a colossal
+fortune.
+
+"Here we found an explanation of how Fahey's suit of clothes lasted
+ten or twelve years. We found two suits precisely similar. He kept one
+to wear, no doubt, while the other was drying. There was a place which
+had evidently been used as a fireplace, and although there was water
+so close to this ledge, it was above the highest reach of the highest
+tide, and dry as tinder. The dryness of the place and the salt of the
+sea-water had preserved these clothes from decay, while most of the
+metal things had crumbled into dust.
+
+"He must have discovered this place in his boat, and after that found
+out the shaft of the mine communicated with the whole cavernous
+system, which is so vast as to stagger the mind. Thus he had two means
+of gaining his retreat; and when he said he had lost his boat, she was
+safely moored in the cave in case of emergency--for we found the
+painter-chain hanging from a bolt."
+
+"But what of that light you saw that turned out to be water? And did
+the miners work in the sea?"
+
+"Attentive and intelligent darling, I thank thee. The theory is that
+Fahey, in falling or sliding down the shaft, struck the western wall
+of the pool in which we found him, and brought down a huge mass of
+clay which was ripe for falling, or that it had fallen recently, or
+that our gunshot had brought it down. The curtain of water was formed
+by a spring of fresh water. There are always dozens of such springs in
+cliffs. As to the foot of the shaft, the explanation is that at the
+time the miners were at work the sea had not eaten so far inward. In
+fact, that whole district is and has been gradually so enormously
+undermined, that soon a mighty subsidence must take place."
+
+"But you say that the hole down to the mine slanted. How did he get up
+and down? It would have been barely possible, but dangerous, to crawl
+up."
+
+"He had a rope by which to hold on, and while holding on thus, he
+could walk upright--that is, hand over hand. Before the fall of the
+planks that covered the top of the shaft, Fahey had crept out by a
+small opening looking seaward, and concealed from view, if any one
+ever should be so foolhardy as to go there, by a thick growth of
+furze."
+
+"Well, what did you do afterwards?"
+
+"When?"
+
+"You told me only as far as coming back from the Puffing Hole."
+
+"True. Well, we laid what remained of the unfortunate man on the rock
+which had often been his resting-place before, and then rowed back
+through the wonderful Red Cave, and put the matter in the hands of the
+police. At the inquest all about the forgery of Davenport and Fahey
+and the swindle on the Paris bank came out, and Mrs. Davenport was
+examined, She admitted Fahey had made love to her, as you saw by the
+papers. Wasn't it strange that Alfred should be the first to see her
+husband and her husband's partner in guilt dead, and not by natural
+means, and that at both inquests she spoke of a new lover, and that
+Alfred, the newest lover of all three, should have been at both
+inquests?"
+
+"It is astonishing and terrible. I wonder what will come of it?"
+
+"Heaven knows. But there, let it go now, Madge. When you come to
+Ireland, love, you shall see those wonderful caves."
+
+"I'd rather die," she said, "than go near them."
+
+"What!--if they were lit by the glorious effulgence of this splendid
+specimen of the O'Briens?"
+
+This dialogue took place one day after dinner in the June following
+the visit to the cave. The villainous Fishery Commissioners had been
+overcome, and Jerry and Madge were to be married in a week.
+
+Alfred Paulton was still at the "Strand Hotel," in the village of
+Kilcash.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+                             CONCLUSION.
+
+
+"Marion, will you not listen to me?--will you not listen to reason?
+Your fortune, you say, is now all gone--must be restored to its lawful
+owners, the Paris bankers, and that you have made the necessary
+arrangements for doing so. You are bankrupt in fortune: why should you
+be bankrupt also in love?"
+
+"Understand me, Thomas Blake, I will speak on this subject no more to
+you. I do not think you will have the bad taste to remain any longer
+in this house when I ask you to go."
+
+"I will do anything on earth for you, Marion--anything in reason you
+ask me."
+
+"Then go."
+
+"But is that reasonable? Is it reasonable to ask me to leave you now
+that you are as free as you were in the olden times?"
+
+She looked at him wrathfully, scornfully.
+
+"Have you got a second bidder for me in view? Did you not take my
+heart when it was young, when you were young, and sell it for a sum of
+money down? You know there is no one in this house but servants. Save
+yourself the ignominy of my ringing the bell. Sir, will you go? I have
+affairs to attend to. You have broken your promise by renewing this
+subject."
+
+"Why did you telegraph for me to London?"
+
+"Because I thought you might be useful to me, and you have proved
+useless."
+
+"And if I had proved useful, would you have rewarded me?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Oh, Marion, Marion, you are playing with me! Do you mean to say you
+would have allowed me to hope if I had proved of service in that
+affair? I did my best. I swear to you I did my best, and if you will
+only give me your hand now----"
+
+"Thomas Blake, I would have rewarded you by saying that your debt to
+me had been diminished by one useful act of yours. But my contempt for
+you would have been just the same. Take your elderly protestations of
+love to fresh ears. Mine are too old and too weary, and too well
+acquainted with their value, to care much for them. Go now. When I
+have need of you again I shall send for you."
+
+"Marion, this is too bad. You are treating me as if I were a dog."
+
+"Worse--much worse. We were intended for one another. Once I would
+have died for you; now I cannot endure you except when I think you may
+be of use to me. I shall send for you if I should happen to want you
+again."
+
+His face grew white, and he set his teeth. They were in the green
+drawing-room of Kilcash House. The full June sun was flaming abroad on
+the sea, and shining in through the windows.
+
+"You outrage me. I am not accustomed to be----"
+
+"Told the simple truth," she said, finishing the sentence for him. "I
+threatened to ring."
+
+She went to the bell-rope. He sprang between her and it menacingly.
+
+"I believe you are capable of violence," she said, surveying him with
+a taunting smile.
+
+"I am capable of murder."
+
+"Only for plunder," she said, still smiling.
+
+He ground his teeth.
+
+"You will drive me to it, Marion Butler."
+
+At the mention of her maiden name, a swift flush of crimson darkened
+her face. Her eyes flashed, her nostrils dilated, her head bent
+forward, her mouth opened, the veins in her temple swelled. She
+clenched her hands--her bosom heaved--she stood still.
+
+The sudden change in her appearance arrested his anger. He believed
+she was going to have a fit. Her maiden name had not been purposely
+uttered by him. It loosed some current in the brain which had not
+flowed for years.
+
+Awhile she stood thus. Then all at once the colour fled from her face,
+and left it pallid, cold, rigid. She pressed her hand once or twice
+across her brow, and then, looking at him intently for a few moments,
+said, in a quiet, weary voice:
+
+"I am ill. Leave me; but come to me soon again. In an
+hour--half-an-hour. I did not mean what I said. Pray leave me, and
+come to me soon. I shall be here. I am confused."
+
+Without speaking, and scarcely believing the words he heard, he stole
+from the room.
+
+She sat down on a couch and covered her face with her hands.
+
+"Wait," she said softly to herself. "There is something I must
+do--something I have forgotten. Oh, I know! He is an honourable
+gentleman, and must not be disregarded."
+
+She went over to a table, found writing materials, sat down, and
+wrote:
+
+
+"Dear Mr. Paulton,
+
+"I got your note this morning. I told you the first time you did me
+the honour of offering me marriage that there was no hope. I am sorry
+to say I am of the same mind still. You will forget and forgive me in
+time. I shall never forget your kindness to me in my distress.
+
+                   "Yours sincerely,
+
+                          "Marion Butler."
+
+
+She read the note over and over again from top to bottom. Something in
+the look of it did not please her, but she could not think of anything
+better to say. She had received a note from him that morning, asking
+her to grant him another interview. He had proposed to her a week ago.
+She had told him plainly she would not marry him. He had begged that
+he might be allowed to call again. She said it was quite useless. He
+craved another interview, and she gave way, on the understanding no
+hope was to be based on the permission. He had come again, and again
+had been refused. And now he was asking for a third chance. She would
+not give it to him. It would be worse than useless under the
+circumstances. There was something wrong with this note, but it must
+serve, as Tom Blake was waiting.
+
+She put the letter in an envelope, addressed it to Alfred at the
+"Strand Hotel," Kilcash, rang the bell, and sent a servant off with
+it.
+
+When it was gone she said:
+
+"I must go now and meet Tom. He said he'd be---- Where's this he said
+he'd be? Oh, I know! By the corner of the wood on the Bandon Road.
+I'll put on the white muslin Tom likes. If Mr. Paulton should come
+they must say I am out."
+
+Alfred Paulton got the note, and although he could not understand the
+signature--it was no doubt the result of a lapse of memory, in which
+she went back for a moment to her girlish days--he knew his dismissal
+was final.
+
+That day he set off for London, and arrived in time to see Madge
+married to his old friend, Jerry O'Brien, who was secretly delighted
+at the failure of Alfred's suit.
+
+While Jerry was on his honeymoon he got a letter from his old friend
+and solicitor, the postscript of which gave him the latest news of
+Mrs. Davenport: the doctors had pronounced her hopelessly insane.
+
+
+
+                               THE END.
+
+
+                         * * * * * * * * * *
+           CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3), by Richard Dowling
+
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+<html>
+<head>
+<title>Tempest-Driven: A Romance. Vol. 3 of 3.</title>
+<meta name="Author" content="Richard Dowling">
+
+<meta name="Publisher" content="Tinsley Brothers">
+<meta name="Date" content="1886">
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+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3), by Richard Dowling
+
+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: Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3)
+       A Romance
+
+Author: Richard Dowling
+
+Release Date: May 20, 2013 [EBook #42752]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TEMPEST-DRIVEN (VOL. III OF 3) ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
+Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Note:<br>
+<br>
+Page scan source:<br>
+http://archive.org/details/tempestdrivenrom02dowl<br>
+(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>TEMPEST-DRIVEN</h2>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h1>TEMPEST-DRIVEN</h1>
+<br>
+<h4>A Romance.</h4>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h5>BY</h5>
+<br>
+<h2>RICHARD DOWLING,</h2>
+
+<h5>AUTHOR OF &quot;THE MYSTERY OF KILLARD,&quot; &quot;THE WEIRD SISTERS,&quot;<br>
+&quot;THE SPORT OF FATE,&quot; &quot;UNDER ST. PAUL'S,&quot; &quot;THE DUKE'S SWEETHEART,&quot;<br>
+&quot;SWEET INISFAIL,&quot; &quot;THE HIDDEN FLAME,&quot; ETC.</h5>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h4><i>IN THREE VOLUMES</i>.</h4>
+
+<h4>VOL. III.</h4>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h4>LONDON:</h4>
+<h3>TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST., STRAND.</h3>
+<h4>1886.</h4>
+
+<h5>[<i>All rights reserved</i>.]</h5>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h4>CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,<br>
+CRYSTAL PLACE PRESS.</h4>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+<hr class="W10">
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXXII.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_32" href="#div1_32">SALMON AND COWS.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_33" href="#div1_33">A FORTUNE LOST.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_34" href="#div1_34">A TELEGRAM FROM THE MAIL.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXXV.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_35" href="#div1_35">THE TRAVELLERS.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_36" href="#div1_36">SOLICITOR AND CLIENT.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_37" href="#div1_37">THE WIDOW'S THEORY OF THE CASE.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_38" href="#div1_38">&quot;WHERE'ER I CAME I BROUGHT CALAMITY.&quot;</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_39" href="#div1_39">A COMPACT.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XL.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_40" href="#div1_40">AN EXPEDITION PROPOSED.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XLI.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_41" href="#div1_41">AT THE WHALE'S MOUTH.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XLII.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_42" href="#div1_42">THE RED CAVE.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XLIII.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_43" href="#div1_43">A RETROSPECT.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XLIV.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_44" href="#div1_44">A LAST APPEAL.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XLV.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_45" href="#div1_45">BEYOND THE VEIL.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XLVI.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_46" href="#div1_46">AN EVENING WALK.</a></p>
+<br>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XLVII.</h3>
+
+<p class="normal"><a name="div1Ref_47" href="#div1_47">CONCLUSION.</a></p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h1>TEMPEST-TOSSED.</h1>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_32" href="#div1Ref_32">SALMON AND COWS.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Luncheon that day at Carlingford House was a quiet, subdued meal.
+Edith Paulton, who was very small and vivacious, better-looking than
+Madge, and distinguished by shrewd discontent rather than the
+amiability which radiated from her elder sister, was the only one at
+the table that made an effort at being sprightly. Although she was not
+unsympathetic, she had a much more keen appreciation of her own
+annoyances and troubles than those of others. She took great liberties
+with her good-natured father and mother, and treated her brother as if
+he were a useless compound of slave, fool, and magnanimous mastiff.
+She was by no means wanting in affection, but she hated displays of
+sentiment, and felt desperately inclined to laugh on grave occasions.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">That day, when the two girls left the back room, they went straight to
+Madge's, where they talked over the arrival of Jerry O'Brien, for whom
+Edith strongly suspected Madge had a warmer feeling than friendship,
+and who, she felt morally certain, greatly to her secret delight, was
+over head and ears in love with Madge. The only human being in whom
+she had infinite faith was Madge. She did not consider any hero or
+conqueror of history good enough for her sister. To her mind, there
+was only one flaw in Madge: Madge would not worship Madge. Madge
+thought every one else in the world of consequence but herself. Edith
+thought Madge the only absolutely perfect person living, or that ever
+had lived--leaving out, of course, the important defect just
+mentioned. The younger girl had, in human affairs, a certain hardness
+and common-sense plainness which shocked the more sensitive sister.
+For instance, she could not see anything at all pathetic in Mrs.
+Davenport's situation.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Before the bell rang for luncheon, she said to her sister:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I can't for the life of me see what is so terribly melancholy in Mrs.
+Davenport's case. I think she got out of it rather well. She didn't
+care anything for that dreadful old man who poisoned himself out of
+some horrid kind of spite. She hasn't been put in prison, and he left
+her a whole lot of money. So that as she isn't exactly an old maid, or
+a grandmother, she can marry any other horrid old man she likes. Oh,
+yes; I know she's very beautiful, and what you call young, Madge.
+She's not fifty yet, I suppose. Every woman <i>is</i> young now until she's
+forty or fifty; and as to men, they don't seem to grow old now at any
+age. As long as a man doesn't use crutches, they say he is in the full
+vigour of manhood--that he's not marriageable until he's gray, and
+bald, and deaf of one ear, or can't read even with glasses. I suppose
+father will make her stop for dinner. I thought I'd laugh outright
+when I saw him go to her and call her 'child.' Child! Fancy calling a
+widow <i>child!</i> If ever he calls me child again, I'll tell him, as far
+as I know, I have not buried any husband yet. But, Madge, if she
+<i>does</i> stop for dinner, I'm not going to sit there and learn the very
+latest thing in the manners of widows. I'll go out for a walk after
+luncheon. Do you know, I think Jerry O'Brien is half in love with this
+beautiful widow! I'll ask him to come with me, I will; and you,
+good-natured fool, may sit within and catch the airs and graces of
+early widowhood, though I don't think they'll ever be of any use to
+you. You're certain to die an old maid. Alfred can't keep his eyes off
+her. It's a pity we haven't that nice Mr. Blake here--her old
+sweetheart. There, Madge, I don't mean a word I say, especially about
+Jerry O'Brien. I know he's madly in love with me. I'm going to give
+him a chance of proposing this evening. We'll walk as far as the
+Palace, and if you get separated from us, and see me holding my
+umbrella out from my side on two fingers--this way--just don't come
+near us, and you shall be my bridesmaid, and Jerry shall give you a
+present of a bracelet representing a brazen widow sitting on a silver
+salmon. There's the bell! Madge, love, I'm not a beast, only a brute.
+There!--I won't be rude again, and I'll try and rather like Mrs.
+Davenport. She'll be a neighbour of mine, you know, when I'm married
+to Jerry. I think I'll call him <i>Jer</i> then.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After luncheon, Mrs. Paulton suggested that Mrs. Davenport should lie
+down, as she must be quite worn out. But the latter would not consent
+to this. She said she felt quite refreshed, and in no need of rest, as
+she had slept well the previous night--although some memory of the
+Channel passage was in her brain, and the sound of the railway journey
+in her ears.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The evening was fine. Neither Mrs. Davenport nor Alfred cared for a
+walk when it was suggested by Edith, but Jerry said he would like it
+of all things; so he and the two sisters set off down the fine, broad,
+prosperous-looking Dulwich Road, in the direction of the Crystal
+Palace.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It is proverbially a small world, and the three pedestrians had not
+gone many hundred yards when whom should they see but Nellie Cahill,
+one of the firm friends and confidantes of the Paulton girls. Before
+the three came up with Miss Cahill, Edith gave a brief and graphic
+sketch of her to Jerry, who had not had the pleasure of meeting her
+before. She was good-looking, good-humoured, jolly, a dear old thing,
+mad as a March hare, true as steel, and last, though not least,
+interesting to him--a fellow country-woman of his, as her name
+betokened.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He must be introduced to her. He must like her awfully. He must love
+her, if it came to that, unless, indeed, that slow coach Alfred had
+been before him--in which case he, Jerry, was to be exceedingly
+obliging and deferential; for any one would rather have a nice girl
+like Nellie for a sister-in-law than a thousand widows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Jerry was duly introduced, and said civil things and silly things, and
+the four walked on all abreast, until Edith suddenly remembered that
+she had to tell Nellie all about the reappearance of Mrs. Davenport,
+and a lot of other matters, in which two sober, steady-going,
+middle-aged people like Madge and Jerry could, by no stress of
+imagination, be supposed to take a sensible and hilarious interest. So
+the younger division of the party, comprised of Nellie Cahill and
+Edith Paulton, fell to the rear, and the other division kept the
+front. And thus, in spite of all Edith's designs on Jerry both for
+herself and Nellie, these two enterprising and eminently desirable and
+lovable young ladies lost all chance of his offering marriage to
+either that afternoon.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A long story of the detestable villainy of the Fishery Commissioners
+had to be first and foremost related to Madge. Considering that she
+did not know what a weir was, and had never seen a salmon except on
+the table or the marble slab of a fish-shop, and that according to her
+notion the appearance of a Commissioner was something between a
+beefeater of the Tower of London and a Brighton boatman, she listened
+with great patience, and made remarks which caused Jerry to laugh
+sometimes, and plunge into profound technicalities at others. But it
+became quite plain that Jerry himself did not take any consuming
+interest in his own wrongs and the refined ruffianism of the
+Commissioners; for at a most bewildering description of the channel,
+and the draught of water, and the set of tides, and the idiosyncrasies
+of coal barges, he looked over his shoulder and, finding Edith and her
+friend a good way behind, stopped suddenly in his discourse and said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Madge, I've been reeling off a lot of rubbish to you just to drop the
+others a good bit astern. I now want to say something very serious to
+you. Are you listening?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes; but look at that cow! Did you ever see a more contented-looking
+creature in all your life?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She kept her face turned towards the hedge.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Confound the cow!&quot; he cried. &quot;Do you think I am going to give up
+talking of Bawn salmon and barges, and talk about Dulwich cows? Are
+you listening?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am. But did you--now--did you ever see such a lovely cow?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Look here, Madge: If this is reprisal for my harangue about my
+miserable salmon weirs, I'll not say another word about them. Are you
+going to be friends with me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes--of course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Still the cow occupied her eyes, to judge by the way her head was
+turned.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I came out expressly to have a most serious talk with you on a most
+important matter----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am sure I was very sorry to hear about your salmon nets----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nets! Nets! Good heavens, Madge!--I never said a word about nets the
+whole time. I'm not a cot-man. Look here: you know it's only a few of
+the greatest minds that can attend to two things at the one time. You
+can't give your soul to fish and yet devote yourself to cows at the
+one moment, except you are a person like Julius Cæsar. He could
+dictate and write completely different things at the one time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Could he? He must have been very clever.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Will you give up the cow? I want to talk of another beast.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Trout?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, not trout. Trout isn't a beast. If you're clever and smart, and
+that kind of thing, I won't talk about my beast.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is your beast?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;A fool.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you not curious to know who the fool is?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There are so many, one cannot be interested in all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No; but you are interested in this one.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Silence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I say you are interested in Alfred.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Alfred!&quot; She looked quickly round for the first time since the cow
+had attracted her attention. Her colour was vivid, and her breath came
+short. &quot;Alfred a fool!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes; he's hit--badly hit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You don't think him ill?&quot;--in alarm. The colour faded quickly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I think him very bad.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;His brain again. Oh, do tell me!&quot;--pleadingly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. He told me all in the front room to-day. It's his heart this
+time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;His heart?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes. Love.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Love! In love with whom?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I forget.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You forget whom he is in love with?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes. Another matter has put it out of my head. Madge, I'm a fool too.
+You needn't turn away. There are no more cows, Madge. Give up the
+salmon and cows, Madge, and have me instead! Will you, Madge? Give me
+your hand.... Thank you, love. Madge!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The other two have turned back. There is no one else in the road. May
+I kiss you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She looked over her shoulder on the side away from him. Then she
+looked at him....</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thank you, darling. Let us turn back. I have touched the limits of my
+happiest road. Madge!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, Jerry. Say 'Yes, Jerry.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, Jerry.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's better. I won't kiss you again until we get into the house. Do
+you think you can last out till then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I--I think so, Jerry.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's right. Cultivate self-denial and obedience. You don't think it
+is respectable for a man to kiss his sweetheart on a public road?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's right. Cultivate self-denial and obedience, but chiefly
+obedience. Don't you think it is the duty of woman to cultivate
+obedience chiefly?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And if I asked it, you would, out of obedience to me, trample
+self-denial under foot?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Certainly, Jerry, if you wished it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I do. Oh, my Madge--my darling--my gentle love! Once more.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But Edith has turned round and sees us.... And my hat--you have
+knocked off my hat.... Thanks. Now pick up my hair-pin. It fell with
+the hat. What will Edith think?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'll tell her. I'll tell Edith quite plainly it was your
+self-restraint gave way, not mine.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_33" href="#div1Ref_33">A FORTUNE LOST.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">That day settled many things. Alfred had told O'Brien that no matter
+how unwise or rash it might seem, he had made up his mind to try his
+fate with Mrs. Davenport--not, of course, at that time, perhaps not
+very soon, but ultimately, and as soon as possible.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Until that day--until he had seen her moved by the sense of her own
+loneliness, until he had seen the tears start into her eyes--he had
+not said even to himself that he loved her. He told himself over and
+over again that he would risk his prospects, his life, his honour for
+her. How his prospects or life could be imperilled he did not know,
+did not care. He had a modest fortune of his own, and her husband had
+left her the bulk of his great wealth. He would have preferred her
+poor rather than rich. But if she would marry him, he would not allow
+the fact that she had money to stand in the way of his happiness. She
+had for a while, owing to circumstances in which no blame attached to
+her, found herself labouring under a hideous suspicion. From the
+shadow of that suspicion she had emerged without blemish. She had been
+cruelly ill-used by fate, but it had been shown she was blameless.
+Where, then, could danger to his honour lie? Her beauty was
+undeniable; her family unexceptionable. She had been sold to an old
+man by a venal lover. In this lurked no disgrace to her. What could
+his father or mother find in her to object to? Nothing--absolutely
+nothing. That day his father and mother showed great pleasure in
+seeing her again. His father had suggested--nay, arranged--that he
+should accompany her on that long journey to Ireland.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When Jerry O'Brien left Carlingford House that afternoon, he had no
+intention of asking Madge to be his wife. All the way from Kilbarry to
+London he had been assuring himself that nothing could be more
+injudicious than to say anything to her on the subject at present. He
+believed she was not indifferent to him. Little actions and words of
+hers had given him cause to hope. He was sure she preferred him to any
+other man in whose society he had ever seen her. She had smiled and
+coloured at his approach, and once or twice, when he had ventured to
+press her hand, he had suffered no reproach by word or look. All this
+made it only the more necessary for him to be on guard and not allow
+himself to be betrayed into a declaration until his affairs were
+settled. But the opportunity came, and he could not resist the
+temptation of telling her he loved her, and of hearing from her that
+he was loved by her. It is true no word had been said between them of
+an engagement even. The mere formality of speech was nothing.
+Practically he had asked her to be his wife, and she had plainly given
+him to understand she was willing to marry him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Madge got back to the house in a state of bewildered excitement. She
+confided nothing to her sister, and Edith behaved very well, never
+showing even a trace of curiosity or slyness. She persisted in talking
+of the most everyday topic. She wondered whether Miss Grant, the
+dressmaker, would keep her word?--whether this would be as bad a year
+for roses as last? She was of opinion the cold weather would not
+return. Nellie Cahill had told her the new play at the Ben Jonson was
+a complete failure, in spite of all said to the contrary, and so on.
+Madge replied in monosyllables or vacant laughs. When the girls got
+home, each went to her own room, and they did not meet again until
+dinner time. Madge decided she had no occasion to speak to her mother,
+or any one else, about what occurred on the Dulwich Road. It would be
+time enough to speak when Jerry said something more definite to her,
+or when either her father or mother spoke to her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Jerry sought Alfred, whom he found alone in the library. He had been
+carried beyond himself that afternoon, and did not feel in the
+position to administer to his friend a lecture on prudence. Alfred was
+of full age, and, in the way of money, independent of his father. Let
+him do as he pleased and take his chance, as any other man must in
+similar circumstances. He himself, for instance, would take advice in
+his love affair from neither Fishery Commissioners nor John O'Hanlon.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How far did you go?&quot; asked Alfred, who looked flushed, radiant. He
+got up and began walking slowly about the room.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, a little beyond the College. It isn't a very pleasant day out of
+doors. We met an old flame of yours--Miss Cahill.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Miss Cahill an old flame of mine! Why, I never was more than civil to
+the girl in all my life! Who invented that story for you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I don't think it was pure invention. Edith mentioned it to us.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'To us!' Good heavens, you don't mean to say she said anything of the
+kind in Miss Cahill's presence?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, no--not exactly in her presence, but when she was near us. How
+did you get on since?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Jerry's object was to keep the conversation in his own hands, and
+prevent Alfred asking questions. To-morrow, when they were both clear
+of London, he might take his friend into his confidence, but not now.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, dully enough,&quot; answered Alfred, with a look of disappointment.
+&quot;My father went out, my mother is busy about the house, and Mrs.
+Davenport is in her room. She will, I hope, be able to come down to
+dinner. You don't think, Jerry,&quot; he asked, anxiously, while he paused
+before his friend, &quot;that her health has suffered by all she has gone
+through?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No; but I am quite sure your peace of mind has,&quot; replied Jerry, with
+a dry smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With all his desire to be conciliatory, he could not wholly curb his
+tongue.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I,&quot; laughed the other, &quot;was never happier in all my life. Why, only
+to think that she is under this roof now, and that we are going on a
+long journey with her to-morrow, and that I am to be near her for a
+whole month! It's too good to be true.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I hope not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, Jerry, I hope not too; but it seems too good. I know you are
+one of those men who never give way to their feelings until they know
+exactly whither their feelings are taking them. It isn't every one who
+has such complete self-command as you. I am willing to risk everything
+in the world for a woman. Some men are too cautious to risk anything.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There's a good deal of truth and a good deal of rubbish in what you
+say,&quot; rejoined Jerry, colouring slightly, and concealing his face from
+his companion by going to the window and looking out at the evergreens
+and leafless trees in the front garden.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred's last speech had not been exactly a chance shot. He more than
+guessed Jerry cared a good deal for Madge; but the tone of the other
+had exasperated him, and he made an effort to compel silence, if not
+sympathy, from him. Jerry was not prepared to retort. He did not want
+to deny or assert his own susceptibility to the unconscious arts of
+any woman; and, above all, he did not wish Madge's name to be
+introduced even casually.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At last dinner came. It was an informal, a substantial, cosy meal. No
+special preparations had been made for the guests. There was no
+display, no stint, no profusion. Jerry sat beside Madge, and Alfred
+between Edith and Mrs. Davenport. Jerry was the most taciturn--Madge
+the most demure of the party. Mr. Paulton was chatty, cordial, and
+particularly gracious to the widow. Mrs. Davenport was polite,
+impassable, absent-minded.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When they were waiting for the joint, Mr. Paulton turned to Jerry, and
+said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you depressed at the prospect of spending a while with an
+invalid? To look at you both, one would think it was you, not Alfred,
+who wants change of air.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And so it is,&quot; said Jerry, stealing a look at Madge.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In order to divert attention from her, for she felt her face growing
+hot, she said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I believe the south of Ireland is very mild?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, very!&quot; Jerry answered, with startling vivacity. &quot;It's the mildest
+climate in the world; but the people are not particularly mild: they
+are full of fire and fight. I have no doubt Alfred will come back a
+regular Milesian. You know those who live a while in Ireland always
+become more Irish than the Irish.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Never mind,&quot; said Mrs. Paulton. &quot;He may become as Irish as he likes
+if he at the same time grows as well in health as we like.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I intend coming back quite a Goliath, mother. I shall eat and drink
+everything I see,&quot; said Alfred gaily.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You would find some of the things in the neighbourhood of Kilcash
+rather hard to chew. I think Mrs. Davenport will agree with me that it
+would take Goliath a long time to make a comfortable meal of the Black
+Rock, or to make a comfortable meal on it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the name of the Rock, Mrs. Davenport looked up and shuddered
+visibly, and said, as she rested slightly on the back of her chair:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The Black Rock is a hideous place.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then, turning to Alfred: &quot;You must not go there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am altogether in the hands of this unprincipled wretch,&quot; answered
+Alfred, smiling and nodding at Jerry.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then,&quot; said Jerry, &quot;if you are not very civil--if you show a
+disposition to exhibit your Goliath-like prowess on me, I shall take
+you to the Black Rock, and first frighten the life out of you, and
+then throw you into the Puffing Hole, where, except you are the ghost
+of your own grandfather, or something equally monstrous, you will be
+promptly smashed into ten billions of invisible atoms.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The rest of the dinner passed off quietly. When the dessert had been
+put on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, Mr. Paulton said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mr. O'Brien, I have often heard you talk of this Black Rock and the
+Puffing Hole, but I am afraid I never had the industry to ask you for
+a description of either. Are they very wonderful?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There is nothing wonderful about the Rock, except its extent and
+peculiar shape and colour. But the Puffing Hole, although not unique,
+is curious and terrible.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am doubly interested in them now, since I have the pleasure of
+numbering Mrs. Davenport among my friends. What are the Black Rock and
+Puffing Hole like?&quot; He smiled, and bent gallantly towards the widow.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I think,&quot; said Jerry, &quot;Mrs. Davenport herself is the best person to
+give you a description of either. Her house is near them, and she has
+lived, I may say, next door to them for years, and knows more than I
+do of the place. To make the matter even, if Mrs. Davenport will do
+the description I will do the narrative part of the tale. That is a
+fair division.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Mrs. Davenport trembled slightly again, and was about to speak, when
+Mr. Paulton said, in a tone of impetuous persuasion:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Your house near these strange freaks of nature, Mrs. Davenport! Of
+course I did not know that, or I should not have dreamed of asking Mr.
+O'Brien for an account of them.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The old man's belief was that it would divert Mrs. Davenport's mind
+from wholly gloomy subjects if she were only induced to speak of
+matters of general interest.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She shook her head sadly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is true my home was for many years at Kilcash House, which is near
+the Black Rock. But----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She paused, and a peculiar smile took possession of her face. All eyes
+were fixed on her in expectation. No one cared to speak. What could
+that strange break mean? Surely, to describe a scene or phenomenon of
+the coast with which she was most familiar could not be very
+distressing?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But,&quot; she resumed, &quot;it is my home no longer. It is true I am going
+back there for a little time--a few weeks; but that is only to arrange
+matters. I have now no home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The voice of the woman was almost free from emotion. It was slightly
+tremulous towards the end; but if she had been reading aloud a passage
+she but dimly understood, she could have displayed no less emotion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No home!--no home!&quot; said Mr. Paulton, so softly as to be only just
+audible. &quot;I was under the impression you had been left Kilcash House.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, my husband left me Kilcash House and other things--other
+valuable things--and a large sum of money. But----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Again she paused at the ominous &quot;but.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Again all were silent, and now even Mr. Paulton could not light on
+words that seemed likely to help the widow over her hesitation.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But I cannot take anything.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Once more the old man repeated her words: &quot;Cannot take anything! Are
+the conditions so extraordinary--so onerous?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He and O'Brien thought that the principal condition must be forfeiture
+in case she married Blake. This would explain much of what was now
+incomprehensible.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There are no conditions whatever in the will,&quot; she said in the same
+unmoved way.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No conditions! And yet you have no home, although your late husband
+has left you a fine house?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, and all that is necessary for the maintenance of that house;
+notwithstanding which, I have no home, and am a beggar.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mrs. Davenport,&quot; cried the old man, with genuine concern, &quot;what you
+say is very shocking. I hope it is not true.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I know this is not the time or place to talk of business. I know my
+business can have little or no interest for you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Excuse me, my dear Mrs. Davenport, there is nothing out of place
+about such talk now, and you really must not say we take but slight
+interest in your affairs. On the contrary, we are very much interested
+in them. I think I may answer for every member of my family, and say
+that beyond our own immediate circle of relatives there is no lady in
+whom we take so deep an interest.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The old man was solemn and emphatic.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am sure,&quot; said Mrs. Paulton, looking round the table, &quot;that my
+husband has said nothing but the simple fact.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She turned her eyes upon the widow.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mrs. Davenport, I hope you will always allow me to be your friend.
+Your troubles have, I know, been very great, and you are now no doubt
+suffering so severely that you think the whole world is against you.
+We, at all events, are not. Anything we can do for you we will; and,
+believe me, Mrs. Davenport, doing anything for you will be a downright
+pleasure.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The widow bowed her head for a moment before speaking. It seemed as
+though she could not trust her voice. After a brief pause she sat up,
+and, resting the tips of the fingers of both hands on the table, said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As I told you earlier to-day, I have been alone all my life, and the
+notion of fellowship is terrible to me, coming now upon me when my
+life is over.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Indeed you should not talk of your life being over. You are still
+quite young. Many a woman does not begin her life until she is older
+than you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am thirty-four, and that is not young for one to begin life.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But, may I ask,&quot; said Mr. Paulton, &quot;how it is that the will becomes
+inoperative? How is it that you cannot avail yourself of your
+husband's bequests?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My reasons for not taking my husband's money must, for the present--I
+hope for ever--remain with myself. Mr. Blake has told me certain
+things, and I have found out others myself. I am now without money--I
+do not mean,&quot; she said, flushing slightly, &quot;for the present moment,
+for a month or two--but I am without any money on which I can rely for
+my support. I shall have to begin life again--or, rather, begin it for
+the first time. I shall have to work for my living, just as any other
+widow who is left alone without provision. This is very plain
+speaking, but the position is simple.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But, my dear Mrs. Davenport, you must not in this way give yourself
+up to despair,&quot; said Mr. Paulton, as he rose and stood beside her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Despair!&quot; she cried, looking up at him with a quick glance of angry
+surprise. &quot;Despair! You do not think me so poor a coward as to
+despair. How can one who never knew hope know despair? I am in no
+trouble about the future. I shall take to a line of life in which
+there is room and to spare for such as I.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do not do anything hastily, I have a good deal of influence left.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Mrs. Paulton, who saw that Mrs. Davenport was excited, over-wrought,
+rose and moved towards the door. The others stood up, excepting Mrs.
+Davenport, who, as she was excited and looking up into Mr. Paulton's
+face, did not hear the stir or see the move.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am most sincerely obliged to you, Mr. Paulton, but I greatly fear
+that, much as I know you would wish it, you could not aid me in my
+business scheme.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;May I ask what the business is?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The stage.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The stage, Mrs. Davenport! You astound me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I have lived alone and secluded all my life. For the future I shall,
+if I can, live among thousands of people, whom I will <i>compel</i> to
+sympathise with my mimic trials, since I never had any one to
+sympathise with my real ones. I shall flee from an obscurity greater
+than a cloister's to the blaze and full publicity of the footlights.
+You think me mad?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No; ill-advised. Who suggested you should do this?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She glanced around, and saw that the ladies were waiting for her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I beg your pardon,&quot; she said to them, as she rose and walked towards
+the door, which Alfred held open.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She turned back as she went out, and answered Mr. Paulton's question
+with the two words:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mr. Blake.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred closed the door. The three men looked in amazement at one
+another.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There's something devilish in her or Blake,&quot; said the old man.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Or both,&quot; said Jerry O'Brien.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">By a tremendous effort, Alfred Paulton sat down and kept still. He did
+not say anything aloud, but to himself he moaned:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If I lose her, my reason will go again--this time for ever!&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_34" href="#div1Ref_34">A TELEGRAM FROM THE MAIL.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">When the men found themselves alone and somewhat calmed down after the
+excitement caused by Mrs. Davenport's astonishing announcement, Mr.
+Paulton and Jerry discussed the proposed step with great minuteness
+and intelligence, while Alfred sat mute and listless. He pleaded the
+necessity of his going to bed early on account of to-morrow's journey.
+In the course of the discussion between the two elder men, Jerry held
+that if she did take to the stage, she would make one of the most
+startling successes of the time.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She has beauty enough,&quot; he said, &quot;to make men fools, and fire enough
+to make them lunatics. What a Lady Macbeth she would be!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Mr. Paulton was anything but a fogey. He did not forget that he had
+been once young, nor did he forget that, when young, a pretty face and
+a fine figure had seemed extremely bewitching things. He was liberal
+in all his views, except in the matter of betting. To that vice he
+would give no quarter whatever. He never once sought to restrain his
+son's reading, and Alfred had a latchkey almost as soon as he was tall
+enough to reach the keyhole. Although he did not smoke himself, he saw
+no objection to others, his son included, smoking in suitable places,
+and with moderation. He did not exclude shilling whist from his code,
+although he never played. He rarely went out after dinner now, but
+when he made his mind up to move, he did not think there was anything
+unbecoming in his visiting a theatre--the <i>front</i> of a theatre, mind
+you, sir. He supposed and believed there were many excellent men
+behind the scenes, and he did not feel himself called upon to say
+that the majority of the ladies were not all that could be desired;
+but--ah, well, he would be very sorry--it would, in fact, break his
+heart if either of his daughters--Madge, for instance--went upon the
+stage.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With the latter part of this somewhat long-winded speech Jerry
+heartily concurred. He felt furious and full of strength when he
+fancied Madge behind the curtain, subjected to dictation and
+uncongenial associations, not to speak of anything more disagreeable
+still. There were nasty draughts and nasty smells, and nasty ropes and
+nasty dust, and sometimes the carefully-attuned ear might catch a
+nasty word. It was blasphemy to think of Madge in such an atmosphere,
+amid such surroundings. And then fancy any &quot;young man&quot; of fifty-six
+putting his arm round Madge, and administering even a stage kiss to
+his darling! The thing was preposterous, and not to be entertained by
+any sane mind.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Coffee was sent into the dining-room, and the whole household retired
+early.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred's reflections that night were the reverse of pleasant. He had
+that day seen the woman he loved. She had come before his eyes as
+unsought as the flowery pageant of summer. She had filled his heart
+with tropical heat, had set fancy dancing in his head, and restored
+strength and vigour to his invalid body. He had, before the moment his
+eyes rested on her that day, been satisfied with the hope of seeing
+her in weeks, months. She had come voluntarily, no doubt, without
+special thought of him, to their home; she had once more accepted
+their hospitality, and he and O'Brien were to accompany her to
+Ireland. They would not travel together, but he should know she was
+near--know she was in the same train, in the same steamboat; they
+should meet frequently on the journey, and, crowning thought of all,
+they had one common destination!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He had that day spent some delicious minutes in her company. While she
+was by he had forgotten his late illness, his present weakness. The
+immediate moment had been filled with incommunicable joy, and the
+future with splendid happiness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">What had befallen all this dream of enchantment? Ruin--ruin complete
+and irreparable! She was, owing to some secret and mysterious cause or
+other, no longer rich. In her own estimation she was a pauper. That
+was little. If that was all, it could be borne with a smile--nay, with
+gratitude; for riches would act as a lure to other men, and he wanted
+only herself and, if it might come in time, her love.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She had determined to go upon the stage. That was bad--entirely bad;
+but if this evil resolve stood alone, it might be combated. If she had
+determined merely with herself to follow the profession of an actress,
+she might be persuaded to abandon her design. But the unfortunate
+course she had made up her mind to follow had been suggested by Blake,
+by an old lover who years ago was dear to her, and now was absolute in
+her counsels. This put an end to every hope that she could ever be
+his.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Oh, weary day, and wearier night!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">If he could, he would back out of going to Ireland; but that was now
+impossible. Under the pressure of his great joy, he had told O'Brien
+of his love for Mrs. Davenport, and all arrangements had, at his
+request, been made for their setting off to-morrow. She must go
+to-morrow. While there is life there is hope. He was hoping against
+hope; but accidents did happen in many cases, and might happen in this
+one. No man was bound to despair; in fact, despair was cowardly and
+unmanly. It was the duty of every man to hope, and he would hope. He
+would go to Ireland to-morrow; he would put his chance against
+Blake's. If this disappointment were to kill him or drive him mad, he
+might as well enjoy the pleasure of being near her until his health or
+mind gave way finally.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When he came to this decision he fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Next day broke chill and dismal, and none of the folk at Carlingford
+House seemed lively except Edith. Mrs. Paulton was depressed because
+her only son was going away from home and into a country of which she
+had a vague and unfavourable notion. O'Brien was sulky at the thought
+of being torn from the side of Madge, now that he might talk freely to
+her of love and their prospects, and the brutal Commissioners. Mrs.
+Davenport was depressed by a variety of circumstances and
+considerations, and Alfred had much to make him anything but cheerful.
+Mr. Paulton's seriousness--that was the strongest word which could
+fairly be applied to his humour--was due to the dulness of the
+weather, and a depreciation in the value of some shares held by him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">During the day each of the travellers was more or less busy with
+preparations. Mrs. Davenport had to go to town early in order to
+transact business she had neglected the day before. Alfred stayed
+mostly in his room, and O'Brien, far from sweet-tempered, managed,
+through the unsought contrivance of Edith, to be a whole hour alone
+with Madge.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You know,&quot; he said to her, when preliminaries had been disposed of,
+&quot;it's a beastly nuisance to have to go away from you now. I'd much
+rather stop, I assure you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You are very kind.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't be satirical, Madge. No woman ever yet showed to advantage when
+satirical. I say it's a great shame to have to go away, particularly
+when it's only to save appearances; for now that Blake has once more
+come on the scene, all is up with poor Alfred. Upon my word, Madge, I
+pity him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you like her, Jerry?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. I like you. I like you very much. You're not a humbug.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Is she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. But she's too awfully serious. I cannot help thinking she ought
+to do everything to the slow music of kettledrums.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why kettle-drums?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I don't know. I suppose it's because the concerted kettle-drum
+is the most bald and arid form of harmonious row. I'm afraid my
+language is neither select nor expressive. But one can't help one's
+feelings--particularly when one's feelings make one like you. I really
+am sorry to have to leave you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But you mustn't blame me for that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now you are quite unreasonable. You must know that a man without a
+grievance is as insipid as a woman without vanity.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Jerry, I'm not a bit vain; I never was a bit vain. What could I be
+vain about?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ungrateful girl! Have I not laid my hand and fortune, including the
+bodies of the murdered Commissioners, at your feet?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You are silly, Jerry.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How am I silly? In having laid my hand and fortune and the
+bodies----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. In talking such nonsense.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And you are not vain of having made a conquest of me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Jerry, I'm very fond of you, and I don't like you to talk to me as if
+you thought I was only a silly girl whom you were trying to amuse with
+any silly things you could think of. I hope you don't believe I'm a
+fool?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. You are right, Madge: it's a poor compliment for a man to talk
+mere tattle to his sweetheart. I wonder, darling, if you would give me
+a keepsake, now that I am going away?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. I have no faith in keepsakes. I would not take any keepsake from
+you, because I shall need nothing to remind me of you when you are
+away.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Darling, nor I of you. And if things go wrong with me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;They can't go wrong with you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I mean if I come off worse in these business affairs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That will not make any difference in you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. Nor in you, darling?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He held her in his arms a while, and said no more. Thus they parted.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It had been arranged that the two men should meet Mrs. Davenport at
+Euston. They were on the platform when she arrived. To their surprise
+she was not alone: Blake accompanied her. As soon as they came forward
+he shook hands with her, raised his hat, and retired.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien and Paulton were greatly taken aback by Blake's presence. They
+busied themselves about her luggage, and then took seats in the same
+compartment with her. They were the only passengers in the
+compartment.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As soon as the train was in motion she leaned forward to O'Brien, and
+said in a clear, distinct voice, the edge of which was not dulled by
+the rumble of the wheels:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You arrived the day before yesterday from Ireland?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes,&quot; he answered, bending forward and looking into her inscrutable
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You have been at Kilcash?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes. I was there for about a month.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Did you hear a ghost story there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He started and looked seriously at her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, I did. May I ask if you have heard anything about it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes. When I got back to Jermyn Street where I stayed, I found a
+letter there telling me that a ghost, the ghost of a man named Michael
+Fahey, had been seen in the neighbourhood of Kilcash.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At the Black Rock. I was going to tell the story yesterday at dinner,
+but it slipped by.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you know anything of this--apparition?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I saw it myself, and two others saw it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where do we stop first?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At Rugby.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She took a note-book from her pocket, and wrote something in it. When
+the writing was finished, she tore out the leaf on which it was, and
+handed the leaf to O'Brien, saying:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Will you be kind enough to telegraph this from Rugby for me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It will have to be written on a form,&quot; he said, hesitatingly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Will you oblige by writing it on a form for me? There is no reason
+why you shouldn't read it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When he got out at Rugby he read the message. It was addressed to
+Blake, and ran:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;<i>Mr. O'Brien saw what I told you. Follow me to Ireland at once</i>.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_35" href="#div1Ref_35">THE TRAVELLERS.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">It was impossible for O'Brien to tell Alfred the nature of the
+telegram he had just despatched to Blake. It would not be seemly to
+whisper or to write, and to leave the compartment with the proclaimed
+intention of seeking a smoking carriage would be a transparent device.
+There was nothing for it but to sit still and keep silent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The three travellers settled themselves in their corners, and
+pretended to go to sleep. Each had thoughts of an absorbing nature,
+but none had anything exceptionally happy with which to beguile the
+dreary midnight journey. It was impossible to see if Mrs. Davenport
+slept or not. She had, upon settling herself after leaving Rugby,
+pulled down her thick veil over her face, and remained quite
+motionless. Young Paulton was not yet as strong as he imagined, and
+the monotonous sound and motion soon fatigued him, and he fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Although O'Brien kept his eyes resolutely shut he never felt more
+wakeful in his life.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">What on earth could this woman want with this man of most blemished
+reputation and desperate fortune? She had seen him lately, and he had
+told her something of the mysterious appearance near the Puffing Hole;
+but it was not until after they had started from Euston that she had
+made up her mind to summon him to Ireland. What could she want him
+for? She was, according to her own statement, now no longer rich. She
+was no longer young. The best years of her beauty had passed away. No
+doubt she was still an extremely beautiful woman, but the freshness
+was gone. As far as he knew, Blake was the last man in the world to
+marry such a woman. And yet there was some secret bond, some concealed
+link between them. He was not unjust to her. He did not believe she
+would inveigle any man into a marriage, and he could not understand
+why this Blake was now even tolerable to her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">However matters might go, it looked as if Alfred were certain to
+suffer. It was quite plain he was madly in love with her, and that she
+did not see, or was indifferent to his passion. She was not a
+coquette. She showed no desire to claim indulgence because of her sex
+or sorrows, and certainly exacted no privilege as a tribute to her
+beauty. To him she seemed hard, mechanical, cold. She had, it is true,
+broken down the day before, but that was under extreme pressure.
+Usually she was as unsympathetic, self-contained as bronze.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Jerry was not a fool or a bigot, and he allowed to himself, with
+perfect candour, that although he looked on Alfred's passion as
+infatuation, he could understand it. He himself was no more in love
+with her than with the black night through which they were speeding;
+but if she, at that moment, raised her veil and stood before him and
+bade him undertake something unpleasant--nay, dangerous--he would
+essay it. Strength gives command to a man, beauty to a woman, love to
+either.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At Chester the three got coffee, and once more took up their corners
+and affected to sleep or slept.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When they reached the boat at Holyhead, Mrs. Davenport said good-night
+and descended to the ladies' cabin. The two friends got on the bridge,
+and as soon as the steamer had started O'Brien took Paulton to the
+weather bulwark, and told him the substance of the telegram Mrs.
+Davenport had sent to London.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">To O'Brien's astonishment, the younger man made nothing of the matter.
+It was simply a business affair, he said: nothing of any moment. From
+all they had heard, Blake knew more than they had supposed of the dead
+man's affairs; and now that Mrs. Davenport had resolved not to take
+the fortune her husband had left her, it was almost certain Blake
+could be of assistance to her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After a little while it was agreed that the bridge was too cold for
+Alfred, so both men went below and lay down. O'Brien fell asleep, and
+did not awake until he was called close to Kingstown.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was a dreary, cold, bleak morning, with thin sunlight. There had
+been rain in the night, and everything looked chill and depressing.
+The passage had been smooth, and none of the three had suffered by it
+beyond the spiritless depression arising from imperfect rest and
+fatigue.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When they alighted at Westland Row, Jerry suggested that they should
+send on their luggage to the King's Bridge terminus, and seek
+breakfast.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not my luggage,&quot; said Mrs. Davenport; &quot;I am not going to Kilcash
+to-day. Kindly get me a cab. I will stay at the 'Tourists' Hotel.' I
+have telegraphed, as you know, to Mr. Blake to come over, and will
+send him word to meet me there. I am extremely obliged to both of you
+for all your kindnesses on the way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred started, and Jerry looked surprised.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You are,&quot; the latter said, &quot;quite sure you prefer staying here. Of
+course I do not presume to interfere; but perhaps it might be more
+convenient for you, Mrs. Davenport, if Mr. Blake followed you to
+Kilcash?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am quite sure,&quot; she said, decisively, &quot;that it would be best for me
+to stay in Dublin for the present.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If you simply wanted rest, we could wait for you a day or two,&quot; said
+Alfred, out of whose face all look of animation had gone.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thank you, I am not in the least tired; and if you will get me a cab,
+and tell the man to drive me to the 'Tourists', you will greatly
+oblige me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Nothing more was to be done or said. Her luggage was put on a cab, she
+again thanked the two friends, and saying she hoped to have an
+opportunity of soon seeing them at Kilcash House, said goodbye to
+them, and drove away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred and Jerry O'Brien got breakfast, drove to the King's Bridge
+terminus, and started for the South in no very good humour.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It's always the way,&quot; thought the latter, despondingly. &quot;Only for the
+infernal Commissioners and O'Hanlon's craze about his brain--bless the
+mark!--I need not have left London last month. Only for Alfred's
+infatuated impatience and his father's vicarious gallantry, I might be
+there now; and here are the Commissioners gone to sleep, O'Hanlon's
+head good for nothing, any number of future bills of costs, and we
+deserted by the object of young love and elderly gallantry! Upon my
+word, it's too bad. If O'Hanlon had only had the good sense to murder
+the Commissioners while suffering from temporary or permanent
+insanity, and Blake owned the good taste to run away with the
+widow--why, then, things would be wholesome and comfortable. As it is,
+they are simply-beastly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The two friends arrived late that night at the &quot;Strand Hotel,&quot;
+Kilcash, and went to bed almost immediately. Neither rose early next
+morning, but when they did get up, they found the weather magically
+improved. A few high silver clouds floated against the deep blue
+screen of sky, beyond which one knew the stars lay; for the grass and
+bare branches of trees flashed and blazed, not with the yellow light
+of the gaudy sun, but with rays that seemed glorious memories of
+midnight stars. The sea in the bay was calm as a lake, and joined upon
+the level margin of the sand smoothly, like a steady white flame
+spreading out from a dull-red lake of fire. The doors of the cottages
+were open, and people were abroad. Thin wreaths of smoke went up from
+hushed hearths. Hundreds of gulls sailed slowly up and down across the
+mouth of the bay. Now a dog barked, now a cock crew, now a wild bird
+whistled.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Opposite Alfred, as he stood at his window, drinking in the peace of
+the scene, rose the sloping sides of the bay. On them were sheep
+grazing. Here the salt blasts from the Atlantic would let no wheat or
+oats, or grain of any other kind, prosper. Nothing would grow but
+short, poor grass, on which sheep picked up an humble livelihood. The
+harvest fields of Kilcash were beyond the bay, out there on the blue
+depths of the ocean, that great cosmopolitan common of the races of
+man.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Little labour was ever to be done in Kilcash. Its farms, its
+workshops, its mines were in the sea. No child, until he himself went
+to sea, ever saw his father work. The men came home not merely to
+their houses, but to the village to rest. When they had hauled up
+their boats, and carried away the nets and sails and oars and masts,
+their labours were at an end. The women bore the fish up to the Storm
+Wall, whence it was thrown into carts and creels, and driven off to
+Kilbarry. The visitors who came to the place in summer did not work.
+They came avowedly to do nothing--to idle through the sunny weather,
+to play at fishing, play at boating, play at swimming, to make grave
+business of doing nothing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I feel it doing me good already,&quot; said Alfred, as he threw up the
+window and spread his chest broad to take a full inspiration of the
+invigorating, balsamic air.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After a late breakfast the two friends strolled out.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What shall we do to-day?&quot; said Jerry, lighting a cigar.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is there to be done?&quot; asked Alfred, by way of reply.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nothing,&quot; answered Jerry, throwing away the match--&quot;absolutely
+nothing. It is because there is nothing to be done here I thought the
+place would do you good.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not by way of change?&quot; said Alfred, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, doing nothing at Kilcash is very different from doing nothing
+in London. There you get up, eat breakfast, look at the morning
+papers, yawn over a book; write three notes to say you have no time to
+write a letter; wonder what the earlier portion of the day was
+intended for; resolve to go to bed early that night so as to find out
+the secret; dress; go out nowhere, anywhere; make a call on a person
+whom you don't want to see, and who doesn't want to see you; curse
+yourself for being so stupid as to look him up, and him for being so
+stupid as not to amuse you; buy a hairbrush you don't want; wonder
+where people can be going in hansoms at such an hour, and can't find
+out for the life of you where you could go in a hansom at that time,
+except to the British Museum, or Tower, or National Gallery, or some
+other place no respectable person ever yet went to; drop into a club
+for luncheon, and find that no one you ever saw before lunches at the
+club, and that those who do are intensely disagreeable; stroll into
+the park; pick up two dear old boys, who have been looking for you
+everywhere to tell you about something or other that makes you swear;
+back to the club to dinner, where you meet every man you care for, and
+dine; after dinner go somewhere or other--to Brown's, for instance, or
+to the theatre, or to see the performing Mastodon; afterwards cards or
+billiards, and bed at half-past two or three.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's rather a full and exhausting programme for an idle day. It
+isn't much good here. What do you do here a day you do nothing?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nothing. Whether it's a busy or an idle day with you here, you can't
+do anything, except you get books and go in for the exact sciences.
+You couldn't buy a morning paper here for a sovereign, or a pack of
+cards for a hundred pounds. The hotel does not take in a paper at this
+time of the year, and only three come to the village--one each to the
+clergymen, and one to the police barracks. The garrison of the
+barracks is six men and a bull-terrier. There's no one to look at
+here, and no one to call on, except the echoes, which at this time of
+the year are uncommonly surly, not to say scurrilous. There is no
+fish, as the fish have all gone away on business; they come here only
+to stare at the summer visitors. The only thing one can do here is
+smoke--provided you don't buy the tobacco in the village.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And walk?&quot; asked Alfred. &quot;Cannot one walk here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, mostly. Not always, though; for when it rains here you have to
+swim, and when it blows here, you have to fly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But to-day, for instance, we can walk.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien looked aloft, looked down in the light wind, and then out to
+sea.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, I think it will keep fine.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, then, let us walk.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But I forgot to tell you there is no place to walk to.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, yes, there is. I know more of the neighbourhood than you, short a
+time as I have been here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Kilcash House. Jerry, don't laugh or don't abuse me. I can't help it.
+Let me see where she lived--where she will live again.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_36" href="#div1Ref_36">SOLICITOR AND CLIENT.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">When Mrs. Davenport reached the &quot;Tourists' Hotel,&quot; she asked to be
+shown into a private sitting-room. She had slept in the boat, and was
+in no need of repose. In reply to the servant, she desired breakfast
+to be brought, and asked for writing materials. She wrote out a
+telegram to Blake: &quot;I am staying at the 'Tourists', and shall await
+you here.&quot; She wrote a couple of notes of no consequence, and then
+breakfasted. At the very earliest Blake could not reach Dublin until
+that evening. In the meantime she would go and see her late husband's
+solicitor, Mr. Vincent Lonergan.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The old attorney received Mrs. Davenport with the most elaborate
+courtesy. He was tall, round-shouldered, white-haired, white-bearded,
+fresh-coloured, slow, oracular. He congratulated himself on meeting
+her for the first time, and fished up phrases of sympathy and
+condolence out of his inner consciousness, as though he was the first
+man in the world who had ever to refer to such matters. Then he
+paused, partly that his elaborate commonplaces might have time to sink
+into her mind, and partly that she might have time to collect her
+thoughts and bring her mind to the business of her visit.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;May I ask you,&quot; she said, &quot;how long you acted as solicitor to my late
+husband?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;About twelve years, I think. I can tell you exactly if you desire
+it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will not trouble you for the exact date. During those twelve years
+you were well acquainted with all Mr. Davenport's affairs, I dare
+say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;With the legal aspect of his affairs, yes. With the business aspect
+of his affairs, no.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You know that he made large sums of money by speculating in foreign
+stocks and shares?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I do not <i>know</i> it. I have heard it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;From whom have you heard it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;From several people--himself among the number.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She paused a moment, and then said: &quot;Your words seem to imply a doubt.
+You will, I am certain, give me all the information you can?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Assuredly, my dear lady.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then do you not know that he made his money out of foreign
+speculations?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Permit me to explain: I did not intend to imply any doubt as to the
+way in which the late Mr. Davenport made his money. We solicitors get
+into a legal way of talking when we are at business; and, legally
+speaking, I have no knowledge of my own of how the late Mr. Davenport
+made his money, because the making of the money did not come directly
+under my observation. I <i>do</i> know he told me he made it in foreign
+speculations, and I think you will be quite safe in taking it that he
+did make it abroad. We are now, as I take it, speaking of the time
+before your marriage with Mr. Davenport?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, of the time before my marriage.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Since then, you would naturally know more of his business affairs
+than I.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He spoke little to me of business, and I know hardly anything of his
+affairs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As you know, you are largely benefited under the will. Roughly
+speaking, all his property goes to you, in addition to what you are
+entitled to under the marriage settlement.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She made a slight gesture, as though putting these subjects aside.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He made an elaborate gesture, indicating that he understood her, and
+that he was her obedient, humble servant. After another pause she
+asked:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you know anything of a man named Fahey--a man who was in some way
+or other connected with Mr. Davenport, and who was drowned or
+committed suicide many years ago, shortly after Mr. Davenport's
+marriage?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Fahey--Fahey--Fahey? Yes, I do. I remember that he drowned himself
+near Kilcash House because the police were on his track for uttering
+forged bank-notes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you know in what relation he stood to Mr. Davenport?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am under the impression he was some kind of humble hanger-on; but I
+am not sure.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You <i>know</i> nothing of him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Certainly not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Never saw him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not to my knowledge.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Another pause.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You were good enough to tell me a moment ago that you are acquainted
+with the legal business of my late husband. Suppose I did not wish to
+take any money or property under my late husband's will, how would the
+matter be?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not take your husband's money or property under the will! You are
+not, my dear Mrs. Davenport, thinking of anything so monstrous?&quot; cried
+the old man, fairly surprised out of his measured tone and oracular
+manner.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Suppose I am. Have I, or shall I soon have, absolute control over
+what has been left to me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Certainly. There are no conditions. All will be yours absolutely.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thank you. I am very much obliged. You will add further to my
+obligations to you if you will kindly hurry forward all matters in
+connection with the will. I am most anxious to have the money in my
+own hands.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Permit me to explain once more: I take it for granted you have not
+had leisure to read the copy of the will I forwarded to you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She bowed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In wills there are often very stupid conditions and provisions which
+govern the disposal of the property. In this case there are no
+conditions or provisions, so that you enter into possession quite
+untrammelled. You understand me when I say quite untrammelled?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I understand.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;So that if at any time it seemed well to you to----&quot; He stopped. She
+had begun to rise, and he did not know whether it would be wise to
+complete the sentence or not.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She stood before him holding out her hand as she finished what he had
+begun--&quot;To marry again I should run no risk of forfeiting the money.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Precisely.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She smiled.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thank you. I am a little tired, and am not able to express my sense
+of your goodness to me during this interview. But I am, I assure you,
+grateful. I am not thinking of marriage. You will, I hope, be able to
+get everything into order soon. I must go now. Good-bye.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He saw her into the cab waiting for her at the door, and then walked
+back to his private office.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;A remarkable woman,&quot; he mused, &quot;a remarkable and very fine woman. But
+I suppose she's mad. There's a screw loose in the heads of the
+Davenport family, and 'Evil communications corrupt good manners.'
+Perhaps she took the taint from him. There was no screw loose in his
+business head. He was as sharp as razors, and as close as wax. I think
+she's mad, or perhaps she's only a rogue. I suspect his money was not
+over clean, but that's no affair of mine. She married Davenport, every
+one said, for his money. She lived with him all these years for his
+money, every one said--although, for the life of me, I can't see what
+good it did him or her; and now he's gone, and the money is all hers,
+and she talks of doing away with it. Oh, she must be mad, for I don't
+see where the roguery could come in, unless--unless---- Ah, that may
+be it. By Jove, I'm sure that's it! Byron says, 'Believe a woman or an
+epitaph?' But he didn't mean it. Byron hardly ever meant what he said,
+and never what he wrote. It's a pity he never turned his attention to
+law. He never, as far as my reading has gone, did anything with law
+except to break all of it he could lay his hands on--civil and
+divine--especially divine, for that's cheap, and he was poor. She's a
+very fine woman, though. But what is this I was saying? Oh, yes. The
+only explanation of her conduct is that Blake, the blackguard Blake,
+has asked her, or is going to ask her, to marry him, and that she
+wants to test him by saying she is about to give away all her money to
+charitable institutions. That's the root of the mystery. And then,
+when she marries him, she'll throw all the money into his lap, and
+he'll spend it for her, and gamble it away and beat her. Anyway, he
+can't make quite a pauper of her, for even she herself can't destroy
+her marriage settlement, and the trustees won't stand any nonsense.
+<i>Always</i> 'believe a woman <i>and</i> an epitaph.' I wonder what kind of an
+epitaph will she put up to Davenport? Something about his name always
+reminding her of him--that she couldn't stand it, and so had to change
+it.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_37" href="#div1Ref_37">THE WIDOW'S THEORY OF THE CASE.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">When Mrs. Davenport got back to the hotel, she inquired if any
+telegram had come for her, and was told not. She seemed displeased,
+disappointed. She asked questions, and discovered that it would be
+next to impossible that her telegram could reach London before the
+departure of the morning mail. This put things right, for she felt
+certain that if Blake got her message he would have replied. He was on
+his way, and would be in Dublin that evening. In Dublin, yes; but how
+should he know where to seek her? She spoke to the manager, to whom
+she explained her difficulty.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">If the lady telegraphed to the mail-boat at Holyhead, the gentleman
+would be sure to get the message.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She thanked the manager, and adopted his suggestion. The day was
+unpleasant under foot and overhead. There were no friends upon whom
+she wished to call. The ten years of secluded life at Kilcash House
+had severed all connection with old acquaintances, and she had made no
+new ones.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She remained by herself in the sitting-room. She did not even try to
+read. She sat in the window, and kept her eyes turned towards the busy
+street. It could not be said she watched the crowds and vehicles, or
+was even conscious of their existence. She kept her eyes in their
+direction--that was all.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Luncheon was brought in. She sat at the table for a quarter of an
+hour, ate something, and then went back to the old place at the
+window. It was dark before dinner appeared, but she did not ring for
+lights. When dinner was over, it was close to the time for the arrival
+of the mail. She put on her bonnet, and went to Westland Row terminus.
+The weather was still unpleasant, but she did not care, did not heed
+it. She had not long to wait in that dismal, squalid cavern at the
+foot of the stone steps leading down from the platform. The train
+rumbled in, and the passengers began to descend and pass between the
+double row of people. Suddenly she stepped forward and touched a man
+on the arm. He turned quickly, and looked at her, exclaiming:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You here, Marion! I got your telegram on the boat.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I was afraid it might miss you, so I thought it safer to come
+myself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What extraordinary story is this? I can scarcely believe you were
+serious when you wired me yesterday from Rugby.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I was in no humour for jesting,&quot; she said. &quot;This is no place to talk
+in. Wait until we get to the hotel.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When they were seated in Mrs. Davenport's sitting-room, he waited for
+her to speak. She was in the arm of the couch--he by the table, with
+his elbow resting on it. They were facing one another. She clasped her
+hands in her lap and rested against the back of the couch. She was
+deadly pale, and when she spoke her voice was low, firm, and full of
+thought.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I want you to tell me <i>all</i> you know about this man Fahey. Mind, you
+are to tell me all. There is no use in concealing anything now. I will
+not take a penny of that money. Speak plainly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not take the money, Marion! Are you mad?&quot; he exclaimed, starting
+forward on his chair.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not yet. The future of my reason will depend a good deal on the
+plainness of your speech. Go on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But I have told you all that is worth telling.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Tell it to me all over again, and this time add everything, great or
+little, you can think of, you can recollect. Let me judge what is
+worth listening to, and what is not. I am waiting.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I know next to nothing of Fahey, and never saw the man in all my
+life. You are allowing this absurd story of his ghost to prey on you.
+You will make yourself ill.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nothing is so bad as uncertainty. I am racked by uncertainty. Go on
+if you wish to do me a service.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Service! I'd die for your sake, Marion.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then speak for my sake.&quot; She did not move or show any interest one
+way or the other in his words, although they had been spoken
+pleadingly, passionately.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At Florence, when he was seized by that delusion, he raved now and
+then, and in his ravings he said continually that there was a plot to
+rob and murder him. He did not include me in the conspiracy, but all
+others were leagued against him. At times he would become furious, and
+defy his imaginary foes, swearing that all of them together were
+powerless against him, as Fahey was loyal, and would be loyal to the
+death.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Loyal in what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I don't know. He did not say in either his sane or frantic moments.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What <i>did</i> he say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That Fahey knew, but that no power on earth would drag the secret out
+of Fahey.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What secret?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How should I know?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you know?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Upon my soul, Marion, I do not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, and after that what would happen?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He would laugh and snap his fingers at imaginary conspirators, and
+dare them to do their worst, and then he would break out into a laugh
+of triumph. And, as I hope to live, Marion, that's all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Every word?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Every syllable, I swear to you. Marion, I could not tell you a lie.
+Marion, I never loved you until now. If you bid me, I will die for
+you. If you tell me, I will go away and never see you again. Try me.
+Bid me go or bid me die. Tell me to do anything, if you will only
+believe I love you as I never loved you before--as I never loved any
+other woman in the world. Since you will not forgive me, since you
+will not give me your love for mine, since you will not let me be near
+you or see you, set me something to do by which I can show you I am
+sincere--madly in earnest.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He bent towards her, and held out his hands, but did not leave his
+chair. His voice, his whole frame shook with excitement.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She raised her hand and lowered it gently, as a signal that he was to
+be still and silent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He drew his arms and his body quickly back, and sat mutely regarding
+her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am sorry,&quot; she said, slowly, gently, &quot;that you spoke in that strain
+now. This is not the time for such matters----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then a time may come, Marion--a time may come soon or late? I do not
+care when----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No,&quot; she answered, quietly, resolutely.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That time came and went long ago. Be silent on that subject. I want
+to speak of long ago.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He groaned, and struck his forehead with his clenched fist.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It was scarcely fair of me to ask you to come. Will you answer my
+questions?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ask me what you please. I'll do it. The only hope now left to me is
+that you will allow me to serve you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My next question may be, must be painful to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He laughed bitterly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That does not matter. Nothing can matter now, except feeling I can be
+of no use to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What means of influence had you over my husband beyond what I knew
+of?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am not in the least pained by that question. I was a poor idiotic
+fool to give you up, but I could not support you if I married you on
+my own means then. I had no means. But still less could I, vile as I
+was, marry you on money got from him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What influence had you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I had only one spell to conjure with.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And that was?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The name of Fahey.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How did you employ that name?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I said to him once, 'Is Fahey still loyal?' I said it half in jest.
+We were alone. He begged of me never to mention that name again, as it
+recalled his awful condition in Florence. He said if I would do him
+the favour of never referring to that circumstance or name, he would
+be my life-long debtor--adding: 'And I mean what I say, and that it
+shall have practical results.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He meant money.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Was that before or after he gave you the thousand pounds?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Before--some months before. But now-poor Davenport is no more, and
+cannot be hurt by any one. And Fahey is dead, and can hurt no one,
+though foolish old women frighten themselves with the thought that
+they have seen his ghost. Did you know this Fahey?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She shuddered. This was the first sign of feeling she showed. What it
+sprang from he could not guess.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I did,&quot; she answered, unsteadily.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And you believe this story about the ghost?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That&quot;--with another shudder--&quot;he is alive.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Alive, Marion--alive! You are overexcited. You are talking nonsense.
+Go and lie down. You are worn out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am. I feel my head whirling round. Leave me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He rose obediently to go.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My mind is giving way, Tom.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">That name spoken by her lips again rooted him to the spot.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;They suspected you, Tom, of that awful deed, and they say he did it
+himself. I am going mad. Surely this is madness.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What--what! Marion!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And now I suspect--<i>him!</i>&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Whom, in the name of heaven?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Fahey. He was jealous of you both. Why did you put out the
+lights----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She tottered!</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_38" href="#div1Ref_38">&quot;WHERE'ER I CAME I BROUGHT CALAMITY.&quot;</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Tom Blake was thunderstruck. They were both standing facing one
+another a few feet apart. Blake was not a man to be disturbed by a
+trifle. He had been a good deal about in the world, and had had
+experience of various kinds of men and women. Many years ago he had
+met this woman frequently, and in the end he made love to her.
+Although she accepted that love and returned it, she had never taken
+him fully into her confidence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In Marion Butler, as he knew her eleven or twelve years ago, there had
+always been a certain undefined reserve. She would not refuse to
+answer any question put to her, nor was there a doubt she answered
+truly and fully. But she always created the impression that there were
+questions which he could not devise or discover, and the answer to
+which he was in no way prepared for. He had no idea or hint of what
+these questions might be. He was in no way uneasy about them. He was
+convinced there were portions of her nature which would always be
+concealed from him; but he was not jealous or suspicious. He was not
+then even slightly disquieted by this blankness, this reticence. It
+had no more meaning for him than would her native tongue, had she been
+born a Hindoo and laid that language aside for English. She had told
+him she had never loved any one but him, and he believed her without
+the possibility of doubt. She promised to be his wife, and he believed
+she would have stood at the altar with him though death were his rival
+for the first kiss.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But now he was amazed, confounded. He had never seen the man Fahey,
+but he had heard and read in the papers a little about him, and from
+all he had gathered he fancied Fahey was a kind of upper servant or
+hanger-on of some kind. Davenport had spoken to him of Fahey, but the
+talk had been very general and vague, except with regard to the
+conspiracy, and the former man always showed the greatest possible
+disinclination to hear anything, or be asked any questions relating to
+the latter. Blake had never run the risk of riding a free horse to
+death. He got money in large sums from Mr. Davenport, but he had been
+judicious. There was nothing so low or coarse as blackmail hinted at
+by Mr. Davenport. That gentleman and he were excellent friends, and he
+had had bad luck, or was in want of money for some other cause, and
+when men became alarmed about money matters, although they were quite
+innocent, they often did foolish things. Look at that idiot Fahey. So
+Mr. Davenport, because he was a gentleman and a friend of Blake's,
+gave him money out of mere courtesy and good nature, and not fear, as
+one gives to a strange fellow-pedestrian on the footway when the
+stranger carries a load. There was no more hint of threat or dread of
+fear in the case of Mr. Davenport's offering the money, or of Blake
+taking it, than in the case of the meeting of two unacquainted
+wayfarers.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He had thought nothing the widow could tell him would take him by
+surprise, and here he now was fairly breathless and amazed. There was
+no doubt in his mind this Fahey had not been the social equal of
+Marion Butler, and Blake was of opinion the man's origin had been much
+lower than Mr. Davenport's, though whence the dead man had sprung he
+did not exactly know. Kilcash House had not always been the dead man's
+property. He had bought it only a little while before his marriage.
+Davenport seemed to be a man accustomed to meet men only. He was not
+by any means at his ease in an ordinary mixed company, and he had
+explained this to Blake by saying that until comparatively late in
+life he had been almost wholly a business man and unaccustomed to the
+society of ladies.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But now what ghastly light shone on the dire tragedy of the Crescent
+House in Dulwich! What a wonderful revelation was this! Fahey, the
+humble follower of the dead man, had been an admirer of the dead man's
+wife; and he who had been declared dead a decade of years ago was by
+her believed to be living, and to have been connected directly with
+her husband's death! No wonder he was giddy. No wonder he could find
+no words to speak to her. No wonder he could only stand and gaze at
+her in stupid fear, revolving in a dim light the ghostly pageant of
+the past.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was she who broke the silence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I wish I were dead!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Her voice recalled him to her presence and the immediate hour. He took
+her by the hand, led her to a seat, and began pacing up and down the
+room without speaking.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Advise me,&quot; she went on, after a pause. &quot;Advise me, out of mercy. If
+I were dead, there would be no lips to tell, no soul to suspect the
+horrors by which I am haunted. Advise me. You know more of me than any
+other living being. Shall I die?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Still he could not speak. Her question came to his ears as though it
+were something apart from her personality and his consideration--as
+though it were a tedious impertinence rising from an indifferent
+source. Although he knew he was in that room with the widow of Louis
+Davenport, and that she had just said she believed Fahey was alive,
+and had killed her husband from jealousy, he could not give the
+situation substantial form. There were confounding murmurs in his
+ears, and indeterminable shadows floating before his eyes. His mind
+was clamorous for quiet, and the clamour stunned and confounded him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Speak to me,&quot; she pleaded. &quot;I am not deserted, yet I am alone. I have
+always been alone since I can first remember. Only I myself have
+broken the solitude in which I lived. Once, long ago, I thought you
+were coming towards me from a distance, to share my solitude, but
+you--you--went by. I felt like a castaway on a desolate island, who
+sees a sail bear down upon him in the twilight, only to find the
+morning sea a barren desert of water. Should I die? That is not a hard
+question for you to answer, is it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No; not a hard question, Marion. You must live.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;For what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">If she had asked this question an hour ago, before she told him her
+horrible suspicions, he would readily have answered, &quot;For me.&quot; As it
+was, such an answer would have seemed flippant, profane. But an answer
+of some kind must be made. He could find no answer, and said merely,
+&quot;Give me time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She sat upright on her chair. One hand and arm rested on the table,
+the white hand lying open upon the leaf, the thumb holding on by the
+edge. Her head and face were thrust forward, her chin projecting, the
+forehead reclining. Her eyes, wide open, followed him closely,
+intently, but not eagerly. She seemed curious, more than anxious. It
+was as though she took but a reflected interest in the question,
+although the reply might govern her action. She waited for him
+patiently. He was a long time before he spoke.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Marion,&quot; he said at length, &quot;if I am to be of any use to you--if even
+my advice is to be of service to you--I must know all--all, without
+reserve of any kind. On the face of it, your question is absurd.
+Supposing you had no code--no religious feeling in the matter; suppose
+you had no fear or hope of the other world, what earthly good could
+come of your doing violence to yourself?--of your throwing away your
+life suddenly?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">While he was saying this, he continued to walk up and down the room,
+with his eyes bent on the floor.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Her eyes had continued to follow him in the same close, intent way.
+Still they lacked eagerness. She was a pupil anxious to know--not an
+enthusiast impatient to act.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It would,&quot; she answered, with no trace of emotion, &quot;close up his
+grave for ever, and give peace to his name.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Your husband's--your husband's grave and name! Come, Marion, let us
+be frank.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In what am I uncandid?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You did not--you swore at the inquest you did not--love your husband,
+and now you are talking of killing yourself for his sake. Marion, you
+cannot hold such words candid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He paused in his walk, and stood before her. He looked at her a
+moment, and then averted his gaze. Her eyes, although they rested
+intelligently on him, did not appear to identify him. They were the
+eyes of one occupied with the solution of a mental problem, aided by
+formula of which he was merely the source.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thomas Blake,&quot; she said, &quot;I once thought you might grow to understand
+me, and then I came to the conclusion you never could. You are now
+further off than ever. Louis Davenport was my husband, and I belonged
+to him. I belong to him still. I swore--as they were good enough to
+remind me at the inquest--to love, honour, and obey him. I did not
+come to love him as women love their husbands, but my feeling towards
+him was whole and loyal. I was his, and I am his; and if my death, now
+that he is dead, can benefit him or comfort his name with quiet, I am
+willing to die. Do not be alarmed. I shall make no unpleasantness
+here. Do you think I am in the way of his rest?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Marion, you are talking pure nonsense. Why, your feelings as a
+Christian alone----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Who told you I was a Christian? I tell you I am a Pagan. Leave me at
+least the Pagan virtues of courage and fearlessness.&quot; She did not
+move.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looked at her. There could be no doubt she was sincere. Mad as her
+words sounded, they must be taken at the full value of their ordinary
+meaning.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will not seek to break down your resolution or turn your purpose
+aside. But before I can be of any real use to you in the way of
+advice, you must trust me wholly. How am I to judge of your duty
+unless I know the entire case? Tell me all you know. Tell me all that
+passed between you and this Fahey, and all you know of the relations
+between him and your husband.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will tell you all you need know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you think you are a good judge of where your confidence in a
+matter of this importance should end?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I think I am. At all events, I shall be reticent if I consider it
+better not to speak.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, then, go on, Marion, and tell me all you may. Mind, the more I
+know the more likely I am able to be of use to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She passed the hand not resting on the table across her forehead.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Sit down,&quot; she said. &quot;I can speak with greater ease while you are
+sitting.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He took a chair directly opposite her, and she began:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;All that I said at the inquest is true, and I told the whole truth in
+answer to any questions I was asked; but I did not say all that was in
+my mind. I have had bitter trials in my life. I will not refer again
+to what was once between you and me; and, remember, in anything I may
+say I shall have no thought of that. I put that away from my mind
+altogether, and it will be ungenerous of you if you draw any deduction
+towards our relations in the past from anything I may say. Is that
+understood?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Perfectly, Marion. I know you too well to fancy for a moment you
+could be guilty of the mean cowardice of talking at any one. Go on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thank you. I am glad you think I am no coward.&quot; She still kept her
+hand before her face, as though to concentrate her attention upon her
+mental vision. &quot;As I said at that awful inquest, there was never
+anything ever so slightly like a quarrel between Mr. Davenport and me.
+Except that we lived almost exclusively at Kilcash House, which was
+dull, I had little or nothing to complain of; and the great quiet and
+isolation of that place did not affect me much, for I had small or no
+desire to go out into the world, and after a few years it would have
+given me more pain than pleasure to have to mingle in society. Very
+shortly after my marriage I met Michael Fahey for the first time----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What was he like?&quot; asked Blake, interrupting her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He was tall and slender. His hair was brown, his eyes light in
+colour--blue, I think. He wore a moustache of lighter colour than his
+hair, and small whiskers of the same colour. He was good-looking in a
+way----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What kind of way?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, a soft and gentle way. At first he struck me as being a man who
+was weak, mentally and physically. Later I had reason to think him a
+man of average, if not more than average, physical strength.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;About how old was he then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I could not say exactly. Under thirty, I should think. He also struck
+me as a man of not quite good social position. His manners were
+uneasy, apprehensive, and his English uncertain. He was restless and
+ill at ease, and for my own peace of mind I was glad when I parted
+from him; for it struck me he would be much more comfortable if he and
+my husband were left alone together.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My husband spoke to me in the highest terms of Fahey, and said that
+although he wished nothing to be said about it just then, or until he
+gave me leave to mention it, Fahey had done him useful service in his
+time. That was all Mr. Davenport volunteered, and I asked no question.
+I was sure of one thing more--namely, that the less I was with Michael
+Fahey the better my husband would be satisfied.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I smiled when this conviction came first upon me. Up to the moment I
+felt it I had in my mind treated this Fahey as a kind of upper
+servant, who was to be soothed into unconsciousness that he was not an
+equal. For a short time I felt inclined to expostulate with Mr.
+Davenport on the absurdity of fancying Fahey could think of me save as
+the wife of his patron; but I kept silence, partly out of pride and
+partly out of ignorance of the relations which really existed between
+this man and my husband. You may, or may not, have heard of a
+circumstance which occurred shortly after my marriage?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I remember nothing noteworthy. Tell me what it was.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At that time it was Mr. Davenport's habit to keep large sums of money
+in the house. Once upon his having to go away for a few days, he left
+me the keys of the safe in which the money was locked up. While he was
+away, an attempt was made to rob the house. A door was forced from
+outside, and two men were absolutely in my room, where I kept the key
+of the safe, when Fahey, who was staying in the village of Kilcash at
+the time, rushed in and faced the thieves. I was aroused and saw the
+struggle. Fortunately the men were unarmed. The light was dim--only my
+low night lamp.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The first blow Fahey struck he knocked one of the men through a
+window. Then he and the other man struggled a long time, and at last
+the thief broke loose and escaped by the way he had come in. Fahey had
+overheard the two thieves plan the robbery in the village, and had
+followed them that night to our house. My husband wished the matter to
+be kept quiet, and so it was hushed up.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The next time I met Fahey after that night I was alone on the downs.
+He was alone too. I stopped to thank him. I do not remember exactly
+what I said--commonplace words of gratitude, no doubt. While I was
+speaking I was close to him, and gazing into his face. I cut my speech
+short, for I saw a look in his eyes that told me I was not indifferent
+to him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The widow's hand fell from her face, and she looked at her visitor
+with an expression of trouble and dismay.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There was nothing distressing or alarming in that,&quot; said Blake, with
+an encouraging smile. &quot;You must remember you were then, as you are
+now, an exquisitely lovely woman.</p>
+<div class="poem2">
+<p class="t4" style="text-indent:14pt">
+&quot;'No marvel, sovereign lady; in fair field<br>
+Myself for such a face had boldly died.'&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ay, ay,&quot; she said, with a shudder and a glance of horror round the
+room. &quot;In the stanza before the one from which you quote my fate is
+written:</p>
+<div class="poem1">
+<p class="t2" style="text-indent:14pt">&quot;'Where'er I came I brought calamity.'&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">She stared before her, shuddered again, and sighed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well?&quot; said he. &quot;You have more to tell me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes; I'll go on.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_39" href="#div1Ref_39">A COMPACT.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Mrs. Davenport rested slightly against the back of her chair, and
+resumed:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Mrs. Davenport,' said Fahey, 'what I have done for you was nothing.
+It was really not done for you at all. It was done for Mr. Davenport,
+not you. The thieves did not want to steal you. They wanted to steal
+Mr. Davenport's money. If I may presume to ask you for that rose, I
+shall consider myself more than repaid for what I have done.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I gave him the rose. He bowed, and said: 'Yes, they were stupid,
+mercenary fools. They thought a few pounds of more value than anything
+else in the world. I am not a rich man, and I care very little for
+money itself. I care more for what it may bring with it. I would not
+care to be the richest man in the world. I have in my time, Mrs.
+Davenport, been the humble means of forwarding Mr. Davenport's plans
+for making money. He is a rich man. He is rich in more ways than
+money.' Here he raised the rose to his lips and kissed it. I stood
+amazed. I could not speak or move.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you sure the man was serious, and that he meant it fully?--or was
+it only a piece of elaborate gallantry?&quot; asked Blake, in perplexity.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There can be no doubt whatever of his absolute sincerity. Listen. I
+merely smiled, as if I did not catch his drift, and moved as though I
+would resume my walk towards home. He lifted his hat, and, standing
+uncovered, with his hat in one hand and the rose I had given him in
+the other, said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'I would not give this rose for all Mr. Davenport's money, and
+I know more about his money than any other man living. Mr. Davenport
+and I have been close friends for a long time. It is my nature
+to be loyal. I have been loyal to him. If I liked I could do him
+injury--irreparable injury. If I cared, I could ruin him utterly. But
+it is my nature to be loyal. Do you credit me?'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;For a few seconds I did not answer. I believed he was crazy, and I
+thought that I must soothe him in some way and get off. I had become
+apprehensive, so I said: 'I am perfectly sure of your loyalty to Mr.
+Davenport. I have always heard my husband speak of you in the highest
+terms, I hope we may soon have the pleasure of seeing you again at the
+House.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Not yet,' he said--'do not leave me yet. I want to say a few more
+words to you. It is easy to listen. Listen, pray. I would not, as I
+said before, give that rose for all his money. If I chose to speak,
+things might be different with him. By fair means or by foul, I will
+not say which, I could make his wealth melt like snow in the sun. But
+I have no caring, no need for wealth. I shall not hurt him if you will
+make me two promises. Will you make the two promises I ask?'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;By this time I felt fully persuaded I was in the presence of a
+madman. I looked around and could see no one but the man before me. We
+were not a hundred yards from the edge of the cliff. I no longer
+thought him physically weak; his encounter with the thieves had
+settled that point. If he were mad, the promise would count for
+nothing. There could be no doubt he was insane. I resolved to try him:
+'How is it possible for me to make two promises to you until I know
+what they are?'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Your husband trusts me--you may trust me. Do you promise?'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'First let me know what the promises are.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'That you will say nothing of what I have said to you to Mr.
+Davenport, and that, if ever I have it in my power to do you another
+service, and do it, you will give me another rose.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Yes; in both cases,' I answered. 'You may rest satisfied.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I got away then and was very glad to escape. There was no occasion to
+speak to any one about this meeting with Fahey on the downs, unless
+indeed I firmly believed he was mad; and now that I had time to recall
+all he had said, and review all his actions, I began seriously to
+question my assumption as to his insanity. I took the first
+opportunity of asking my husband if there was anything remarkable
+about Fahey. Mr. Davenport seemed a good deal put out by the question,
+and asked me what I meant. I said I thought Fahey was odd at times. My
+husband said Fahey was all right, and did not seem disposed to go on
+any further with the conversation.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I did not meet Fahey again for a long time--I mean months. He then
+seemed quite collected; but before wishing good-bye, he said
+significantly: 'A man may disappear at any moment on a coast like
+this, and yet may not be dead. Now, suppose I were to disappear
+suddenly on this coast, you would think I had died, and that Mr.
+Davenport no longer ran any risk from my being talkative, or you any
+chance of being called upon for that other rose. I am not enamoured of
+this coast. I consider it dreary and inhospitable, and it would not at
+all surprise me if one day I packed up and fled far away, and stopped
+away until almost all memory of me was lost. Do you think, Mrs.
+Davenport, that if, after such an absence, I were to come back, you
+would recognise me?'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I answered that I was sure of it, and got away from him as soon as I
+could. Again I spoke to Mr. Davenport about Fahey's sanity. My husband
+did not seem to care about discussing the subject, and so I let the
+matter drop. Afterwards, when Fahey jumped into the Puffing Hole in
+order to avoid the police, I thought to myself that when he talked
+about disappearing from the coast he was much nearer the truth than he
+had any notion of.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;All this occurred many years ago, but it made a great impression on
+my mind, and I have not forgotten a tittle of it. The words Fahey
+spoke, and the way he looked, are as plain to me now as if it all
+happened only yesterday. For a long time after Fahey had disappeared,
+I believed his death at the Black Rock was nothing more than a pure
+coincidence. Now and then, at long intervals, Mr. Davenport would
+refer to the matter, but always in tones of anxiety and doubt. I do
+not know why I got the notion into my head, but gradually it found its
+way there, until at last I became quite sure Fahey was not dead. On
+more than one occasion when I had ventured to suggest such an idea to
+Mr. Davenport's mind, he showed great emotion, and, after a few
+struggles, either directly dismissed or changed the subject.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If Fahey had been right about his power of disappearing from that
+coast without dying, why should I refuse to believe that Fahey could
+injure--nay, ruin, my husband, if he were to appear and make certain
+statements of matters within his own knowledge? What these matters
+were I could not guess. Since I saw you last I have got good reasons
+to feel sure my husband had no proper right to the money he possessed,
+and that this man Fahey was aware of the facts of the case.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How did you find all this out, Marion?&quot; asked Blake, looking across
+at her with freshly awakened interest.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I found papers of my husband's.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Will you tell me how you believe he came by the money?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. And you must say nothing of this conversation to any living
+being.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Trust me, I will not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The difficulties now are, Thomas Blake, that I believe my husband did
+not come fairly by his fortune, that Michael Fahey is still alive, and
+that he had a hand in the death of my husband.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Blake knit his brows, rose, and recommenced walking up and down the
+room.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mr. Jerry O'Brien, who travelled over from London with me, told me
+after we left Euston that he himself and Phelan, the boatman of
+Kilcash, had seen the ghost or body of Fahey on the cliffs just above
+the Black Rock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It may have been a delusion.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, it may; but the chances are ten thousand to one against it. He
+told me, too, that a friend of his had seen the same figure, clad in
+the same clothes it wore ten or a dozen years ago. The last-named
+phenomenon I cannot account for. But if you can believe that a man who
+jumped into the Puffing Hole years ago is still alive, all other
+beliefs in this case are easy. Now, Thomas Blake, I have spoken more
+fully to you than I have ever spoken to any other man. I want you to
+advise and help me.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How?&quot; asked Blake, stopping in his walk and looking straight into her
+white, fixed, expressionless face.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;By finding out Fahey and discovering whence my husband got his money.
+Then, if I may return it without disgracing his name or exposing him,
+I will, and if not----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, Marion, if not?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I shall put an end to my knowledge and myself, and so keep his grave
+quiet and silent for him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Marion, this is sheer madness.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;So much the better. If I do wrong in an access of insanity, no moral
+blame attaches to me or my act. Will you help me? Once upon a time I
+could have counted on your aid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At that time you held out the promise of a glorious reward. Do you
+hold it out still, Marion?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. That thought must be put to rest for ever. You may think it
+monstrous that such being my mind, I should deliberately seek you and
+ask for your help. But I have no future, and you are all that is left
+to me of the past----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Marion, Marion, for Heaven's sake don't say it is too late!&quot; he
+cried, passionately, and advanced a step towards her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She retired two steps, and made an imperative gesture, bidding him
+stand still.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Stay where you are and listen to me. To quote again from the poem you
+quoted awhile ago, 'My youth,' she said, 'was blighted with a curse.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And,&quot; he said, pointing to himself, &quot;if we alter the text slightly,
+we find 'This traitor was the cause.' Is not that what you mean,
+Marion? Do not spare me; I am meet for vengeance.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The present one is not a case for vengeance. But if you like you may
+in this matter expiate the past.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And when my expiation is complete, in what relation shall you and I
+stand to one another?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In the same relation as before we met. You will be just to me, and
+help me in this matter, Thomas Blake. Remember that my life has not
+been very joyous.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But, Marion,&quot; he urged, softening his voice, and leaning towards her,
+&quot;if I am to take what you say at its full value----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I mean it all quite literally.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then my expiation would assume the form of leading you to the tomb
+instead of the altar.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She drew back, and said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, put it that way if you will. At one time I believed your hand
+was guiding me up to the altar, beyond which lay love and life, and
+all manner of good and bright things. We never reached the altar. But
+something happened, and there was a dull, dead pause in life, like the
+winter sleep of a lizard or the trance of the Sleeping Beauty, and
+then I awoke, and, to my horror, found the altar had been changed into
+a tomb, and the Fairy Prince into Death. There was no time for love. I
+had slept through the period of love. I had no power to hate, but I
+had the power and the will to die. You will help me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not to die, Marion. I will help you to solve the mystery of this
+Fahey, and the relations between him and Mr. Davenport, and then when
+all has been cleared up, you may----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He held out his hand pleadingly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes,&quot; she said, coldly, firmly, &quot;when all has been cleared up, I may
+say--good-bye.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_40" href="#div1Ref_40">AN EXPEDITION PROPOSED.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">When Jerry O'Brien said there was absolutely nothing to be done in
+Kilcash, he had told the naked truth. The weather was still far from
+genial, and Jerry and Alfred Paulton were the only visitors in that
+Waterford village. For a man of active habits, in full bodily and
+mental vigour, the place would have been the very worst in the world;
+but for an invalid who had never been a busy man, it was everything
+the most exacting could desire. If Alfred's mind had only been as
+peaceful as his surroundings, he would have picked up strength visibly
+from hour to hour.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But his mind was not at ease. For good or evil, he did not care which,
+he had given his heart to that woman, and now once more the shadow of
+this objectionable, this disreputable man Blake, had come between her
+and him. The most disquieting circumstance in the case was that Blake
+had not intruded, but had been summoned by her. It is true that on
+closer examination this did not seem to point to a love affair between
+the two; for unless a woman was fully engaged to a man, she would
+scarcely, he being her lover, summon him to her side, under the
+circumstances in Mrs. Davenport's case.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Such thoughts and doubts were not the best salve for a hurt
+constitution; and although Alfred recovered strength and colour from
+day to day, he did not derive as much benefit from Kilcash as if his
+mind had been even as untroubled as it had been when the journey from
+Dulwich began.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Jerry was by no means delighted with affairs. He put the best face he
+could on things, but still he was not content. As far as he was
+concerned, the detested Fishery Commissioners had gone to sleep, but
+there was no forecasting the duration of their slumber. Any moment
+they might shake themselves, growl, wake, and swallow up all his
+substance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Until they are done with this part of the unhappy country, I shall
+feel as if the country was overrun by 'empty tigers,' and I was the
+only wholesome piece of flesh after which the man-eaters hankered.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien did not pretend to be a philosopher when his own fortune or
+comfort was threatened or assailed. He chafed and fumed when things
+went wrong, or when he could not get his way. Now he was compelled, in
+a great measure, to keep silent, for there would be a want of
+hospitality in displaying impatience of Kilcash to Alfred. He had
+confided to the latter the secret of his love for Madge, and the
+brother had grasped his hand cordially and wished him all luck and
+happiness. No man existed, he had said, to whom he would sooner
+confide the future of his sister. How was O'Brien to act with regard
+to writing to Madge? There had been nothing underhand or dishonourable
+in telling the girl of his love that day on the Dulwich Road. The
+declaration had in a measure slipped from him before any suitable
+opportunity occurred of talking to Mr. Paulton. But speaking to Madge
+under the excitement of the moment and the knowledge of approaching
+separation was one thing, and writing clandestinely to her quite
+another. If he wrote to her openly, inquiries as to the nature of the
+correspondence would certainly be made at home, and then their secret
+would be found out, and the thought of being found out in anything
+about which an unpleasant word could be said was unendurable. In the
+haste of leaving Carlingford House he had made no arrangement with
+Madge as to writing to her. It was absolutely necessary for him to
+risk a letter. He would not be guilty of the subterfuge of writing
+under cover of one of Alfred's letters. Accordingly he wrote a bright,
+cheerful, chatty note to Madge, beginning &quot;My dear Miss Paulton,&quot; and
+ending &quot;Yours most sincerely, J. O'Brien.&quot; To those who were not in
+the secret, nothing could have been more ordinary than this letter.
+But its meaning was plain to Madge. Among other things, he said the
+Commissioners had not yet done with him, and until they had he could
+not count upon another visit to Dulwich; and he begged her to give his
+kindest regards to Mr. Paulton, and to express a hope that he might
+soon enjoy the pleasure of a walk on the Dulwich Road, when he would
+tell her father all about the Bawn salmon and the wretched
+Commissioners. Until then he should not bother either of them with any
+account of himself or the villains who were lying in wait for him.
+This he intended to show that he would not write to her again until he
+had cleared up matters with her father. And now that he had got rid of
+this letter--it was a task, not a pleasure, to write it--what should
+he do? He had told himself and Alfred that even in summer there was
+not anything to be done in Kilcash. But he, O'Brien, was in full
+health and vigour, and began to feel uneventful idleness very irksome.
+Boating even with the pretence of fishing was out of the question, and
+one grew tired of strolling along the strand or downs when fine, and
+looking out of the windows at the unneeded rain when wet. Against the
+weariness of the long evenings he had brought books, cards, and chess
+from Kilbarry. Time began to hang heavily on his hands. Nothing more
+had been heard or seen of the ghost of Fahey, and the two friends had
+been a couple of times to see the outside of Kilcash House, whither,
+he believed, Mrs. Davenport had not yet arrived from Dublin.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The weather was mild, moist, calm.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'll tell you what we shall do, Alfred,&quot; said Jerry briskly at
+breakfast one morning.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What?&quot; asked the other, looking up from his plate.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There isn't a ripple on the sea. I'll go see Jim Phelan, and get him
+to launch his boat.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Capital!&quot; cried Alfred, who was in that state of convalescence when
+the daily addition to physical strength begets a desire to use it and
+yields indestructible buoyancy. &quot;I should like a good long-sail of all
+things--or, indeed, a good pull. I'm sure I could manage an oar nearly
+as well as ever.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nonsense!&quot; said Jerry, dogmatically. &quot;I will not be accessory to your
+murder, or allow you to commit suicide in my presence. I have had
+enough of inquests for my natural life. It's too cold for sailing, and
+you're not strong enough for rowing. But there are the caves. The time
+of the year does, not make any difference in them, so long as the sea
+is smooth. They are as warm in winter as in summer. We can bring
+torches and guns, and a horn and grub with us. A torchlight picnic
+would be a novelty to me, anyway. The echoes in some places are
+wonderful, and I'll answer for the food being wholesome. I'll go down
+to Phelan immediately after breakfast.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Big Jim Phelan was at home in his cottage--not the shelter that
+covered him in the summer, but the one which the high and mighty of
+the land could rent for eight to twelve pounds a month when they
+wished to enjoy the sea.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien explained his design.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are you mad, sir?&quot; said Jim, drawing back from the chair which he had
+placed for his unexpected guest.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No. Why? What's mad about it? I and my friend want to see the caves,
+and they are just as good at this time of year as in summer. Will you
+take us?--Yes or no? Or are you afraid?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'm not afraid of anything that swims or walks or flies, Mr.
+O'Brien,&quot; said Jim in a tone of indignant protest. &quot;But nature is
+nature, and it's not right to fly in the face of nature.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Face of fiddlesticks!&quot; said O'Brien. &quot;What has nature to do with our
+going to visit the caves? If you don't take us, some one else will.
+what on earth do you mean by 'flying in the face of nature'?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Go to the caves at this time of year!&quot; said Jim, in a musing tone of
+voice. &quot;Why, no one ever thought of such a thing before!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What difference does that make? No strangers are here, except in
+summer; and of course the people of the village never want to go to
+the caves either winter or summer, unless they are paid. Come on, Jim;
+don't send me off to look for some one else. I like to stick to old
+friends.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Phelan reflected awhile. There was no greater danger on such a day as
+this in going to the caves than on the finest day in July. But the
+novelty of the idea was almost too much for Jim. That any man in his
+sober senses could even during the dog-days want to go to the caves
+was wonderful enough; but that a man, and, moreover, a man who had
+lived most of his life hard by, could think of exploring those gloomy
+vaults in the chilly, damp days of spring, was too much for belief.
+O'Brien was liberal, and if he happened to spend a couple of the
+summer months at Kilcash, as he had hinted, Jim was certain to be a
+few pounds the better for it. But it wouldn't do to give in too
+easily.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mr. O'Brien, if you're bent on going, of course I must take you. I'll
+go to the Cove of Cork for you, sir, single-handed, in my own yawl.
+But mind you, sir, it wasn't I that put you up to going. If you ask me
+my advice, I say don't go. I won't take any of the responsibility,
+mind, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;All right,&quot; cried O'Brien, with a laugh. &quot;You know as well as I do
+that there is no danger on a calm day like this. How soon will you be
+ready?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'll have to get a man to go with me, and gather a few hands to help
+to launch the yawl. Will an hour be soon enough, sir?&quot; said Jim, who,
+now that he had decided on action, was already busy in preparation.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes; an hour will do. How is the tide?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;About an hour flood.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And how will that answer for the Red Cave?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Red Cave!&quot; said Phelan, pausing suddenly in his preparation. &quot;Is it
+Red Gap Cave you're thinking of going to, sir?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There was a sound of uneasiness in the boatman's voice.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes. Isn't it the largest? Isn't it the one they say has never been
+explored?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ay, sir. It never has been explored fully, and I don't suppose ever
+will--for what would be the good?--and it isn't over agreeable in
+there, with its windings and twistings, I can tell you. I don't mind
+much about the Red Cave itself; but, Mr. O'Brien, it's only a little
+bit beyond the Whale's Mouth, and you have some queer notions about
+that cursed place; and, mind, I'll have nothing to do with it for love
+or money.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I didn't say anything about the Whale's Mouth,&quot; said O'Brien, in a
+tone of irritation. &quot;I asked you how is the tide for the Red Cave?
+Can't you answer a simple question?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The tide is always right for the Red Cave,&quot; answered Phelan,
+sullenly. &quot;You can always go into it when the water is smooth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Very well. I'll expect you on the strand by the rocks in an hour;&quot;
+and saying this, O'Brien left the cottage and set out for the hotel.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_41" href="#div1Ref_41">AT THE WHALE'S MOUTH.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Red Head is about a pistol-shot from the Black Rock to the east. It is
+a tall, perpendicular red cliff, more than a hundred feet high,
+projecting from the land a few hundred yards, and rising up sheer out
+of deep water. In places it overhangs slightly--in places reclines.
+The rocks of which it is formed are in no place angular, show no sharp
+fracture, declare no brittleness in formation. They are rounded and
+smooth like the human hand, abrupt nowhere, save in their giddy
+descent to the water.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The middle of the Head is cleft in two a hundred yards inward. This
+cleft is called the Gap, or the Red Gap, and is as wide as the nave of
+St. Paul's. At the depth of a hundred yards in the Gap the height of
+the opening suddenly grows less, and the mouth of a huge cave is
+formed by the precipitous sides, and an irregular, blunted, Gothic
+roof of the same firm, smooth red rock. The vast chamber, or system of
+chambers, beyond, is the Red Gap Cave, for brevity called the Red
+Cave.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the time appointed, O'Brien and Paulton found Jim Phelan and his
+mate Tim Corcoran afloat on the bay by the flat stretch of rocks which
+served Kilcash as a landing-stage. Billy Coyne had brought down a
+basket of food, some torches, a crimson light, and gun--the torches
+and light to illumine the gloom, and the gun to awaken the echoes of
+the vast vault.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The day was fair and bright, with chill spring sunshine. Overhead vast
+fields of silvery white clouds stretched motionless across the full
+azure sky. There was no breath of wind, no threat of rain, no look of
+anger anywhere. The waters of the bay moved inward with a silken
+ripple that scarcely stirred the yawl as she glided slowly onward.
+When she reached the open water beyond the bay, and headed first south
+and then east, she met the long, even Atlantic roller, which glided
+towards her and under her as silently and gently as a summer's breeze.
+No sound broke the plenteous silence but the ripple of the water
+against the sides, the snap of the oars in the rowlocks, and the dull
+beat of the waves against the foam-footed crags. No ship, no boat, no
+bird was in view. The solitude of the air and sea was complete. The
+sounds of the sea on the crags seemed not the distant notes of opening
+war, but the soft prelude to long, breathless peace.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They rowed in silence until they were close to the Black Rock, until
+it rose dark, inhospitable, forbidding above them. Phelan was on the
+stroke, Corcoran on the bow oar. The yawl was now abreast the point at
+which the Black Rock joined the cliff at the westward. There was no
+rudder to the boat. On that coast rudders are looked on as foppery. In
+smooth weather the stroke steers from the rowlocks; in a sea-way some
+one steers with an additional oar from the sculling notch. O'Brien and
+Paulton were aft, but there was no oar in the sculling notch to steer
+with.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They were keeping a clean wake, and owing to the swelling out of the
+Black Rock they would, if they held on as they were going, pass within
+a few score fathoms of the Whale's Mouth. It was now about half flood.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">All at once Jim Phelan began to ease without looking over his
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Pull, after oar--ease bow!&quot; sang out O'Brien, quickly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The bow eased as ordered, but, contrary to the order, the stroke oar
+stopped pulling altogether, and Phelan looked up with an angry
+expression at O'Brien.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I said ease bow--pull stroke,&quot; said O'Brien, quickly, in a tone of
+irritation.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And I say--stop all,&quot; said Phelan, decisively.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Corcoran rested on his oar, and for a few seconds O'Brien and Phelan
+sat looking at one another. It was plain O'Brien was angry, and that
+Phelan was resolute. Paulton had no key to the difficulty. The clumsy
+yawl rose to the top and slid into the trough of two long, slow
+rollers before either of the men spoke further.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Jim Phelan peaked his oar and broke silence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mr. O'Brien, I told you I wouldn't, and I won't. That's all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You won't what, you stubborn fool?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien was hot, but he had not lost his temper.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I told you,&quot; said Phelan, leaning his great body forward, and resting
+his hands on his thighs, &quot;as plain as words could be that I'd have
+nothing to do with the Whale's Mouth. You may not care about your
+life, Mr. O'Brien, but I have people looking to me. You're
+independent, and can do what you like; but neither for you nor any
+other man will I go nearer than I think safe to the Whale's Mouth. The
+Red Gap is bad enough at this time of year; but not at this time of
+year or any other will I have anything to do with that cursed hole in
+the Black Rock here. Now, sir, am I to put about?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I think you're taking leave of your senses, Phelan,&quot; said Jerry,
+testily. &quot;What on earth put it into your head I wanted to go into the
+Whale's Mouth? Why, if I wanted to do anything half so plucky as that,
+I'd get a man with a <i>red</i> liver, and a heart as big as a sparrow's!
+Give way, I tell you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">An ugly look came into Phelan's face. He was not bad-tempered or
+quarrelsome, but he justly had the reputation of being the most daring
+and the strongest man in the village. He was not very intelligent, and
+this was the first time in his life he had been accused of cowardice.
+He felt more amazed than angry, but he felt some anger. He knew he
+could, if he chose, catch O'Brien by the feet and throw him over the
+gunwale as easily as the oar lying across his legs. For a moment he
+thought the cold swim would do O'Brien good, but almost instantly he
+saw the punishment would be out of proportion to the offence. He drew
+a deep breath, partly straightened himself, and, catching his oar,
+said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Are we to go on to the Red Gap, sir?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, confound you!&quot; said O'Brien, far from amiably. &quot;Keep as close to
+the rock as you think is <i>safe, quite safe</i>, Phelan. I wouldn't risk
+your life for a thousand pounds.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thank you, sir,&quot; said Phelan, sullenly. &quot;Neither would I--in a cave;
+but if it came to anything between man and man----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I know,&quot; broke in O'Brien, with a laugh, &quot;you'd be glad to risk your
+neck to satisfy your anger.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He had suddenly regained his good humour.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's it,&quot; said Phelan, laconically, as the yawl moved on.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Paulton looked in surprise from one to the other. O'Brien smiled and
+shook his head to reassure him, but said nothing. Visibly the spirits
+of the little party were damped.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At length they were opposite the much-dreaded Whale's Mouth. The two
+rowers, at the request of O'Brien, peaked their oars a few fathoms out
+of the direct set of the in-draught, now at its greatest strength.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The wall of rock, in which the opening of the cave appeared, was at
+this time of tide almost square, and considerably wider than the yawl
+was long. Nothing could be more harmless-looking than the Mouth. Its
+sides were smooth and almost perpendicular. No huge mass of rock hung
+threateningly on high; the water beneath was pellucid, green, gentle.
+No awful sounds issued from that Mouth. The internal sounds told of
+little disturbance or danger. No sign of conflict appeared on the
+sides of the Mouth or the water, or in the soft olive depths below. In
+the heat of summer a stranger would have found it almost impossible to
+deny himself the luxurious refreshment of repose in the moist twilight
+of that water-cave.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">No teeth were visible; but the lithe, subtle, unceasing, undulating
+tongue was there--the polished, subtle water. It rose and fell,
+seemingly, as the water round it, in indolent, purposeless
+indifference; and looking at the water merely, it seemed to make no
+greater progress onward than the water outside and around. Yet the
+gentle swelling and hollowing of the waves had a purpose underlying,
+though they seemed, like other waves, to move tardily, almost
+imperceptibly forward. But here the water was dragged onward occultly
+by some power, and for some purpose unknown. The roof of the Mouth and
+the jaws were powerless for evil. No teeth were visible in this
+gigantic Mouth, but the unsuspected, oily, slimy water was there lying
+in wait for the unwary, and fatal to all things that touched it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was the tongue of the ant-bear that attracts, enfolds, and finally
+engulphs its prey in its noisome maw.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Is that the Whale's Mouth of which you told me, Jerry?&quot; asked Alfred.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's it,&quot; answered Jerry, shortly. He took up one of the torches
+lying on the stern-sheets and threw the torch towards the cave into
+the sea.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It doesn't appear very dreadful now--does it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Watch that torch. No sea looks very terrifying in a calm,&quot; said
+Jerry, sharply.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He had not yet quite recovered from the passage of arms with Phelan.
+The boatman had annoyed him by extravagantly over-estimating the
+dangers and powers of the chasm, and Paulton now ruffled him by
+seeming to make nothing of them.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Slowly but surely the torch was carried towards the Whale's Mouth.
+Slowly at first, but more quickly as it approached the rock, more
+quickly as it approached the cave. Second by second the rate
+increased, until, when it reached the Mouth and disappeared, it was
+hurrying on as fast as a man could walk.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's strange!&quot; said Alfred. &quot;I think you told me no one has been
+able to find out where all this water goes to.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;To a place that's more hot than comfortable,&quot; said Phelan grimly,
+directing a look of inquiry towards Jerry.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It all comes back again,&quot; said Jerry.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Barring what doesn't,&quot; muttered Phelan. &quot;Pull a stroke or two, Tim,&quot;
+he said to the other boatman. &quot;The current is under her keel already,
+and bad as this world is, I haven't made my will yet. A couple of more
+strokes, Tim.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looked at Alfred and addressed him, although he could not do so by
+his name, as he had never heard it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I beg your pardon, sir; but if you'd like to make money, sir, I'll
+lay you the price of this day's work to a brass button you never see
+that torch again, and I'll lie by to watch for it until the ebb is
+done.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred did not answer. His eyes had been raised for a few moments, and
+were now firmly fixed on the plain of the Black Rock. Jerry was
+peering intently into the jaws of the Whale's Mouth. Phelan was
+looking into Alfred's face to see the effect of his offer.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Jerry!&quot; cried Alfred, abruptly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What?&quot; asked Jerry, without moving his eyes from the cavern.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There's some one on the Black Rock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Good heavens!&quot; exclaimed O'Brien, looking up. &quot;Not Fahey?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No,&quot; said Alfred. &quot;It's Mrs. Davenport!&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_42" href="#div1Ref_42">THE RED CAVE.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">There was no mistaking that figure, and if the figure had not been
+ample confirmation of identity, there were the full widow's weeds,
+and, above all, the pale, placid face. The full light of the unclouded
+sun fell on her. The distance was not great, and she stood out in bold
+relief against the white field of cloud stretching across the northern
+sky.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On impulse, Alfred rose in the boat, and took off his hat and bowed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She returned his salute, and without a moment's pause drew back from
+the edge on which she had been standing, and disappeared from view.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mrs. Davenport!&quot; said Phelan, forgetting his ill-humour in his
+surprise. &quot;What a place for a lady to be all by herself! I thought
+Mrs. Davenport was away somewhere in foreign parts.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred sat down. The boatmen had resumed their oars, and the yawl was
+gliding steadily through the water.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Is the Rock really dangerous at this time?&quot; asked Alfred anxiously of
+Phelan. O'Brien was buried in thought, and did not heed what the
+others were saying.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not dangerous now, sir--not dangerous when the water is so smooth and
+the air so calm; but if there's a little sea on, and a little breeze,
+you never know what may happen here. Sometimes the sea alone will do
+it, and sometimes the wind alone will do it, and sometimes both
+together won't do it. You can only be sure she'll spout when the sea
+is high and the wind a strong gale from the south-west. What surprises
+me to see the lady there is because the place has a bad name, and she
+was just standing on the worst spot of all when we saw her first.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How a bad name, and how the worst place of all? Are you quite sure
+there is no danger to the lady now?&quot; asked Alfred, struggling
+violently and successfully to conceal his extraordinary solicitude.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am perfectly sure there is no danger of the spout now. The reason I
+said it has a bad name is because of all the people who were carried
+off that Rock; and where Mrs. Davenport stood is just the worst spot
+of all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But Mrs. Davenport must know the Rock well. I dare say, as her house
+is near, she often comes to see it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ay, she may often come to see it. But to see it and to walk on it are
+different things. There are very few women in the village who would
+care to go on it without a man to lend them a hand. Why, sir, it's as
+slippery as ice, and two people fell and were killed on it out of
+regard to its slipperiness.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Is there no way of landing here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, sir. You can't get a foot ashore anywhere nearer than Kilcash.
+You might, of course, land on many a rock here and there, but you
+couldn't get up the cliffs. It's iron-bound for miles.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But could not the lady be cautioned in some way? She could hear a
+shout even though we cannot see her. She cannot yet be out of
+hearing?&quot; Paulton could scarcely sit still in the boat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And suppose she could hear a shout, sir, what could you tell her she
+doesn't know? Do you think Mrs. Davenport has lived all these years
+and years a mile from the Black Rock, and doesn't know as much as any
+of us could tell her about it? Why, she lives nearer to it than any
+one else in the world! Her next-door neighbours are, I may say, the
+ghosts of men who lost their lives on that very spot.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is that you're saying?&quot; asked O'Brien, coming suddenly out of
+his reverie.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Only, sir, that Mrs. Davenport's next-door neighbours are the ghosts
+of the men who lost their lives on the Black Rock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien looked in amazement at the boatman. He had been recalled from
+his abstraction by the word &quot;ghost;&quot; but he had not fancied, when he
+asked his question, that the answer would lie so close to the thoughts
+which had been occupying his mind a moment before. For a while he
+could not clear his mind of the effect of this coincidence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What on earth do you know or guess about the matter, Phelan?&quot; he
+cried, quite taken off his guard.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I suppose I know as much about the Rock as any man of my years along
+the coast,&quot; answered Phelan, with a slight return of his former
+sullenness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien at once saw that he had made a mistake, that Phelan's words
+were perfectly consistent with ignorance of what he knew of the Fahey
+affair--or, indeed, with the absence of intention to refer to the
+Fahey affair. He hastened to put himself right.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Of course you do, Phelan,&quot; said he cordially. &quot;No man knows more than
+you. Excuse me for what I said. I was thinking of something else when
+you spoke, and I did not exactly hear what you said. I did not mean to
+annoy you. I was only stupid myself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Jim Phelan considered this a very handsome and ample apology, not only
+for the words just then spoken, but for what had occurred a few
+minutes before.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He was thinking, poor gentleman,&quot; thought Phelan, &quot;of those
+blackguards of Commissioners. I know how anxious a man gets about
+fish.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He was thinking,&quot; thought Alfred, &quot;of Madge. I know all about that
+kind of thing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He had not been thinking of one or the other. He was wondering how
+Mrs. Davenport would have been affected if the figure of Fahey
+suddenly rose before her on that Rock.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;This, sir,&quot; said the boatman, addressing Alfred, the stranger, &quot;is
+what we call the Red Gap, and the cave beyond is what we call the Red
+Gap Cave--or the Gap Cave, or the Red Cave, for short.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred looked around him, and then up.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Above towered the great perpendicular cliffs, silent and forlorn. From
+the dark green water at their bases, to the hard, dark line they made
+against the azure plain of sky that roofed the chasm, was no break, in
+form or colour, no noteworthy ledge or hollow, no clinging weeds below
+or verdurous patch above. All was smooth, and bluff, and huge, and
+liver-coloured.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A peculiar silence, a silence of a new and startling quality, filled
+the gigantic cleft. The silence abroad upon the sea was that in which
+vast spaciousness engulfed sound. Here adamantine walls, beetling and
+threatening, a thousand feet thick, stood between the stagnant air and
+the large breathings of the sea. The atmosphere was dense, motionless,
+inert with salt vapours. The prodigious circumvallation of cliff
+crushed vitality out of the air. There was a breathless whisper of
+water against the sea line of the ramparts, and deep in the gorge of
+the cave a smothered snore, like the hushed breathing of some
+stupendous monster.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The yawl glided slowly up between the closing walls of the Red Gap. No
+one spoke. The two boatmen were indifferent to the place. O'Brien and
+Paulton were lost in thoughts of diverse kinds, awakened by the
+spectacle of Mrs. Davenport on the Black Rock. None of the men was
+paying attention to the Gap.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At last a sudden darkness fell upon the boat. O'Brien and Paulton
+looked up. The sky was no longer overhead. A gloom of purple brown was
+above them. The light of day stood like a lofty, luminous pillar in
+their wake. They had entered the Red Cave.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The boatmen ceased rowing, and Phelan lit a torch.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For a few moments nothing could be seen but the blazing red torch
+flare against a vast black blank, and round the glowing red boat a
+narrow pool of glaring orange water.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">No one moved. No sound informed the silence but the hiss of the torch
+and the profound sighs of distant, impenetrable hollows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The water illumined near the boat looked trustworthy, denser than
+water, a ruddy platform with shadowy verge. No undulation moved over
+its face save a dulling ripple caused by the boat's imperceptible
+motion. The boat and figures in it seemed the golden boss of a fiery
+brazen shield hung in a night of chaos.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred Paulton put his hand outward and downward. It touched the
+gleaming surface of the water. He drew his hand back with a start. The
+cold of the water froze his fingers, his soul. The water shone like
+solid metal, felt less buoyant than the ruddy air he breathed. Instead
+of resting on a firm plain of luminous beaten gold, the boat hung on a
+faint, thin fluid over a sightless abyss.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This was a terrible place. Here was nothing but space for thought--for
+visions and fears too awful to dwell upon. Nothing was surer than that
+no loathsome dangers lurked, or swam, or hung pendulous above. Nothing
+was surer than that the imagination crouched back from dreads which
+had never affrighted it before.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This water was only phantom water. It was no better than the spume of
+sea-mists held between invisible crags of blackness, of mute eternity.
+If one should fall out into that water, he would sink through it swift
+as lead through air. One would shoot down, and down, and down, giddy,
+but not stunned. One would sink--whither? Whither? To what fell
+intimacy with dripping rocks and clammy weeds and slime would one
+come? What agonising sense of impending gloom reaching infinitely
+upwards would lie upon one, as one fell! Would the falling ever cease?
+Never, never. Nor would one live, for to fall thus for a moment of
+time would serve to fill the infinite of eternity with chimeras of
+ebon adamant too foul for human eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The oars dipped. The boat moved forward into the immeasurable
+vagueness of shadow--into this sleeping chamber of night. It glided
+over the silent floor between hushed arras, which saw neither the
+gaudy sun that drowns in light the tender whisperings of the sea, nor
+the silver moon that hearkens forlorn to the faint complainings of the
+weary waves, arras woven of the flame of earth's primal fire, and
+limned by night in the smoke of ancient chaos.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Something floated from the side of the boat and shone a while in the
+wake, and then was lost in the darkness as the boat moved slowly on.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Keep her west,&quot; whispered a voice in the boat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We're keeping west,&quot; whispered another voice in the boat. The noise
+of the oars in the rowlocks clanked in the echoes like the
+complainings of a gigantic wheel whose bearings were dry. The whispers
+came back from the echoes like the whispers of a Titan whose teeth
+were gone, and whose tongue was thick with age or clumsy with disease.
+The voice of the giant seemed near--on a level with the head. It
+stirred the hair.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The torch went out.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Light--give us light,&quot; whispered a voice in the boat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Wait. Watch astern,&quot; whispered another voice.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Astern,&quot; whispered the awful, almost inarticulate voice close to the
+ear, in the hair.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then all was still. The oars stopped. All eyes were, unseeing, turned
+in the direction whence the boat had come. The faintest glimmer
+indicated the opening to the cave. All was black as the heart of
+unhewn granite.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now watch,&quot; whispered a voice in the boat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now watch,&quot; whispered the echo against the throat and neck.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;On no account start or stir. The report will be very loud. Hold on to
+the thwarts. I am going to fire!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Blended with the earlier portion of this speech, the echoes gave back
+a sharp battering sound like that of throwing metal from a height.
+This was the cocking of the gun.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When this sound ceased, the echo whispered:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Fire!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A jagged rod of flame and luminous smoke shot outwards and upwards
+into the black void from the boat aft, and cleared the black space for
+a moment.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then the clash and clangour of a thousand shattered echoes close at
+hand bore downward on the head and bent the head, while out of
+far-reaching caverns thunders were torn with shrieks and yells and
+flung against concave-resounding roofs, until the whole still air of
+the monstrous hollows roared, and secret off-spring tombs of darkness,
+never seen by man, answered with fearful groans and shrieks of the
+Mother Cave.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Paulton let go the thwart, bent his head, flung his arms up, and
+crossed them over his head.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Here was the solid earth riven through and through with prodigious
+thunders of all the heavens!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The roar of sound fell to a shout, the shout to a groan, the groan to
+a mutter. Then all was still, stiller than before--still with the
+silence of annihilation accomplished. Nothing that had been was. The
+echoes were dead, and would speak no more. The material had failed to
+be, and only darkness and the unweary spirit of man remained.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A voice whispered, &quot;Watch.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Some lingering phantom of an echo whispered in ghostly gutturals,
+&quot;Watch!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There was a hiss, a purple commotion on the surface of the water, in
+the air on the wake of the boat. A cone of intense red flame, as thick
+as a man's arm, rose up from the level of the water in the wake, and
+stood a cubit high:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The air took fire and burned, and out from the brown darkness leaned
+huge polished pillars, copper-red, and broken walls, smooth pilasters,
+and architraves keen with light, and sightless gargoyles blurred with
+fire, and cloisters whose rich arches dripped with flame, and
+buttresses with fierce outlines impacted on plutonian shade, plinths
+with shafts of Moorish lightness and arabesques with ruby tags, sturdy
+bastions and flat curtains, broken Gothic windows, capitals of
+acanthus leaves flushed with ruddy flare.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Aloft yawned arches and domes and hollow towers, vast in sombre
+distances and sultry with hidden fires. The secrets of their depths no
+eye could pierce. They were abysmal homes of viewless voices--homes of
+virgin night.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Hither and thither, chapels and aisles and corridors and galleries,
+reached from the great central space into the copper gloom. Here above
+the surface of watery floor stood columns of fallen pillars, masses of
+broken walls, points of ruined spires.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In the centre of the level floor rose a block of stone, flat, a little
+above the surface of the water, and on this the headless form of a
+colossal figure, showing in rude outline like an Egyptian sphinx.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The ground was polished red granite here and there, ribbed with ruby
+marble, that shone with dazzling brightness against the aqueous glare.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On the pedestal of the sphinx the men of the boat landed, and stood to
+gaze upon this Pompeii beneath Vesuvia's pall--this subterranean
+Venice in ruins--this water-floored Heliopolis without the sun!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There was a loud hiss. The blood-red architecture thrust forward in
+fiercer light. A louder reverberating hiss, and all was dark!
+Everything had vanished--had drawn back into immeasurable darkness.
+The crimson light had burned down to the level of the tiny raft which
+bore it, and the water of the cave had quenched its flame.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">All was black darkness, turn which way one might.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Light!&quot; whispered Paulton, overcome by what he had heard and seen.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is that?&quot; asked O'Brien, catching Phelan's hand, and pointing
+down to where the western gallery had glowed a minute ago. Light was
+seen piercing the cliff to the westward.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For a while no answer was given. Then, in accents of awe and fear, the
+boatman answered:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;A light--a light made by no mortal hand!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Far down in the gloom of the western gallery a yellow spot shone!</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_43" href="#div1Ref_43">A RETROSPECT.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Mrs. Davenport's visit to the Black Rock that day had not been one of
+mere curiosity, although nothing of import to her life was likely to
+result from it. Her career was over, if, indeed, it might be said ever
+to have begun.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In her younger days she had been abandoned by the only man she had
+ever loved, and wed to a man whom she never loved, whom she could not
+even esteem. She had sworn to love her husband; she had fairly tried,
+and wholly failed. To her husband she had been a blameless wife, an
+admirable companion. He had signified his approval of her conduct by
+leaving her his fortune. All her lifetime she had been too proud to
+care for money, and now she could not take it. Her father had
+prevented her marrying the good-for-nothing, beggarly scamp, Tom
+Blake, and forced her into the arms of the elderly, rich, excellent
+Mr. Louis Davenport. In those days she had been torn by tempests of
+love and hate, of aspirations and despairs, which no mortal eye had
+seen, no mortal ear had heard. In the solitude of her own room, and of
+the woods about her father's home, she had wept and stormed, and
+pitied herself with the broken-hearted self-pity of youth. She had
+cast herself against the bars that confined her, and wished that the
+fury which shook her might end her. She had prayed in vain for death.
+In answer to her passionate appeals for a shroud, heaven sent her a
+bridal veil. When Blake gave her up, she did not care whether she
+walked into an open grave or up to the marriage altar. She took no
+interest in herself: why should she take interest in any one else?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">If Blake had asked her to fly with him then, she would have rushed
+into his arms with unspeakable eagerness and joy. But he sold his
+claim to her for a sum of money, and walked off with the cash in his
+pocket!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She then knew she was beautiful--one of the most beautiful women in
+the country. Many men had sought her before Blake asked her for her
+love. But up to his coming she was heart-whole. She had never
+seriously considered any man. She thought little of the sex, of the
+race, herself included. She took but a weak interest in this world,
+and, up to the advent of her only sweetheart, would have stepped out
+of it any day without much reluctance. She was a dreamer, and told
+herself the hero of her dreams was not human. Then came Tom Blake, and
+forth went her whole heart to him. She gave him all the love she had
+to give. She told him her life had hitherto been dull, without
+expectation, hope, love, sunlight; but that, as he was now with her,
+and would, in spite of all opposition, be beside her all her life, her
+soul was filled with ineffable hope, with delicious love, and the
+dream-romance of her life had taken substantial form, which would be a
+thousand times sweeter than she had ever dared to figure in her
+thoughts.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Her lover had no money. He had lost his patrimony. Her father had
+nothing to give her, and----</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And what?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How was it to be? How could they live on nothing? She had been brought
+up a lady, but her father was hopelessly in debt--over head and ears
+in debt--and if he were ever so willing to do so, he was powerless to
+help them now, and could leave them nothing later.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">True--most sadly true. But what of that? Was Tom not her lover?--and
+was he going to die of hunger? Did he not think he could get enough
+money somehow to keep him from falling by the way?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">No doubt. But she had been tenderly, luxuriously brought up. He had no
+means of keeping her in any such position as she had all along in life
+enjoyed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But he could get bread? Not literally only bread, but as much as they
+paid a gamekeeper or a groom?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Oh, nonsense! Of course he could. But gentlefolk could not live on the
+wages of a gamekeeper or a groom.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Did he love her?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Very much. But a gamekeeper got no more----</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Than a roof, and clothes, and food, and--love. How much did he love
+her?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Oh, better than anything else in the world.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Well, then, let him take time and look around him, and get house, and
+clothes, and food such as gamekeepers and grooms may have. Those would
+be his contributions to their lives. She would supply the love.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But lady and gentleman could not live in such a way.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Why not? He was a gentleman, and she was a lady, and poverty could
+take none of these poor possessions away, any more than riches could
+create them. Let him get a gamekeeper's wages, and she would share
+them with him, and give him all her love, every day renewed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But----</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Ah! Then all she had to give was not worth as much to him as a
+gamekeeper valued his own wife at. Good-bye. The air was damp, and
+this wood was chilly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Yes, it looked as if it were going to rain. She would not leave him
+thus. She would say good-bye to him, and give him one kiss at parting.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She would say good-bye, and he might have as many kisses as he cared
+for, provided she got soon away--for it was going to rain. No man had
+ever kissed her but him. Kisses did not mean anything, or words
+either. Why did he draw back? She told him he might kiss her if he
+chose. Any man might kiss her now. Kisses or words did not mean
+anything. Well, good-bye. Whither was he going? It would surely rain.
+Whither, did he say?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;To hell!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, not there. You are a gentleman, and gentlemen do not go there;
+only gamekeepers and grooms--and women such as I.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She walked slowly away through the moist wood in the drizzling rain.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He felt sorely sorry and hurt, and ill-used by fate; but he had a gay
+disposition, and was no dreamer. Besides, he was a man of the world,
+and devilishly pressed for money just then; so he took Louis
+Davenport's thousand pounds and went away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After a while she married the odd, rich, old bachelor, Louis Davenport
+(she did not care what man kissed her now), and he took her away to
+Kilcash House, and although he never laid any restraint upon her, she
+knew he did not care that she should go much abroad; so she lived
+almost wholly in the house, and rarely went out alone, and never had
+any guest at the place.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Mr. Davenport was at home most of the time. Now and then he went away
+for a few days, and always came back alone. There were no callers at
+the house, and she at first hoped she might die, and when she found
+her bodily health unimpaired, looked forward with a sense of relief to
+the time when she should go mad.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Still her mental health held out as well as her bodily health, and
+weeks grew into months, and found no change in her or her manner of
+life.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But there came a slight change in her home. During the first few weeks
+of her married life no stranger ever crossed the threshold of Kilcash
+House.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Now a tall, gaunt, humble-mannered man, of slow, soft speech and
+unpretending ways, was often with Mr. Davenport for a long time in the
+day, sometimes far into the night, The husband never took the wife
+into his business confidence, and the wife had no curiosity whatever.
+But from odd words she gathered that this young man, whose name was
+Michael Fahey, depended on her husband, and was helped and received by
+him because of some old ties between the families of both. She heard
+Fahey was staying at the village of Kilcash for his health, which was
+delicate, and that he was completely trustworthy and well-disposed
+towards Mr. Davenport.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">All this reached Mrs. Davenport without leaving any impression
+whatever on her mind beyond the simplest value of the words. Her
+husband introduced Fahey to her as a man in whom he took a sincere
+interest, and whom he wished her to think well of. Whether he intended
+his wife should or should not treat the stranger as an equal, she did
+not know, she did not care.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For a time she took little heed of Fahey, but gradually it dawned upon
+her that in him she had a new admirer. She was accustomed to
+admiration, surfeited with it. Her love romance was at an end. She was
+married to a man for whom she did not care, from whom she did not
+shrink, to whom she owed no ill-will, who was in his poor, narrow,
+selfish way good and kind to her. If she had now any commerce with
+laughter, she would have laughed; but even the pathetically absurd
+experience she had had of love could not provoke a smile, and she
+simply took no heed, said no word, gave no sign. She did not feel
+angry, flattered, amused, even bored. She was past any of these
+emotions now. She would, she could be no more than indifferent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Nothing could be more respectful than Fahey's manner. He did not
+regard her as human. He worshipped her afar off. He ate his heart in
+silence. He breathed no word, no sigh, gave wilfully no sign. But she
+saw his downcast or averted face, and she read the homage in furtive
+glances of his wondering eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then came the scene with the rose and her husband's absence abroad,
+followed by his return, and a brief history of the marvellous escape
+he had from that French bank, and his resolution that he would now
+settle down in life and speculate no more. She then had but a dim idea
+of what speculation meant, of what his business was.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Soon came a day of mystery and horror to her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She was alone in the little sitting-room on the ground floor, purely
+her own. It faced west. Broad daylight flooded the garden before her,
+the rolling downs beyond.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Suddenly the light of the window by which she sat was obscured. The
+window was opened by Fahey. She motioned him to enter. By way of reply
+he made an impatient gesture.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Is he in?&quot; asked Fahey, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No,&quot; she answered. &quot;Can I do anything for you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She now saw he was in violent agitation, and physically distressed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He continued:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I have not a moment to spare. Say to him, 'All is well. All is safe
+for him.' I have arranged that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Safe!&quot; she answered. &quot;Does any danger threaten my husband?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, while I am here--while I live.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You--you would not hurt him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She remembered the look of admiration she had seen in this man's eyes,
+and rose and recoiled in horror.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Give him my message. Repeat all I have said, except this: 'I am not
+doing it for his sake, or my own sake, but for yours. Good-bye.' Tell
+no one else of my being here; no one but him--not a soul.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In a moment he was gone.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The next thing she heard of him was that he had drowned himself in the
+hideous Puffing Hole.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At first she had been inclined to think Fahey's words referred solely
+to his feelings towards her; but when she learned he had drowned
+himself she doubted this. Against what was her husband secure? To say
+he was secure against Fahey's admiration for her would be the height
+of gratuitous absurdity. She cared no more for the young man than for
+any misty figure in a fable. He must be mad; yes, that was it. That
+supposition made all simple--explained everything.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was night when her husband returned. She, remembering Fahey's
+caution, and bearing in mind that walls have ears, went to the gate of
+the grounds, and there met Davenport. He had heard of Fahey's fate. It
+was dark--pitch dark--when she gave him the message with which she had
+been charged.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Poor Michael!&quot; her husband said--&quot;poor Michael! Unfortunate fellow!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He said no more then, and rarely spoke of the man afterwards.
+Davenport was not a communicative man, and there was nothing
+noteworthy in his silence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">After her husband's death she went through his papers, and found
+evidence of a much closer intimacy between Fahey and him than she had
+till then suspected. There was no clear evidence in these documents.
+They were partly in her husband's handwriting, partly in Fahey's.
+There was an air of mystery in them, and she was certain many passages
+of them were figurative. But one dreadful secret she learned from them
+beyond all doubt: Louis Davenport had not come by his money fairly,
+and Fahey was an accomplice in his schemes. When leaving London for
+the Continent, she had carried those papers with her unread. There she
+opened them, with a view to destroying them, and burned them in
+terrified haste. She had never suspected her husband of dishonest
+actions. Now she felt perfectly sure he had come by his money foully.
+How, she did not know. The man had been her husband, and she would
+shield his memory from shame; but she would touch none of his money,
+let who would have it, when she got back to London.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She was convinced Fahey had not thrown himself into the Puffing Hole
+for love of her, or because he was insane, but solely and simply
+because he and her husband were mixed up in crimes of some kind, and
+Fahey preferred death to discovery on his own part, and on her part
+too; for she would suffer from the exposure of her husband, and Fahey
+had nothing to expect from her. There was still a want of clearness
+and precision about the whole affair. But on her way back from France,
+she had no doubt her theory was right in the main.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Before the inquest she had been in horror of revealing in court the
+history of the treatment she had received at the hands of Blake, and
+the bare notion that she, being then a married woman, had driven this
+man Fahey in a frenzy of self-sacrifice or devotion to drown himself,
+filled her mind with thoughts of shame and anguish, the contemplation
+of which nearly took away her own reason. She had contemplated making
+away with herself rather than face the ordeal of the court. She had
+been a recluse for years, and haughty in her consciousness of
+unblameableness all her life.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On her return to London she heard the rumour of this apparition at the
+Puffing Hole. Phelan had told of the apparition to several people in
+Kilbarry. The news of it had got into the local papers, and London
+papers copied the account. No name was given but Fahey's, and attached
+to his name was a brief history of Fahey's disappearance years ago.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Upon these two discoveries she resolved to go to Ireland and renounce
+all claim to the fortune her husband had left her. There could no
+longer be in her mind any doubt that her husband's fortune, or a
+portion of it, had been obtained by fraud. At Paulton's she met
+O'Brien, who, on the way to Ireland, told her he himself had seen
+Fahey.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She was now quite sure Fahey was still alive. The horrible suspicion
+had taken hold of her mind that Fahey had, after keeping in hiding for
+years, poisoned her husband for her sake! In the light of her belief
+that Fahey still lived, the theory that her husband had poisoned
+himself while of unsound mind was absurd to her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Before setting out this day for the Black Rock she opened a drawer of
+her late husband's, took out a revolver she knew to be loaded, and
+dropped it into her pocket.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When she left the edge of the Black Rock she walked carefully to the
+cliff and ascended by the path.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When she reached the level of the downs she gazed round.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She started. A loud explosion rose from beneath her feet. It was the
+gunfire of the boat and the tremendous reverberations from the caves
+and cliffs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She looked round in alarm. A minute ago she had been alone. Now
+Michael Fahey stood by her side!</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_44" href="#div1Ref_44">A LAST APPEAL.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Michael Fahey! Michael Fahey!&quot; cried Mrs. Davenport, slowly. &quot;Am I
+awake and sane?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Both,&quot; answered he, gently. &quot;You are awake and sane, and I am Fahey,
+and alive. Nothing can be more incredible; but it is as I say, Mrs.
+Davenport. You will not betray me? You will not be unmerciful to me?
+Remember, I never meant to do you harm.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She shrank back from him. Did this man, whose hands were reddened with
+her husband's blood, dare to plead to her for mercy. &quot;Betray you! What
+do you mean? Do you call it betraying you to give you into the hands
+of justice? You will gain nothing by threats. I am not afraid of you;
+and I am not defenceless, even though I am alone.&quot; She moved further
+off, and pressed the revolver in her hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He seemed dejected rather than alarmed. &quot;What good can it do you? When
+I disappeared years ago, it was for the good of your husband----&quot; He
+held out his hands appealingly to her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Her tone and attitude were firm, as she interrupted him. &quot;You
+disappeared years ago for the good of my husband, and reappear for his
+death--for his murder! I can have no more words with you. I shall
+certainly not shield you from the consequences of your crime.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If you only knew me as well as you might--if you could only
+understand how I felt that day I was hunted like a beast, you could
+not believe I would willingly do anything to annoy, much less to harm
+you.... Mrs. Davenport,&quot; he burst out, vehemently, &quot;I would have died
+then for you: I will die now if you bid me--die for that second rose.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She looked at him with a glance of loathing, and gathered herself
+together as though she felt contaminated by contact with the air he
+breathed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Go away at once. Your audacity is loathsome. Has it come to this with
+me, that I must bandy words with such a monster?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mrs. Davenport,&quot; said he, in a tone of expostulation, &quot;I am very far
+from saying I am blameless. I have committed crimes for which the
+punishment would be great, but I was not alone in my crimes. I did not
+invent them.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And who invented the atrocious crime of last February? Who was in our
+house in Dulwich that night?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I read the case, and saw that Mr. Thomas Blake was at your house on
+that night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And where were you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In Brussels. Good heavens!--you cannot imagine I had anything to do
+with that awful night! The idea is too monstrous to resent--to think
+of for a moment. I swear to you I was in Brussels at the time, and
+that I never did, or thought of doing, any injury to your husband. I
+loved him well; but I loved some one else better---better than all the
+world besides.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He did not look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on the sea.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She moved as if to go.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He heard the motion, and went to her and stood between her and the
+house.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will not say another word about myself; but hear me out. If I have
+nothing to hope for, let me go away in the belief I am not unjustly
+suspected by you of hurting your husband. I never cared much for my
+life. Let me feel that when I die I shall not be worse in your eyes
+than I deserve to be. Mrs. Davenport, hear me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He entreated her with his voice, with his eyes, with his bent body,
+with his outstretched hands.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Without speaking, she gave him to understand he might go on.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I knew Mr. Davenport years before I saw you. I had business
+connections with him which would not bear the light. You must have
+heard or guessed something of what we have been busy about?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She made no sign--said nothing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I was a steel engraver. Now and then he wanted plates done. I did the
+plates for him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What kind of plates?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She betrayed no emotion of any kind. Her voice was as calm as though
+she was asking an ordinary question.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You had better not know. It would do you no good to know. But do you
+believe me that I was hundreds of miles away from London that awful
+night?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And what brought you back to this place now?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I came back--because you are free!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She made a gesture of impatience and dissent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You do not mean to say you will continue your suspicion in the face
+of my denial, in the face of my horror at the mere thought?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But why should I take your unsupported word? If you are innocent, why
+were you so horrified at the mere thought of inquiry?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But, good heavens! Mrs. Davenport, you did not for a moment imagine I
+was afraid of inquiry into anything which occurred in February? I
+thought the inquiry to which you referred had reference to some old
+transactions between me and Mr. Davenport?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What were these transactions?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I beg of you not to ask. What good can it do to go into matters so
+far back? You would find my answers of no advantage to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Were they of a business character?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Purely of a business character, I assure you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And they would not bear the light?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not with advantage to me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Or to my husband?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Or with advantage to your late husband.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And to you, and to you alone the secret of these transactions is now
+known?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;To me, and to me alone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She paused in thought. She held up her hand to bespeak his silence.
+After a few moments' pause, she said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In the course of these transactions injury was done to some one? Was
+that not so?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You are asking too much. Neither your happiness nor your fortune
+could be served by my answering your questions. I refuse to answer.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With a gesture, she declined to be satisfied with this treatment.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I have no fortune and no happiness. Once you told me you would do
+anything I requested of you if I gave you a rose. There are no roses
+now. In all likelihood there will be no more roses while I live----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;While you live!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Let me go on. I have not much to say. You could not prize a rose for
+its intrinsic value?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No; but for two other considerations--for the fact that it had once
+been yours, and for what the gift of it from you to me might signify.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If I gave you a rose now it could signify nothing--mind, absolutely
+nothing. But if the mere fact that it belonged to me would make
+anything valuable in your eyes, I will give you my glove, or my
+bracelet, or this for your secret;&quot; and she drew from her pocket the
+revolver and pointed it at him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He started towards her at the sight of the weapon, crying angrily:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What do you mean by carrying that? Great heavens, it cannot be that
+you came out here with the intention of committing suicide!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looked at her in horror.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No,&quot; she answered quietly--&quot;but with the intention of defending
+myself against you. I thought if I should meet you, and you had
+murdered my husband, and knew from me I had guessed it, that I might
+need <i>this</i>. But I have no evidence you did murder him, and I see no
+sign of guilt in you. Will you take it, or the bracelet, or the glove,
+or all three, and tell me about those transactions in which my husband
+was engaged with you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is not enough for my secret,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What more do you want? My purse?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She put those questions in a placid tone, and showed no impatience or
+scorn.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No,&quot; he said, shaking with conflicting passions, &quot;I do not want your
+purse. If I wanted money, I could have had as much as any man could
+care for out of your husband's purse. I have enough for myself. You
+cured me of the love of money, and put another love in its place. Give
+me your hand, or fire.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She raised her hand quickly, and flung the revolver from her over the
+cliff. It fell on the Black Rock beneath. The fall was followed by a
+long silence on both sides.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I make one last appeal to you,&quot; she cried in soft, supplicating
+tones--&quot;one last appeal. I do not purpose keeping a penny of the
+money--not one farthing. Some papers which fell accidentally into my
+hands after my husband's death convinced me he came by his money
+dishonestly. He himself told me you had been of great service to him,
+and that your actions would not bear the light. Give me, for pity's
+sake, a chance of restoring this money to those who ought to have it.
+I did think of dying and shielding his memory, for if I died no one
+could be surprised at my leaving the wretched money to charities. But
+it would be better still to give what remains of the money to the
+rightful owners. Will you tell me who they are?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She caught his hand in hers and drew it towards her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He seized hers eagerly, and held it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will for this,&quot; he whispered. &quot;We can give all his money back if
+you will.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She snatched her hand away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That is impossible, sir. I have told you so finally.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She essayed to pass by him once more.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Only a minute. I cannot live openly in this country; I must go
+abroad. I have been concealed close to this place in the hope of
+meeting you. I may never see you again. Do not go for a minute. Your
+husband was always good and loyal to me, and I was always loyal to
+him. He dealt honourably with me in money matters. It was necessary
+for us to have a hiding-place near this, and I found it. Just before I
+disappeared he made up his mind to abandon business of all kinds. He
+had enough of money, and so had I--though of course he was a rich man
+compared with me. Well, as you know, I disappeared. I went, no matter
+where. I disappeared because I had no longer any business here, and
+because of another reason to which I will not again refer. That is all
+I have to say, except that I left documents which would be
+intelligible to your husband--they contained the clue to our
+hiding-place should I die or your husband want it--in Mr. John
+O'Hanlon's hands for Mr. Davenport and you. Nothing, I suppose, ever
+reached you about them?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That, then, is all I have to say.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You will tell me no more? Give me no key?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mr. Davenport left you his money. Why should I help you to get rid of
+it? Good-bye.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He turned eastward, went along the cliff, and she moved off slowly in
+the direction of Kilcash House.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_45" href="#div1Ref_45">BEYOND THE VEIL.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">It was Phelan who said it was not the hand of mortal man that had
+kindled the fire the four men in the Red Cave saw after the dying of
+the red light on the water.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For a long time after he had spoken no human voice was heard. All was
+silence save the mystic whispers and breathings of the cave, which,
+after the prodigious clangour lately filling the void, were no more
+than the ripple of faint air flowing through mere night.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The three men watched the light breathlessly. At first it seemed
+steady, but now it began to waver slowly this way and that way, like a
+warning hand admonishing or threatening, a spiritual hand beckoning or
+blessing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was not crimson, as the other flame had been, but pale yellow, like
+the early east. It was not fierce and dazzling, but lambent and soft.
+It was not light in darkness, as a zenith moon, but light against
+darkness, as a setting star. It was independent, absolute, taking or
+giving nothing. Space lay between it and the eyes that saw; infinity
+between it and the sightless vault.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There was something in this cave that killed you, and yet in that
+place you must not die.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Heaven be merciful to us!&quot; whispered a human voice.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;To us,&quot; whispered the phantom voice against the men's hair.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It's the corpse-candle of the dead men of the Black Rock,&quot; whispered
+Phelan.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Of the Black Rock!&quot; echoed the spirit.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The words &quot;Black Rock&quot; acted like a charm, and broke the terrible
+spell of the place. Never before had the name of that fatal and hated
+shelf of land sounded grateful to human ears.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The two boatmen had been often in that stupendous cave before, had
+seen its colossal glories in the ruby flare, and heard its
+reverberating thunders in the inexorable gloom. But never until now
+had they gazed upon this weird light; they were certain that if it had
+existed when they had been visitors on other occasions they could not
+have missed observing it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">What they now saw made a profound impression on them, and powerfully
+excited their superstitious minds. They had never rowed to the end of
+that eastern shaft of the labyrinth, but they knew from the sharp turn
+it struck west, and the great depth to which it penetrated, that the
+onward limit of it must be near the rear of the Black Rock.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This filled them with doubt--uneasy doubt. Owing to the darkness and
+the nature of the remote light, they could not form an exact notion of
+its position, but they guessed it to be no less than a mile from the
+Red Gap, and, allowing for everything, that would be the back of the
+Black Rock.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Why should there be a light at the back of the Black Rock? How could a
+light be accounted for there? except it was a corpse-candle on that
+murderous reef.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was a thought to shudder at.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With the other two men the effect was wholly different. Neither had
+ever been in this marvellous place before; neither had seen its
+sights, or heard its sounds, or endured its darkness until now, and
+their imaginations had been powerfully excited and exercised. At one
+time they were exalted by the visible--at another overawed by the
+unseen. Sobriety of thought and familiarity of experience were absent,
+and they were face to face with things undreamed of and enormous, and
+with phantoms and monstrous ideas that baffled investigation and
+pursuit.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But to them the mention of the Black Rock meant the re-entry of
+ordinary ideas and homely thoughts. It lay out there in the noonday
+sunlight beside the sunlit sea. It was part of the pastoral land where
+people sang and trees waved their leaves and winds bore perfumes.
+There was nothing more disquieting about it than about a ship, or a
+house, or a rampart.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien's thoughts had now gone back to their ordinary course. If this
+light came from anywhere near the Black Rock, might it not have
+something to do with the Puffing Hole?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The question was fascinating, alluring. It might prove a beacon to
+discovery.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where do you think it is from, Phelan?&quot; he asked, in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Somewhere near the Black Rock. I can't say exactly where.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What do you believe it is?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;A corpse-candle. The corpse-candle of the men that the Rock killed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nonsense! You ought to know better. A corpse-candle is not for the
+dead--it's for the living.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Above ground it may be so. But under ground it may be different.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Let us go and see what it is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not a stroke.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What, Phelan!--afraid again? There's hardly a thing you are not
+afraid of.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'm not afraid of you or any other man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If you don't go to it with me, I'll swim to it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If you do, it will be <i>your</i> corpse-candle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I don't care. If you won't go, I'll swim to it. If you don't make up
+your mind while I'm counting twenty, I'll dive off and swim.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It would be murder to let you, O'Brien. Put it out of your head. We
+won't let you go.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">None of the men could see where another was standing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien laughed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You can't touch me--you can't stop me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Whisht--whisht! For heaven's sake, don't laugh. This is no place for
+laughing with that candle before you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">O'Brien laughed softly, and counted, &quot;One.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;If you laugh again, by heavens, I'll throw you in, O'Brien.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Two!&quot; O'Brien laughed. &quot;Then you won't let me count twenty? You
+launch me on my swim at 'three'?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He'll bring the cliffs down on us.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Four! Ha, ha, ha!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Up to this the words and the laughter had been in whispers. This time
+O'Brien counted and laughed out loud.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The effect was prodigious. Those vast chambers of solemn night had
+never before heard human laughter, and they roared and bellowed, and
+yelled and shrieked, and grumbled, as though furiously calling upon
+one another to rush together and tear asunder or crush flat the
+impious intruders who dared to profane with such sounds the sanctuary
+of their repose.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'll go,&quot; whispered Phelan--&quot;I'll go. But--wait!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A torch was now lit, and by the aid of its fitful flame the four men
+scrambled into the yawl. The two rowers took their places standing and
+facing the bow. O'Brien held the flaring torch on high, and the
+boatmen gave way.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As they glided gently along, the irregular walls of the aisle came
+nearer to them out of the darkness with a nearness that was sinister
+and hateful. It was as though they crept close with the full intention
+of crushing the craft and grinding the men to death between their
+ponderous fangs and molars. They seemed avengers of the echoes
+outraged by the laughter.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The luminous shaft still shone; but as they came nearer, the light
+grew whiter and less like flame. The red glare of the torch seemed to
+overcome it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The men watched it with starting eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The walls of the cave came closer out of the darkness, and the roof
+lowered.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">By this time Phelan had lost all his fears, and was as curious as the
+others to know what the light was.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">All at once he cried out--&quot;Ease!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Both men stopped rowing. The sound of the oars ceased, and the noise
+of the ripple from the oars. All listened intently. A hissing sound
+could be distinctly heard--a loud hissing sound which they had not
+noticed before, because, no doubt, of the gradualness of their
+approach and the noises made by the rowers.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It's water--falling water. But, in the name of all the saints, where
+is it falling from, and how can we see it in the darkness? Give way,
+Tim.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The cave grew narrower still, and now there was barely room for the
+shortened oars. The sides of it came closer, the roof lowered until it
+was no more than an arm's length above the heads of the standing men.
+The bright patch grew higher and broader. The torch still burned. A
+dull whiteness shone on the rocks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The luminous space now looked like a faintly-lighted sheet of glass.
+The hissing sound of the water had gathered intensity.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I don't know what's beyond, but I'll risk going through if you are
+willing,&quot; cried Phelan, who was now in a state of almost frenzy from
+suppressed excitement.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Go on--go on!&quot; shouted O'Brien, who found it difficult to keep from
+jumping overboard.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Go on!&quot; repeated Alfred, who, too, was now standing up.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Give way with a will!&quot; shouted Phelan; and in a minute the boat shot
+through a thick sheet of foam and falling water, and glided into a
+placid pool.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">For a moment the men were blinded by the foam and water, and could see
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They rubbed their eyes, looked up obliquely, and were blinded once
+again.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The mid-day sun flamed above their heads at the end of a stupendous
+tube.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">An indescribable cry arose. Then all was still.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A crow flew between them and the sun. All bent their heads and
+crouched low as though instant death was rushing down upon them. The
+crow went by harmlessly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you know where we are?&quot; asked Phelan, in the voice of an awestruck
+child.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At the bottom of the shaft of the old mine. It slants to the
+southward, and that's the sun!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They looked around: some wreckage floated on one side of the boat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The planks that covered the mouth of the shaft. They must have fallen
+in.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Something that was not a plank floated on the other side of the boat.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was the body of Fahey!</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_46" href="#div1Ref_46">AN EVENING WALK.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, Madge, 'twas an awful time. I never felt anything like it in my
+life; and as for Alfred, he was stunned with terror. You see, that old
+mine shaft had followed the soft part of the cliff (there's not much
+use in looking for copper in solid sandstone), and so was like a huge
+telescope, pointed south at some angle or other--the angle, I think,
+at which you are now holding your chin.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Jerry, don't talk nonsense.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You'd be very sorry indeed if I didn't. Well, we hauled the dreadful
+thing we had found into the boat, and then began to think of getting
+back; but Phelan, the boatman, swore he would not go through that
+awful Red Cave with it on board.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We looked round us to see the best thing we could do. We found we
+were in what I may call an under-ground pool, from which there were
+three ways out--one leading into the cliff, one leading in the
+direction of the sea, and the one by which we had entered. Am I tiring
+you with my long-winded description?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, Jerry--go on; I came out to hear all,&quot; said Madge, pressing the
+arm on which her own rested.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We first tried the way towards the sea, and found, to Phelan's
+amazement and consternation, that it led right under, or, rather,
+through the Puffing Hole. No power on earth could induce Phelan to go
+that way. When we made this discovery, I now plainly saw the meaning
+of those mysterious measurements and instructions left by the
+unfortunate Fahey, and the means by which he had effected his
+extraordinary disappearance years ago. He had jumped down and swum
+inward to where we had found his dead body. In his 'Memorandum,' 'Rise
+15.6 lowest' meant what I had expected--the rise of the lowest tide.
+'At lowest minute of lowest forward with all might undaunted,' meant
+that one entering at the Whale's Mouth at the lowest minute of the
+lowest tide was to push forward with all vigour.... But, Madge
+darling, this must bore you to death?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, Jerry, I love to hear it. Just fancy having the hero of such an
+adventure telling it quietly to me on the Dulwich Road!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Twenty years hence how sick you'll be of these same adventures! You
+will then have heard them told at least a thousand times to every
+fresh acquaintance I make--man, woman, or child. But you'll be
+very tired of me also, sweetheart, and you shall go to sleep in an
+easy-chair while I prate on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Don't say such horrid things, or I shall cry. Please go on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah, well, you may bully me now, but you won't then. Where did I leave
+off, darling?&quot; He pressed her arm and she pressed his.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;At the man going up under the Puffing Hole. The paper he left with
+your solicitor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Our solicitor--say our solicitor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Our solicitor. There! But how tiresome you are!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, ay! I have the whole thing off by heart. The 'Memorandum' goes
+on, 'The foregoing refers to s-c-u-l-l-s with only one s-k-u-l-l any
+lowest, or any last quarter, but great forward pluck required for
+this. In both cases (of course!) left.' You see, here he underlines
+the words 'sculls' and 'skull,' which shows something unusual was
+meant. Remembering everything, 'sculls' evidently meant <i>sculls</i>, as
+very few people have more than one skull, and 'skull' meant what it
+seems to mean--your head. By-the-way, I beg your pardon. It's only men
+have skulls, not angels.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Jerry, I'm going home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, I won't, I won't! Put your arm back. Let us, in fact, have an
+armed peace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;This kind of thing, Jerry, is very bitter, and I feel as if--as
+if--as if----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As if what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As if I can't help liking you--sometimes when you're nice.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'll be good and nice. Well, what he meant was that when you wanted
+to get at his hiding-place by the sea, in a boat pulling sculls, you
+came and did certain things; and that when you wanted to get there by
+jumping down the Puffing Hole, you did other things.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;When we came back to the foot of the shaft the sun had gone off it,
+and it was comparatively dark. We tried the passage leading inward,
+and here we found Fahey's hiding-place. It was a small low cave, with
+a rocky ledge about as wide as the footway we are walking on....
+Madge, are those new boots? They look new. I wonder did I ever tell
+you I think you have awfully pretty feet.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I give you up. You are incorrigible.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As I was saying, we found a ledge of rock about as broad as your
+foot. This was Fahey's retreat, and here were all the materials used
+by the forgers of bank-notes. How Fahey got them there unobserved is
+the puzzle. He must have brought them piecemeal Here, beyond all
+doubt, were printed the notes forged upon the bank of Bordelon and
+Company, of Paris, by means of which Mr. Davenport stole a colossal
+fortune.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Here we found an explanation of how Fahey's suit of clothes lasted
+ten or twelve years. We found two suits precisely similar. He kept one
+to wear, no doubt, while the other was drying. There was a place which
+had evidently been used as a fireplace, and although there was water
+so close to this ledge, it was above the highest reach of the highest
+tide, and dry as tinder. The dryness of the place and the salt of the
+sea-water had preserved these clothes from decay, while most of the
+metal things had crumbled into dust.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He must have discovered this place in his boat, and after that found
+out the shaft of the mine communicated with the whole cavernous
+system, which is so vast as to stagger the mind. Thus he had two means
+of gaining his retreat; and when he said he had lost his boat, she was
+safely moored in the cave in case of emergency--for we found the
+painter-chain hanging from a bolt.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But what of that light you saw that turned out to be water? And did
+the miners work in the sea?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Attentive and intelligent darling, I thank thee. The theory is that
+Fahey, in falling or sliding down the shaft, struck the western wall
+of the pool in which we found him, and brought down a huge mass of
+clay which was ripe for falling, or that it had fallen recently, or
+that our gunshot had brought it down. The curtain of water was formed
+by a spring of fresh water. There are always dozens of such springs in
+cliffs. As to the foot of the shaft, the explanation is that at the
+time the miners were at work the sea had not eaten so far inward. In
+fact, that whole district is and has been gradually so enormously
+undermined, that soon a mighty subsidence must take place.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But you say that the hole down to the mine slanted. How did he get up
+and down? It would have been barely possible, but dangerous, to crawl
+up.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He had a rope by which to hold on, and while holding on thus, he
+could walk upright--that is, hand over hand. Before the fall of the
+planks that covered the top of the shaft, Fahey had crept out by a
+small opening looking seaward, and concealed from view, if any one
+ever should be so foolhardy as to go there, by a thick growth of
+furze.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, what did you do afterwards?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;When?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You told me only as far as coming back from the Puffing Hole.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;True. Well, we laid what remained of the unfortunate man on the rock
+which had often been his resting-place before, and then rowed back
+through the wonderful Red Cave, and put the matter in the hands of the
+police. At the inquest all about the forgery of Davenport and Fahey
+and the swindle on the Paris bank came out, and Mrs. Davenport was
+examined, She admitted Fahey had made love to her, as you saw by the
+papers. Wasn't it strange that Alfred should be the first to see her
+husband and her husband's partner in guilt dead, and not by natural
+means, and that at both inquests she spoke of a new lover, and that
+Alfred, the newest lover of all three, should have been at both
+inquests?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is astonishing and terrible. I wonder what will come of it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Heaven knows. But there, let it go now, Madge. When you come to
+Ireland, love, you shall see those wonderful caves.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I'd rather die,&quot; she said, &quot;than go near them.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What!--if they were lit by the glorious effulgence of this splendid
+specimen of the O'Briens?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This dialogue took place one day after dinner in the June following
+the visit to the cave. The villainous Fishery Commissioners had been
+overcome, and Jerry and Madge were to be married in a week.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred Paulton was still at the &quot;Strand Hotel,&quot; in the village of
+Kilcash.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2>
+
+<h3><a name="div1_47" href="#div1Ref_47">CONCLUSION.</a></h3>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Marion, will you not listen to me?--will you not listen to reason?
+Your fortune, you say, is now all gone--must be restored to its lawful
+owners, the Paris bankers, and that you have made the necessary
+arrangements for doing so. You are bankrupt in fortune: why should you
+be bankrupt also in love?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Understand me, Thomas Blake, I will speak on this subject no more to
+you. I do not think you will have the bad taste to remain any longer
+in this house when I ask you to go.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will do anything on earth for you, Marion--anything in reason you
+ask me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then go.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But is that reasonable? Is it reasonable to ask me to leave you now
+that you are as free as you were in the olden times?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She looked at him wrathfully, scornfully.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have you got a second bidder for me in view? Did you not take my
+heart when it was young, when you were young, and sell it for a sum of
+money down? You know there is no one in this house but servants. Save
+yourself the ignominy of my ringing the bell. Sir, will you go? I have
+affairs to attend to. You have broken your promise by renewing this
+subject.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why did you telegraph for me to London?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Because I thought you might be useful to me, and you have proved
+useless.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And if I had proved useful, would you have rewarded me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, Marion, Marion, you are playing with me! Do you mean to say you
+would have allowed me to hope if I had proved of service in that
+affair? I did my best. I swear to you I did my best, and if you will
+only give me your hand now----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Thomas Blake, I would have rewarded you by saying that your debt to
+me had been diminished by one useful act of yours. But my contempt for
+you would have been just the same. Take your elderly protestations of
+love to fresh ears. Mine are too old and too weary, and too well
+acquainted with their value, to care much for them. Go now. When I
+have need of you again I shall send for you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Marion, this is too bad. You are treating me as if I were a dog.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Worse--much worse. We were intended for one another. Once I would
+have died for you; now I cannot endure you except when I think you may
+be of use to me. I shall send for you if I should happen to want you
+again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His face grew white, and he set his teeth. They were in the green
+drawing-room of Kilcash House. The full June sun was flaming abroad on
+the sea, and shining in through the windows.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You outrage me. I am not accustomed to be----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Told the simple truth,&quot; she said, finishing the sentence for him. &quot;I
+threatened to ring.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She went to the bell-rope. He sprang between her and it menacingly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I believe you are capable of violence,&quot; she said, surveying him with
+a taunting smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am capable of murder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Only for plunder,&quot; she said, still smiling.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He ground his teeth.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You will drive me to it, Marion Butler.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the mention of her maiden name, a swift flush of crimson darkened
+her face. Her eyes flashed, her nostrils dilated, her head bent
+forward, her mouth opened, the veins in her temple swelled. She
+clenched her hands--her bosom heaved--she stood still.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The sudden change in her appearance arrested his anger. He believed
+she was going to have a fit. Her maiden name had not been purposely
+uttered by him. It loosed some current in the brain which had not
+flowed for years.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Awhile she stood thus. Then all at once the colour fled from her face,
+and left it pallid, cold, rigid. She pressed her hand once or twice
+across her brow, and then, looking at him intently for a few moments,
+said, in a quiet, weary voice:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am ill. Leave me; but come to me soon again. In an
+hour--half-an-hour. I did not mean what I said. Pray leave me, and
+come to me soon. I shall be here. I am confused.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Without speaking, and scarcely believing the words he heard, he stole
+from the room.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She sat down on a couch and covered her face with her hands.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Wait,&quot; she said softly to herself. &quot;There is something I must
+do--something I have forgotten. Oh, I know! He is an honourable
+gentleman, and must not be disregarded.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She went over to a table, found writing materials, sat down, and
+wrote:</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="continue">&quot;<span class="sc">Dear Mr. Paulton</span>,</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent:5%">&quot;I got your note this morning. I told you the first time you did me
+the honour of offering me marriage that there was no hope. I am sorry
+to say I am of the same mind still. You will forget and forgive me in
+time. I shall never forget your kindness to me in my distress.</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent:20%">&quot;Yours sincerely,</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent:30%">&quot;<span class="sc">Marion Butler</span>.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">She read the note over and over again from top to bottom. Something in
+the look of it did not please her, but she could not think of anything
+better to say. She had received a note from him that morning, asking
+her to grant him another interview. He had proposed to her a week ago.
+She had told him plainly she would not marry him. He had begged that
+he might be allowed to call again. She said it was quite useless. He
+craved another interview, and she gave way, on the understanding no
+hope was to be based on the permission. He had come again, and again
+had been refused. And now he was asking for a third chance. She would
+not give it to him. It would be worse than useless under the
+circumstances. There was something wrong with this note, but it must
+serve, as Tom Blake was waiting.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She put the letter in an envelope, addressed it to Alfred at the
+&quot;Strand Hotel,&quot; Kilcash, rang the bell, and sent a servant off with
+it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When it was gone she said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I must go now and meet Tom. He said he'd be---- Where's this he said
+he'd be? Oh, I know! By the corner of the wood on the Bandon Road.
+I'll put on the white muslin Tom likes. If Mr. Paulton should come
+they must say I am out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alfred Paulton got the note, and although he could not understand the
+signature--it was no doubt the result of a lapse of memory, in which
+she went back for a moment to her girlish days--he knew his dismissal
+was final.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">That day he set off for London, and arrived in time to see Madge
+married to his old friend, Jerry O'Brien, who was secretly delighted
+at the failure of Alfred's suit.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">While Jerry was on his honeymoon he got a letter from his old friend
+and solicitor, the postscript of which gave him the latest news of
+Mrs. Davenport: the doctors had pronounced her hopelessly insane.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h4>* * * * * * * * * *</h4>
+<h5>CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.</h5>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3), by Richard Dowling
+
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3), by Richard Dowling
+
+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: Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3)
+       A Romance
+
+Author: Richard Dowling
+
+Release Date: May 20, 2013 [EBook #42752]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TEMPEST-DRIVEN (VOL. III OF 3) ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
+Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+     1. Page scan source:
+        http://archive.org/details/tempestdrivenrom02dowl
+        (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           TEMPEST-DRIVEN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            TEMPEST-DRIVEN
+
+                              A Romance.
+
+
+
+
+                                  BY
+
+                           RICHARD DOWLING,
+
+       AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF KILLARD," "THE WEIRD SISTERS,"
+  "THE SPORT OF FATE," "UNDER ST. PAUL'S," "THE DUKE'S SWEETHEART,"
+           "SWEET INISFAIL," "THE HIDDEN FLAME," ETC.
+
+
+
+
+                         _IN THREE VOLUMES_.
+
+                              VOL. III.
+
+
+
+
+
+                               LONDON:
+              TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST., STRAND.
+                                1886.
+
+                       [_All rights reserved_.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                      CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,
+                         CRYSTAL PLACE PRESS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                              CONTENTS.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+SALMON AND COWS.
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+A FORTUNE LOST.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+A TELEGRAM FROM THE MAIL.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+THE TRAVELLERS.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+SOLICITOR AND CLIENT.
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+THE WIDOW'S THEORY OF THE CASE.
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+"WHERE'ER I CAME I BROUGHT CALAMITY."
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+A COMPACT.
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XL.
+
+AN EXPEDITION PROPOSED.
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLI.
+
+AT THE WHALE'S MOUTH.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLII.
+
+THE RED CAVE.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+A RETROSPECT.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+A LAST APPEAL.
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLV.
+
+BEYOND THE VEIL.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+AN EVENING WALK.
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+CONCLUSION.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            TEMPEST-TOSSED
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+                           SALMON AND COWS.
+
+
+Luncheon that day at Carlingford House was a quiet, subdued meal.
+Edith Paulton, who was very small and vivacious, better-looking than
+Madge, and distinguished by shrewd discontent rather than the
+amiability which radiated from her elder sister, was the only one at
+the table that made an effort at being sprightly. Although she was not
+unsympathetic, she had a much more keen appreciation of her own
+annoyances and troubles than those of others. She took great liberties
+with her good-natured father and mother, and treated her brother as if
+he were a useless compound of slave, fool, and magnanimous mastiff.
+She was by no means wanting in affection, but she hated displays of
+sentiment, and felt desperately inclined to laugh on grave occasions.
+
+That day, when the two girls left the back room, they went straight to
+Madge's, where they talked over the arrival of Jerry O'Brien, for whom
+Edith strongly suspected Madge had a warmer feeling than friendship,
+and who, she felt morally certain, greatly to her secret delight, was
+over head and ears in love with Madge. The only human being in whom
+she had infinite faith was Madge. She did not consider any hero or
+conqueror of history good enough for her sister. To her mind, there
+was only one flaw in Madge: Madge would not worship Madge. Madge
+thought every one else in the world of consequence but herself. Edith
+thought Madge the only absolutely perfect person living, or that ever
+had lived--leaving out, of course, the important defect just
+mentioned. The younger girl had, in human affairs, a certain hardness
+and common-sense plainness which shocked the more sensitive sister.
+For instance, she could not see anything at all pathetic in Mrs.
+Davenport's situation.
+
+Before the bell rang for luncheon, she said to her sister:
+
+"I can't for the life of me see what is so terribly melancholy in Mrs.
+Davenport's case. I think she got out of it rather well. She didn't
+care anything for that dreadful old man who poisoned himself out of
+some horrid kind of spite. She hasn't been put in prison, and he left
+her a whole lot of money. So that as she isn't exactly an old maid, or
+a grandmother, she can marry any other horrid old man she likes. Oh,
+yes; I know she's very beautiful, and what you call young, Madge.
+She's not fifty yet, I suppose. Every woman _is_ young now until she's
+forty or fifty; and as to men, they don't seem to grow old now at any
+age. As long as a man doesn't use crutches, they say he is in the full
+vigour of manhood--that he's not marriageable until he's gray, and
+bald, and deaf of one ear, or can't read even with glasses. I suppose
+father will make her stop for dinner. I thought I'd laugh outright
+when I saw him go to her and call her 'child.' Child! Fancy calling a
+widow _child!_ If ever he calls me child again, I'll tell him, as far
+as I know, I have not buried any husband yet. But, Madge, if she
+_does_ stop for dinner, I'm not going to sit there and learn the very
+latest thing in the manners of widows. I'll go out for a walk after
+luncheon. Do you know, I think Jerry O'Brien is half in love with this
+beautiful widow! I'll ask him to come with me, I will; and you,
+good-natured fool, may sit within and catch the airs and graces of
+early widowhood, though I don't think they'll ever be of any use to
+you. You're certain to die an old maid. Alfred can't keep his eyes off
+her. It's a pity we haven't that nice Mr. Blake here--her old
+sweetheart. There, Madge, I don't mean a word I say, especially about
+Jerry O'Brien. I know he's madly in love with me. I'm going to give
+him a chance of proposing this evening. We'll walk as far as the
+Palace, and if you get separated from us, and see me holding my
+umbrella out from my side on two fingers--this way--just don't come
+near us, and you shall be my bridesmaid, and Jerry shall give you a
+present of a bracelet representing a brazen widow sitting on a silver
+salmon. There's the bell! Madge, love, I'm not a beast, only a brute.
+There!--I won't be rude again, and I'll try and rather like Mrs.
+Davenport. She'll be a neighbour of mine, you know, when I'm married
+to Jerry. I think I'll call him _Jer_ then."
+
+After luncheon, Mrs. Paulton suggested that Mrs. Davenport should lie
+down, as she must be quite worn out. But the latter would not consent
+to this. She said she felt quite refreshed, and in no need of rest, as
+she had slept well the previous night--although some memory of the
+Channel passage was in her brain, and the sound of the railway journey
+in her ears.
+
+The evening was fine. Neither Mrs. Davenport nor Alfred cared for a
+walk when it was suggested by Edith, but Jerry said he would like it
+of all things; so he and the two sisters set off down the fine, broad,
+prosperous-looking Dulwich Road, in the direction of the Crystal
+Palace.
+
+It is proverbially a small world, and the three pedestrians had not
+gone many hundred yards when whom should they see but Nellie Cahill,
+one of the firm friends and confidantes of the Paulton girls. Before
+the three came up with Miss Cahill, Edith gave a brief and graphic
+sketch of her to Jerry, who had not had the pleasure of meeting her
+before. She was good-looking, good-humoured, jolly, a dear old thing,
+mad as a March hare, true as steel, and last, though not least,
+interesting to him--a fellow country-woman of his, as her name
+betokened.
+
+He must be introduced to her. He must like her awfully. He must love
+her, if it came to that, unless, indeed, that slow coach Alfred had
+been before him--in which case he, Jerry, was to be exceedingly
+obliging and deferential; for any one would rather have a nice girl
+like Nellie for a sister-in-law than a thousand widows.
+
+Jerry was duly introduced, and said civil things and silly things, and
+the four walked on all abreast, until Edith suddenly remembered that
+she had to tell Nellie all about the reappearance of Mrs. Davenport,
+and a lot of other matters, in which two sober, steady-going,
+middle-aged people like Madge and Jerry could, by no stress of
+imagination, be supposed to take a sensible and hilarious interest. So
+the younger division of the party, comprised of Nellie Cahill and
+Edith Paulton, fell to the rear, and the other division kept the
+front. And thus, in spite of all Edith's designs on Jerry both for
+herself and Nellie, these two enterprising and eminently desirable and
+lovable young ladies lost all chance of his offering marriage to
+either that afternoon.
+
+A long story of the detestable villainy of the Fishery Commissioners
+had to be first and foremost related to Madge. Considering that she
+did not know what a weir was, and had never seen a salmon except on
+the table or the marble slab of a fish-shop, and that according to her
+notion the appearance of a Commissioner was something between a
+beefeater of the Tower of London and a Brighton boatman, she listened
+with great patience, and made remarks which caused Jerry to laugh
+sometimes, and plunge into profound technicalities at others. But it
+became quite plain that Jerry himself did not take any consuming
+interest in his own wrongs and the refined ruffianism of the
+Commissioners; for at a most bewildering description of the channel,
+and the draught of water, and the set of tides, and the idiosyncrasies
+of coal barges, he looked over his shoulder and, finding Edith and her
+friend a good way behind, stopped suddenly in his discourse and said:
+
+"Madge, I've been reeling off a lot of rubbish to you just to drop the
+others a good bit astern. I now want to say something very serious to
+you. Are you listening?"
+
+"Yes; but look at that cow! Did you ever see a more contented-looking
+creature in all your life?"
+
+She kept her face turned towards the hedge.
+
+"Confound the cow!" he cried. "Do you think I am going to give up
+talking of Bawn salmon and barges, and talk about Dulwich cows? Are
+you listening?"
+
+"I am. But did you--now--did you ever see such a lovely cow?"
+
+"Look here, Madge: If this is reprisal for my harangue about my
+miserable salmon weirs, I'll not say another word about them. Are you
+going to be friends with me?"
+
+"Yes--of course."
+
+Still the cow occupied her eyes, to judge by the way her head was
+turned.
+
+"I came out expressly to have a most serious talk with you on a most
+important matter----"
+
+"I am sure I was very sorry to hear about your salmon nets----"
+
+"Nets! Nets! Good heavens, Madge!--I never said a word about nets the
+whole time. I'm not a cot-man. Look here: you know it's only a few of
+the greatest minds that can attend to two things at the one time. You
+can't give your soul to fish and yet devote yourself to cows at the
+one moment, except you are a person like Julius Caesar. He could
+dictate and write completely different things at the one time."
+
+"Could he? He must have been very clever."
+
+"Will you give up the cow? I want to talk of another beast."
+
+"Trout?"
+
+"No, not trout. Trout isn't a beast. If you're clever and smart, and
+that kind of thing, I won't talk about my beast."
+
+"What is your beast?"
+
+"A fool."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Are you not curious to know who the fool is?"
+
+"There are so many, one cannot be interested in all."
+
+"No; but you are interested in this one."
+
+Silence.
+
+"I say you are interested in Alfred."
+
+"Alfred!" She looked quickly round for the first time since the cow
+had attracted her attention. Her colour was vivid, and her breath came
+short. "Alfred a fool!"
+
+"Yes; he's hit--badly hit."
+
+"You don't think him ill?"--in alarm. The colour faded quickly.
+
+"I think him very bad."
+
+"His brain again. Oh, do tell me!"--pleadingly.
+
+"No. He told me all in the front room to-day. It's his heart this
+time."
+
+"His heart?"
+
+"Yes. Love."
+
+"Love! In love with whom?"
+
+"I forget."
+
+"You forget whom he is in love with?"
+
+"Yes. Another matter has put it out of my head. Madge, I'm a fool too.
+You needn't turn away. There are no more cows, Madge. Give up the
+salmon and cows, Madge, and have me instead! Will you, Madge? Give me
+your hand.... Thank you, love. Madge!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The other two have turned back. There is no one else in the road. May
+I kiss you?"
+
+She looked over her shoulder on the side away from him. Then she
+looked at him....
+
+"Thank you, darling. Let us turn back. I have touched the limits of my
+happiest road. Madge!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Yes, Jerry. Say 'Yes, Jerry.'"
+
+"Yes, Jerry."
+
+"That's better. I won't kiss you again until we get into the house. Do
+you think you can last out till then?"
+
+"I--I think so, Jerry."
+
+"That's right. Cultivate self-denial and obedience. You don't think it
+is respectable for a man to kiss his sweetheart on a public road?"
+
+"No."
+
+"That's right. Cultivate self-denial and obedience, but chiefly
+obedience. Don't you think it is the duty of woman to cultivate
+obedience chiefly?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"And if I asked it, you would, out of obedience to me, trample
+self-denial under foot?"
+
+"Certainly, Jerry, if you wished it."
+
+"I do. Oh, my Madge--my darling--my gentle love! Once more."
+
+"But Edith has turned round and sees us.... And my hat--you have
+knocked off my hat.... Thanks. Now pick up my hair-pin. It fell with
+the hat. What will Edith think?"
+
+"I'll tell her. I'll tell Edith quite plainly it was your
+self-restraint gave way, not mine."
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+                           A FORTUNE LOST.
+
+
+That day settled many things. Alfred had told O'Brien that no matter
+how unwise or rash it might seem, he had made up his mind to try his
+fate with Mrs. Davenport--not, of course, at that time, perhaps not
+very soon, but ultimately, and as soon as possible.
+
+Until that day--until he had seen her moved by the sense of her own
+loneliness, until he had seen the tears start into her eyes--he had
+not said even to himself that he loved her. He told himself over and
+over again that he would risk his prospects, his life, his honour for
+her. How his prospects or life could be imperilled he did not know,
+did not care. He had a modest fortune of his own, and her husband had
+left her the bulk of his great wealth. He would have preferred her
+poor rather than rich. But if she would marry him, he would not allow
+the fact that she had money to stand in the way of his happiness. She
+had for a while, owing to circumstances in which no blame attached to
+her, found herself labouring under a hideous suspicion. From the
+shadow of that suspicion she had emerged without blemish. She had been
+cruelly ill-used by fate, but it had been shown she was blameless.
+Where, then, could danger to his honour lie? Her beauty was
+undeniable; her family unexceptionable. She had been sold to an old
+man by a venal lover. In this lurked no disgrace to her. What could
+his father or mother find in her to object to? Nothing--absolutely
+nothing. That day his father and mother showed great pleasure in
+seeing her again. His father had suggested--nay, arranged--that he
+should accompany her on that long journey to Ireland.
+
+When Jerry O'Brien left Carlingford House that afternoon, he had no
+intention of asking Madge to be his wife. All the way from Kilbarry to
+London he had been assuring himself that nothing could be more
+injudicious than to say anything to her on the subject at present. He
+believed she was not indifferent to him. Little actions and words of
+hers had given him cause to hope. He was sure she preferred him to any
+other man in whose society he had ever seen her. She had smiled and
+coloured at his approach, and once or twice, when he had ventured to
+press her hand, he had suffered no reproach by word or look. All this
+made it only the more necessary for him to be on guard and not allow
+himself to be betrayed into a declaration until his affairs were
+settled. But the opportunity came, and he could not resist the
+temptation of telling her he loved her, and of hearing from her that
+he was loved by her. It is true no word had been said between them of
+an engagement even. The mere formality of speech was nothing.
+Practically he had asked her to be his wife, and she had plainly given
+him to understand she was willing to marry him.
+
+Madge got back to the house in a state of bewildered excitement. She
+confided nothing to her sister, and Edith behaved very well, never
+showing even a trace of curiosity or slyness. She persisted in talking
+of the most everyday topic. She wondered whether Miss Grant, the
+dressmaker, would keep her word?--whether this would be as bad a year
+for roses as last? She was of opinion the cold weather would not
+return. Nellie Cahill had told her the new play at the Ben Jonson was
+a complete failure, in spite of all said to the contrary, and so on.
+Madge replied in monosyllables or vacant laughs. When the girls got
+home, each went to her own room, and they did not meet again until
+dinner time. Madge decided she had no occasion to speak to her mother,
+or any one else, about what occurred on the Dulwich Road. It would be
+time enough to speak when Jerry said something more definite to her,
+or when either her father or mother spoke to her.
+
+Jerry sought Alfred, whom he found alone in the library. He had been
+carried beyond himself that afternoon, and did not feel in the
+position to administer to his friend a lecture on prudence. Alfred was
+of full age, and, in the way of money, independent of his father. Let
+him do as he pleased and take his chance, as any other man must in
+similar circumstances. He himself, for instance, would take advice in
+his love affair from neither Fishery Commissioners nor John O'Hanlon.
+
+"How far did you go?" asked Alfred, who looked flushed, radiant. He
+got up and began walking slowly about the room.
+
+"Oh, a little beyond the College. It isn't a very pleasant day out of
+doors. We met an old flame of yours--Miss Cahill."
+
+"Miss Cahill an old flame of mine! Why, I never was more than civil to
+the girl in all my life! Who invented that story for you?"
+
+"I don't think it was pure invention. Edith mentioned it to us."
+
+"'To us!' Good heavens, you don't mean to say she said anything of the
+kind in Miss Cahill's presence?"
+
+"Well, no--not exactly in her presence, but when she was near us. How
+did you get on since?"
+
+Jerry's object was to keep the conversation in his own hands, and
+prevent Alfred asking questions. To-morrow, when they were both clear
+of London, he might take his friend into his confidence, but not now.
+
+"Oh, dully enough," answered Alfred, with a look of disappointment.
+"My father went out, my mother is busy about the house, and Mrs.
+Davenport is in her room. She will, I hope, be able to come down to
+dinner. You don't think, Jerry," he asked, anxiously, while he paused
+before his friend, "that her health has suffered by all she has gone
+through?"
+
+"No; but I am quite sure your peace of mind has," replied Jerry, with
+a dry smile.
+
+With all his desire to be conciliatory, he could not wholly curb his
+tongue.
+
+"I," laughed the other, "was never happier in all my life. Why, only
+to think that she is under this roof now, and that we are going on a
+long journey with her to-morrow, and that I am to be near her for a
+whole month! It's too good to be true."
+
+"I hope not."
+
+"Well, Jerry, I hope not too; but it seems too good. I know you are
+one of those men who never give way to their feelings until they know
+exactly whither their feelings are taking them. It isn't every one who
+has such complete self-command as you. I am willing to risk everything
+in the world for a woman. Some men are too cautious to risk anything."
+
+"There's a good deal of truth and a good deal of rubbish in what you
+say," rejoined Jerry, colouring slightly, and concealing his face from
+his companion by going to the window and looking out at the evergreens
+and leafless trees in the front garden.
+
+Alfred's last speech had not been exactly a chance shot. He more than
+guessed Jerry cared a good deal for Madge; but the tone of the other
+had exasperated him, and he made an effort to compel silence, if not
+sympathy, from him. Jerry was not prepared to retort. He did not want
+to deny or assert his own susceptibility to the unconscious arts of
+any woman; and, above all, he did not wish Madge's name to be
+introduced even casually.
+
+At last dinner came. It was an informal, a substantial, cosy meal. No
+special preparations had been made for the guests. There was no
+display, no stint, no profusion. Jerry sat beside Madge, and Alfred
+between Edith and Mrs. Davenport. Jerry was the most taciturn--Madge
+the most demure of the party. Mr. Paulton was chatty, cordial, and
+particularly gracious to the widow. Mrs. Davenport was polite,
+impassable, absent-minded.
+
+When they were waiting for the joint, Mr. Paulton turned to Jerry, and
+said:
+
+"Are you depressed at the prospect of spending a while with an
+invalid? To look at you both, one would think it was you, not Alfred,
+who wants change of air."
+
+"And so it is," said Jerry, stealing a look at Madge.
+
+In order to divert attention from her, for she felt her face growing
+hot, she said:
+
+"I believe the south of Ireland is very mild?"
+
+"Oh, very!" Jerry answered, with startling vivacity. "It's the mildest
+climate in the world; but the people are not particularly mild: they
+are full of fire and fight. I have no doubt Alfred will come back a
+regular Milesian. You know those who live a while in Ireland always
+become more Irish than the Irish."
+
+"Never mind," said Mrs. Paulton. "He may become as Irish as he likes
+if he at the same time grows as well in health as we like."
+
+"I intend coming back quite a Goliath, mother. I shall eat and drink
+everything I see," said Alfred gaily.
+
+"You would find some of the things in the neighbourhood of Kilcash
+rather hard to chew. I think Mrs. Davenport will agree with me that it
+would take Goliath a long time to make a comfortable meal of the Black
+Rock, or to make a comfortable meal on it?"
+
+At the name of the Rock, Mrs. Davenport looked up and shuddered
+visibly, and said, as she rested slightly on the back of her chair:
+
+"The Black Rock is a hideous place."
+
+Then, turning to Alfred: "You must not go there."
+
+"I am altogether in the hands of this unprincipled wretch," answered
+Alfred, smiling and nodding at Jerry.
+
+"Then," said Jerry, "if you are not very civil--if you show a
+disposition to exhibit your Goliath-like prowess on me, I shall take
+you to the Black Rock, and first frighten the life out of you, and
+then throw you into the Puffing Hole, where, except you are the ghost
+of your own grandfather, or something equally monstrous, you will be
+promptly smashed into ten billions of invisible atoms."
+
+The rest of the dinner passed off quietly. When the dessert had been
+put on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, Mr. Paulton said:
+
+"Mr. O'Brien, I have often heard you talk of this Black Rock and the
+Puffing Hole, but I am afraid I never had the industry to ask you for
+a description of either. Are they very wonderful?"
+
+"There is nothing wonderful about the Rock, except its extent and
+peculiar shape and colour. But the Puffing Hole, although not unique,
+is curious and terrible."
+
+"I am doubly interested in them now, since I have the pleasure of
+numbering Mrs. Davenport among my friends. What are the Black Rock and
+Puffing Hole like?" He smiled, and bent gallantly towards the widow.
+
+"I think," said Jerry, "Mrs. Davenport herself is the best person to
+give you a description of either. Her house is near them, and she has
+lived, I may say, next door to them for years, and knows more than I
+do of the place. To make the matter even, if Mrs. Davenport will do
+the description I will do the narrative part of the tale. That is a
+fair division."
+
+Mrs. Davenport trembled slightly again, and was about to speak, when
+Mr. Paulton said, in a tone of impetuous persuasion:
+
+"Your house near these strange freaks of nature, Mrs. Davenport! Of
+course I did not know that, or I should not have dreamed of asking Mr.
+O'Brien for an account of them."
+
+The old man's belief was that it would divert Mrs. Davenport's mind
+from wholly gloomy subjects if she were only induced to speak of
+matters of general interest.
+
+She shook her head sadly.
+
+"It is true my home was for many years at Kilcash House, which is near
+the Black Rock. But----"
+
+She paused, and a peculiar smile took possession of her face. All eyes
+were fixed on her in expectation. No one cared to speak. What could
+that strange break mean? Surely, to describe a scene or phenomenon of
+the coast with which she was most familiar could not be very
+distressing?
+
+"But," she resumed, "it is my home no longer. It is true I am going
+back there for a little time--a few weeks; but that is only to arrange
+matters. I have now no home."
+
+The voice of the woman was almost free from emotion. It was slightly
+tremulous towards the end; but if she had been reading aloud a passage
+she but dimly understood, she could have displayed no less emotion.
+
+"No home!--no home!" said Mr. Paulton, so softly as to be only just
+audible. "I was under the impression you had been left Kilcash House."
+
+"Yes, my husband left me Kilcash House and other things--other
+valuable things--and a large sum of money. But----"
+
+Again she paused at the ominous "but."
+
+Again all were silent, and now even Mr. Paulton could not light on
+words that seemed likely to help the widow over her hesitation.
+
+"But I cannot take anything."
+
+Once more the old man repeated her words: "Cannot take anything! Are
+the conditions so extraordinary--so onerous?"
+
+He and O'Brien thought that the principal condition must be forfeiture
+in case she married Blake. This would explain much of what was now
+incomprehensible.
+
+"There are no conditions whatever in the will," she said in the same
+unmoved way.
+
+"No conditions! And yet you have no home, although your late husband
+has left you a fine house?"
+
+"Yes, and all that is necessary for the maintenance of that house;
+notwithstanding which, I have no home, and am a beggar."
+
+"Mrs. Davenport," cried the old man, with genuine concern, "what you
+say is very shocking. I hope it is not true."
+
+"I know this is not the time or place to talk of business. I know my
+business can have little or no interest for you."
+
+"Excuse me, my dear Mrs. Davenport, there is nothing out of place
+about such talk now, and you really must not say we take but slight
+interest in your affairs. On the contrary, we are very much interested
+in them. I think I may answer for every member of my family, and say
+that beyond our own immediate circle of relatives there is no lady in
+whom we take so deep an interest."
+
+The old man was solemn and emphatic.
+
+"I am sure," said Mrs. Paulton, looking round the table, "that my
+husband has said nothing but the simple fact."
+
+She turned her eyes upon the widow.
+
+"Mrs. Davenport, I hope you will always allow me to be your friend.
+Your troubles have, I know, been very great, and you are now no doubt
+suffering so severely that you think the whole world is against you.
+We, at all events, are not. Anything we can do for you we will; and,
+believe me, Mrs. Davenport, doing anything for you will be a downright
+pleasure."
+
+The widow bowed her head for a moment before speaking. It seemed as
+though she could not trust her voice. After a brief pause she sat up,
+and, resting the tips of the fingers of both hands on the table, said:
+
+"As I told you earlier to-day, I have been alone all my life, and the
+notion of fellowship is terrible to me, coming now upon me when my
+life is over."
+
+"Indeed you should not talk of your life being over. You are still
+quite young. Many a woman does not begin her life until she is older
+than you."
+
+"I am thirty-four, and that is not young for one to begin life."
+
+"But, may I ask," said Mr. Paulton, "how it is that the will becomes
+inoperative? How is it that you cannot avail yourself of your
+husband's bequests?"
+
+"My reasons for not taking my husband's money must, for the present--I
+hope for ever--remain with myself. Mr. Blake has told me certain
+things, and I have found out others myself. I am now without money--I
+do not mean," she said, flushing slightly, "for the present moment,
+for a month or two--but I am without any money on which I can rely for
+my support. I shall have to begin life again--or, rather, begin it for
+the first time. I shall have to work for my living, just as any other
+widow who is left alone without provision. This is very plain
+speaking, but the position is simple."
+
+"But, my dear Mrs. Davenport, you must not in this way give yourself
+up to despair," said Mr. Paulton, as he rose and stood beside her.
+
+"Despair!" she cried, looking up at him with a quick glance of angry
+surprise. "Despair! You do not think me so poor a coward as to
+despair. How can one who never knew hope know despair? I am in no
+trouble about the future. I shall take to a line of life in which
+there is room and to spare for such as I."
+
+"Do not do anything hastily, I have a good deal of influence left."
+
+Mrs. Paulton, who saw that Mrs. Davenport was excited, over-wrought,
+rose and moved towards the door. The others stood up, excepting Mrs.
+Davenport, who, as she was excited and looking up into Mr. Paulton's
+face, did not hear the stir or see the move.
+
+"I am most sincerely obliged to you, Mr. Paulton, but I greatly fear
+that, much as I know you would wish it, you could not aid me in my
+business scheme."
+
+"May I ask what the business is?"
+
+"The stage."
+
+"The stage, Mrs. Davenport! You astound me."
+
+"I have lived alone and secluded all my life. For the future I shall,
+if I can, live among thousands of people, whom I will _compel_ to
+sympathise with my mimic trials, since I never had any one to
+sympathise with my real ones. I shall flee from an obscurity greater
+than a cloister's to the blaze and full publicity of the footlights.
+You think me mad?"
+
+"No; ill-advised. Who suggested you should do this?"
+
+She glanced around, and saw that the ladies were waiting for her.
+
+"I beg your pardon," she said to them, as she rose and walked towards
+the door, which Alfred held open.
+
+She turned back as she went out, and answered Mr. Paulton's question
+with the two words:
+
+"Mr. Blake."
+
+Alfred closed the door. The three men looked in amazement at one
+another.
+
+"There's something devilish in her or Blake," said the old man.
+
+"Or both," said Jerry O'Brien.
+
+By a tremendous effort, Alfred Paulton sat down and kept still. He did
+not say anything aloud, but to himself he moaned:
+
+"If I lose her, my reason will go again--this time for ever!"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+                      A TELEGRAM FROM THE MAIL.
+
+
+When the men found themselves alone and somewhat calmed down after the
+excitement caused by Mrs. Davenport's astonishing announcement, Mr.
+Paulton and Jerry discussed the proposed step with great minuteness
+and intelligence, while Alfred sat mute and listless. He pleaded the
+necessity of his going to bed early on account of to-morrow's journey.
+In the course of the discussion between the two elder men, Jerry held
+that if she did take to the stage, she would make one of the most
+startling successes of the time.
+
+"She has beauty enough," he said, "to make men fools, and fire enough
+to make them lunatics. What a Lady Macbeth she would be!"
+
+Mr. Paulton was anything but a fogey. He did not forget that he had
+been once young, nor did he forget that, when young, a pretty face and
+a fine figure had seemed extremely bewitching things. He was liberal
+in all his views, except in the matter of betting. To that vice he
+would give no quarter whatever. He never once sought to restrain his
+son's reading, and Alfred had a latchkey almost as soon as he was tall
+enough to reach the keyhole. Although he did not smoke himself, he saw
+no objection to others, his son included, smoking in suitable places,
+and with moderation. He did not exclude shilling whist from his code,
+although he never played. He rarely went out after dinner now, but
+when he made his mind up to move, he did not think there was anything
+unbecoming in his visiting a theatre--the _front_ of a theatre, mind
+you, sir. He supposed and believed there were many excellent men
+behind the scenes, and he did not feel himself called upon to say
+that the majority of the ladies were not all that could be desired;
+but--ah, well, he would be very sorry--it would, in fact, break his
+heart if either of his daughters--Madge, for instance--went upon the
+stage.
+
+With the latter part of this somewhat long-winded speech Jerry
+heartily concurred. He felt furious and full of strength when he
+fancied Madge behind the curtain, subjected to dictation and
+uncongenial associations, not to speak of anything more disagreeable
+still. There were nasty draughts and nasty smells, and nasty ropes and
+nasty dust, and sometimes the carefully-attuned ear might catch a
+nasty word. It was blasphemy to think of Madge in such an atmosphere,
+amid such surroundings. And then fancy any "young man" of fifty-six
+putting his arm round Madge, and administering even a stage kiss to
+his darling! The thing was preposterous, and not to be entertained by
+any sane mind.
+
+Coffee was sent into the dining-room, and the whole household retired
+early.
+
+Alfred's reflections that night were the reverse of pleasant. He had
+that day seen the woman he loved. She had come before his eyes as
+unsought as the flowery pageant of summer. She had filled his heart
+with tropical heat, had set fancy dancing in his head, and restored
+strength and vigour to his invalid body. He had, before the moment his
+eyes rested on her that day, been satisfied with the hope of seeing
+her in weeks, months. She had come voluntarily, no doubt, without
+special thought of him, to their home; she had once more accepted
+their hospitality, and he and O'Brien were to accompany her to
+Ireland. They would not travel together, but he should know she was
+near--know she was in the same train, in the same steamboat; they
+should meet frequently on the journey, and, crowning thought of all,
+they had one common destination!
+
+He had that day spent some delicious minutes in her company. While she
+was by he had forgotten his late illness, his present weakness. The
+immediate moment had been filled with incommunicable joy, and the
+future with splendid happiness.
+
+What had befallen all this dream of enchantment? Ruin--ruin complete
+and irreparable! She was, owing to some secret and mysterious cause or
+other, no longer rich. In her own estimation she was a pauper. That
+was little. If that was all, it could be borne with a smile--nay, with
+gratitude; for riches would act as a lure to other men, and he wanted
+only herself and, if it might come in time, her love.
+
+She had determined to go upon the stage. That was bad--entirely bad;
+but if this evil resolve stood alone, it might be combated. If she had
+determined merely with herself to follow the profession of an actress,
+she might be persuaded to abandon her design. But the unfortunate
+course she had made up her mind to follow had been suggested by Blake,
+by an old lover who years ago was dear to her, and now was absolute in
+her counsels. This put an end to every hope that she could ever be
+his.
+
+Oh, weary day, and wearier night!
+
+If he could, he would back out of going to Ireland; but that was now
+impossible. Under the pressure of his great joy, he had told O'Brien
+of his love for Mrs. Davenport, and all arrangements had, at his
+request, been made for their setting off to-morrow. She must go
+to-morrow. While there is life there is hope. He was hoping against
+hope; but accidents did happen in many cases, and might happen in this
+one. No man was bound to despair; in fact, despair was cowardly and
+unmanly. It was the duty of every man to hope, and he would hope. He
+would go to Ireland to-morrow; he would put his chance against
+Blake's. If this disappointment were to kill him or drive him mad, he
+might as well enjoy the pleasure of being near her until his health or
+mind gave way finally.
+
+When he came to this decision he fell asleep.
+
+Next day broke chill and dismal, and none of the folk at Carlingford
+House seemed lively except Edith. Mrs. Paulton was depressed because
+her only son was going away from home and into a country of which she
+had a vague and unfavourable notion. O'Brien was sulky at the thought
+of being torn from the side of Madge, now that he might talk freely to
+her of love and their prospects, and the brutal Commissioners. Mrs.
+Davenport was depressed by a variety of circumstances and
+considerations, and Alfred had much to make him anything but cheerful.
+Mr. Paulton's seriousness--that was the strongest word which could
+fairly be applied to his humour--was due to the dulness of the
+weather, and a depreciation in the value of some shares held by him.
+
+During the day each of the travellers was more or less busy with
+preparations. Mrs. Davenport had to go to town early in order to
+transact business she had neglected the day before. Alfred stayed
+mostly in his room, and O'Brien, far from sweet-tempered, managed,
+through the unsought contrivance of Edith, to be a whole hour alone
+with Madge.
+
+"You know," he said to her, when preliminaries had been disposed of,
+"it's a beastly nuisance to have to go away from you now. I'd much
+rather stop, I assure you."
+
+"You are very kind."
+
+"Don't be satirical, Madge. No woman ever yet showed to advantage when
+satirical. I say it's a great shame to have to go away, particularly
+when it's only to save appearances; for now that Blake has once more
+come on the scene, all is up with poor Alfred. Upon my word, Madge, I
+pity him."
+
+"Do you like her, Jerry?"
+
+"No. I like you. I like you very much. You're not a humbug."
+
+"Is she?"
+
+"No. But she's too awfully serious. I cannot help thinking she ought
+to do everything to the slow music of kettledrums."
+
+"Why kettle-drums?"
+
+"I don't know. I suppose it's because the concerted kettle-drum
+is the most bald and arid form of harmonious row. I'm afraid my
+language is neither select nor expressive. But one can't help one's
+feelings--particularly when one's feelings make one like you. I really
+am sorry to have to leave you."
+
+"But you mustn't blame me for that."
+
+"Now you are quite unreasonable. You must know that a man without a
+grievance is as insipid as a woman without vanity."
+
+"Jerry, I'm not a bit vain; I never was a bit vain. What could I be
+vain about?"
+
+"Ungrateful girl! Have I not laid my hand and fortune, including the
+bodies of the murdered Commissioners, at your feet?"
+
+"You are silly, Jerry."
+
+"How am I silly? In having laid my hand and fortune and the
+bodies----"
+
+"No. In talking such nonsense."
+
+"And you are not vain of having made a conquest of me?"
+
+"Jerry, I'm very fond of you, and I don't like you to talk to me as if
+you thought I was only a silly girl whom you were trying to amuse with
+any silly things you could think of. I hope you don't believe I'm a
+fool?"
+
+"No. You are right, Madge: it's a poor compliment for a man to talk
+mere tattle to his sweetheart. I wonder, darling, if you would give me
+a keepsake, now that I am going away?"
+
+"No. I have no faith in keepsakes. I would not take any keepsake from
+you, because I shall need nothing to remind me of you when you are
+away."
+
+"Darling, nor I of you. And if things go wrong with me?"
+
+"They can't go wrong with you."
+
+"I mean if I come off worse in these business affairs."
+
+"That will not make any difference in you."
+
+"No. Nor in you, darling?"
+
+"No."
+
+He held her in his arms a while, and said no more. Thus they parted.
+
+It had been arranged that the two men should meet Mrs. Davenport at
+Euston. They were on the platform when she arrived. To their surprise
+she was not alone: Blake accompanied her. As soon as they came forward
+he shook hands with her, raised his hat, and retired.
+
+O'Brien and Paulton were greatly taken aback by Blake's presence. They
+busied themselves about her luggage, and then took seats in the same
+compartment with her. They were the only passengers in the
+compartment.
+
+As soon as the train was in motion she leaned forward to O'Brien, and
+said in a clear, distinct voice, the edge of which was not dulled by
+the rumble of the wheels:
+
+"You arrived the day before yesterday from Ireland?"
+
+"Yes," he answered, bending forward and looking into her inscrutable
+eyes.
+
+"You have been at Kilcash?"
+
+"Yes. I was there for about a month."
+
+"Did you hear a ghost story there?"
+
+He started and looked seriously at her.
+
+"Yes, I did. May I ask if you have heard anything about it?"
+
+"Yes. When I got back to Jermyn Street where I stayed, I found a
+letter there telling me that a ghost, the ghost of a man named Michael
+Fahey, had been seen in the neighbourhood of Kilcash."
+
+"At the Black Rock. I was going to tell the story yesterday at dinner,
+but it slipped by."
+
+"Do you know anything of this--apparition?"
+
+"I saw it myself, and two others saw it."
+
+"Where do we stop first?"
+
+"At Rugby."
+
+She took a note-book from her pocket, and wrote something in it. When
+the writing was finished, she tore out the leaf on which it was, and
+handed the leaf to O'Brien, saying:
+
+"Will you be kind enough to telegraph this from Rugby for me?"
+
+"It will have to be written on a form," he said, hesitatingly.
+
+"Will you oblige by writing it on a form for me? There is no reason
+why you shouldn't read it."
+
+When he got out at Rugby he read the message. It was addressed to
+Blake, and ran:
+
+"_Mr. O'Brien saw what I told you. Follow me to Ireland at once_."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+                           THE TRAVELLERS.
+
+
+It was impossible for O'Brien to tell Alfred the nature of the
+telegram he had just despatched to Blake. It would not be seemly to
+whisper or to write, and to leave the compartment with the proclaimed
+intention of seeking a smoking carriage would be a transparent device.
+There was nothing for it but to sit still and keep silent.
+
+The three travellers settled themselves in their corners, and
+pretended to go to sleep. Each had thoughts of an absorbing nature,
+but none had anything exceptionally happy with which to beguile the
+dreary midnight journey. It was impossible to see if Mrs. Davenport
+slept or not. She had, upon settling herself after leaving Rugby,
+pulled down her thick veil over her face, and remained quite
+motionless. Young Paulton was not yet as strong as he imagined, and
+the monotonous sound and motion soon fatigued him, and he fell asleep.
+
+Although O'Brien kept his eyes resolutely shut he never felt more
+wakeful in his life.
+
+What on earth could this woman want with this man of most blemished
+reputation and desperate fortune? She had seen him lately, and he had
+told her something of the mysterious appearance near the Puffing Hole;
+but it was not until after they had started from Euston that she had
+made up her mind to summon him to Ireland. What could she want him
+for? She was, according to her own statement, now no longer rich. She
+was no longer young. The best years of her beauty had passed away. No
+doubt she was still an extremely beautiful woman, but the freshness
+was gone. As far as he knew, Blake was the last man in the world to
+marry such a woman. And yet there was some secret bond, some concealed
+link between them. He was not unjust to her. He did not believe she
+would inveigle any man into a marriage, and he could not understand
+why this Blake was now even tolerable to her.
+
+However matters might go, it looked as if Alfred were certain to
+suffer. It was quite plain he was madly in love with her, and that she
+did not see, or was indifferent to his passion. She was not a
+coquette. She showed no desire to claim indulgence because of her sex
+or sorrows, and certainly exacted no privilege as a tribute to her
+beauty. To him she seemed hard, mechanical, cold. She had, it is true,
+broken down the day before, but that was under extreme pressure.
+Usually she was as unsympathetic, self-contained as bronze.
+
+Jerry was not a fool or a bigot, and he allowed to himself, with
+perfect candour, that although he looked on Alfred's passion as
+infatuation, he could understand it. He himself was no more in love
+with her than with the black night through which they were speeding;
+but if she, at that moment, raised her veil and stood before him and
+bade him undertake something unpleasant--nay, dangerous--he would
+essay it. Strength gives command to a man, beauty to a woman, love to
+either.
+
+At Chester the three got coffee, and once more took up their corners
+and affected to sleep or slept.
+
+When they reached the boat at Holyhead, Mrs. Davenport said good-night
+and descended to the ladies' cabin. The two friends got on the bridge,
+and as soon as the steamer had started O'Brien took Paulton to the
+weather bulwark, and told him the substance of the telegram Mrs.
+Davenport had sent to London.
+
+To O'Brien's astonishment, the younger man made nothing of the matter.
+It was simply a business affair, he said: nothing of any moment. From
+all they had heard, Blake knew more than they had supposed of the dead
+man's affairs; and now that Mrs. Davenport had resolved not to take
+the fortune her husband had left her, it was almost certain Blake
+could be of assistance to her.
+
+After a little while it was agreed that the bridge was too cold for
+Alfred, so both men went below and lay down. O'Brien fell asleep, and
+did not awake until he was called close to Kingstown.
+
+It was a dreary, cold, bleak morning, with thin sunlight. There had
+been rain in the night, and everything looked chill and depressing.
+The passage had been smooth, and none of the three had suffered by it
+beyond the spiritless depression arising from imperfect rest and
+fatigue.
+
+When they alighted at Westland Row, Jerry suggested that they should
+send on their luggage to the King's Bridge terminus, and seek
+breakfast.
+
+"Not my luggage," said Mrs. Davenport; "I am not going to Kilcash
+to-day. Kindly get me a cab. I will stay at the 'Tourists' Hotel.' I
+have telegraphed, as you know, to Mr. Blake to come over, and will
+send him word to meet me there. I am extremely obliged to both of you
+for all your kindnesses on the way."
+
+Alfred started, and Jerry looked surprised.
+
+"You are," the latter said, "quite sure you prefer staying here. Of
+course I do not presume to interfere; but perhaps it might be more
+convenient for you, Mrs. Davenport, if Mr. Blake followed you to
+Kilcash?"
+
+"I am quite sure," she said, decisively, "that it would be best for me
+to stay in Dublin for the present."
+
+"If you simply wanted rest, we could wait for you a day or two," said
+Alfred, out of whose face all look of animation had gone.
+
+"Thank you, I am not in the least tired; and if you will get me a cab,
+and tell the man to drive me to the 'Tourists', you will greatly
+oblige me."
+
+Nothing more was to be done or said. Her luggage was put on a cab, she
+again thanked the two friends, and saying she hoped to have an
+opportunity of soon seeing them at Kilcash House, said goodbye to
+them, and drove away.
+
+Alfred and Jerry O'Brien got breakfast, drove to the King's Bridge
+terminus, and started for the South in no very good humour.
+
+"It's always the way," thought the latter, despondingly. "Only for the
+infernal Commissioners and O'Hanlon's craze about his brain--bless the
+mark!--I need not have left London last month. Only for Alfred's
+infatuated impatience and his father's vicarious gallantry, I might be
+there now; and here are the Commissioners gone to sleep, O'Hanlon's
+head good for nothing, any number of future bills of costs, and we
+deserted by the object of young love and elderly gallantry! Upon my
+word, it's too bad. If O'Hanlon had only had the good sense to murder
+the Commissioners while suffering from temporary or permanent
+insanity, and Blake owned the good taste to run away with the
+widow--why, then, things would be wholesome and comfortable. As it is,
+they are simply-beastly."
+
+The two friends arrived late that night at the "Strand Hotel,"
+Kilcash, and went to bed almost immediately. Neither rose early next
+morning, but when they did get up, they found the weather magically
+improved. A few high silver clouds floated against the deep blue
+screen of sky, beyond which one knew the stars lay; for the grass and
+bare branches of trees flashed and blazed, not with the yellow light
+of the gaudy sun, but with rays that seemed glorious memories of
+midnight stars. The sea in the bay was calm as a lake, and joined upon
+the level margin of the sand smoothly, like a steady white flame
+spreading out from a dull-red lake of fire. The doors of the cottages
+were open, and people were abroad. Thin wreaths of smoke went up from
+hushed hearths. Hundreds of gulls sailed slowly up and down across the
+mouth of the bay. Now a dog barked, now a cock crew, now a wild bird
+whistled.
+
+Opposite Alfred, as he stood at his window, drinking in the peace of
+the scene, rose the sloping sides of the bay. On them were sheep
+grazing. Here the salt blasts from the Atlantic would let no wheat or
+oats, or grain of any other kind, prosper. Nothing would grow but
+short, poor grass, on which sheep picked up an humble livelihood. The
+harvest fields of Kilcash were beyond the bay, out there on the blue
+depths of the ocean, that great cosmopolitan common of the races of
+man.
+
+Little labour was ever to be done in Kilcash. Its farms, its
+workshops, its mines were in the sea. No child, until he himself went
+to sea, ever saw his father work. The men came home not merely to
+their houses, but to the village to rest. When they had hauled up
+their boats, and carried away the nets and sails and oars and masts,
+their labours were at an end. The women bore the fish up to the Storm
+Wall, whence it was thrown into carts and creels, and driven off to
+Kilbarry. The visitors who came to the place in summer did not work.
+They came avowedly to do nothing--to idle through the sunny weather,
+to play at fishing, play at boating, play at swimming, to make grave
+business of doing nothing.
+
+"I feel it doing me good already," said Alfred, as he threw up the
+window and spread his chest broad to take a full inspiration of the
+invigorating, balsamic air.
+
+After a late breakfast the two friends strolled out.
+
+"What shall we do to-day?" said Jerry, lighting a cigar.
+
+"What is there to be done?" asked Alfred, by way of reply.
+
+"Nothing," answered Jerry, throwing away the match--"absolutely
+nothing. It is because there is nothing to be done here I thought the
+place would do you good."
+
+"Not by way of change?" said Alfred, with a smile.
+
+"Well, doing nothing at Kilcash is very different from doing nothing
+in London. There you get up, eat breakfast, look at the morning
+papers, yawn over a book; write three notes to say you have no time to
+write a letter; wonder what the earlier portion of the day was
+intended for; resolve to go to bed early that night so as to find out
+the secret; dress; go out nowhere, anywhere; make a call on a person
+whom you don't want to see, and who doesn't want to see you; curse
+yourself for being so stupid as to look him up, and him for being so
+stupid as not to amuse you; buy a hairbrush you don't want; wonder
+where people can be going in hansoms at such an hour, and can't find
+out for the life of you where you could go in a hansom at that time,
+except to the British Museum, or Tower, or National Gallery, or some
+other place no respectable person ever yet went to; drop into a club
+for luncheon, and find that no one you ever saw before lunches at the
+club, and that those who do are intensely disagreeable; stroll into
+the park; pick up two dear old boys, who have been looking for you
+everywhere to tell you about something or other that makes you swear;
+back to the club to dinner, where you meet every man you care for, and
+dine; after dinner go somewhere or other--to Brown's, for instance, or
+to the theatre, or to see the performing Mastodon; afterwards cards or
+billiards, and bed at half-past two or three."
+
+"That's rather a full and exhausting programme for an idle day. It
+isn't much good here. What do you do here a day you do nothing?"
+
+"Nothing. Whether it's a busy or an idle day with you here, you can't
+do anything, except you get books and go in for the exact sciences.
+You couldn't buy a morning paper here for a sovereign, or a pack of
+cards for a hundred pounds. The hotel does not take in a paper at this
+time of the year, and only three come to the village--one each to the
+clergymen, and one to the police barracks. The garrison of the
+barracks is six men and a bull-terrier. There's no one to look at
+here, and no one to call on, except the echoes, which at this time of
+the year are uncommonly surly, not to say scurrilous. There is no
+fish, as the fish have all gone away on business; they come here only
+to stare at the summer visitors. The only thing one can do here is
+smoke--provided you don't buy the tobacco in the village."
+
+"And walk?" asked Alfred. "Cannot one walk here?"
+
+"Yes, mostly. Not always, though; for when it rains here you have to
+swim, and when it blows here, you have to fly."
+
+"But to-day, for instance, we can walk."
+
+O'Brien looked aloft, looked down in the light wind, and then out to
+sea.
+
+"Yes, I think it will keep fine."
+
+"Well, then, let us walk."
+
+"But I forgot to tell you there is no place to walk to."
+
+"Oh, yes, there is. I know more of the neighbourhood than you, short a
+time as I have been here."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Kilcash House. Jerry, don't laugh or don't abuse me. I can't help it.
+Let me see where she lived--where she will live again."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+                         SOLICITOR AND CLIENT.
+
+
+When Mrs. Davenport reached the "Tourists' Hotel," she asked to be
+shown into a private sitting-room. She had slept in the boat, and was
+in no need of repose. In reply to the servant, she desired breakfast
+to be brought, and asked for writing materials. She wrote out a
+telegram to Blake: "I am staying at the 'Tourists', and shall await
+you here." She wrote a couple of notes of no consequence, and then
+breakfasted. At the very earliest Blake could not reach Dublin until
+that evening. In the meantime she would go and see her late husband's
+solicitor, Mr. Vincent Lonergan.
+
+The old attorney received Mrs. Davenport with the most elaborate
+courtesy. He was tall, round-shouldered, white-haired, white-bearded,
+fresh-coloured, slow, oracular. He congratulated himself on meeting
+her for the first time, and fished up phrases of sympathy and
+condolence out of his inner consciousness, as though he was the first
+man in the world who had ever to refer to such matters. Then he
+paused, partly that his elaborate commonplaces might have time to sink
+into her mind, and partly that she might have time to collect her
+thoughts and bring her mind to the business of her visit.
+
+"May I ask you," she said, "how long you acted as solicitor to my late
+husband?"
+
+"About twelve years, I think. I can tell you exactly if you desire
+it."
+
+"I will not trouble you for the exact date. During those twelve years
+you were well acquainted with all Mr. Davenport's affairs, I dare
+say?"
+
+"With the legal aspect of his affairs, yes. With the business aspect
+of his affairs, no."
+
+"You know that he made large sums of money by speculating in foreign
+stocks and shares?"
+
+"I do not _know_ it. I have heard it."
+
+"From whom have you heard it?"
+
+"From several people--himself among the number."
+
+She paused a moment, and then said: "Your words seem to imply a doubt.
+You will, I am certain, give me all the information you can?"
+
+"Assuredly, my dear lady."
+
+"Then do you not know that he made his money out of foreign
+speculations?"
+
+"Permit me to explain: I did not intend to imply any doubt as to the
+way in which the late Mr. Davenport made his money. We solicitors get
+into a legal way of talking when we are at business; and, legally
+speaking, I have no knowledge of my own of how the late Mr. Davenport
+made his money, because the making of the money did not come directly
+under my observation. I _do_ know he told me he made it in foreign
+speculations, and I think you will be quite safe in taking it that he
+did make it abroad. We are now, as I take it, speaking of the time
+before your marriage with Mr. Davenport?"
+
+"Yes, of the time before my marriage."
+
+"Since then, you would naturally know more of his business affairs
+than I."
+
+"He spoke little to me of business, and I know hardly anything of his
+affairs."
+
+"As you know, you are largely benefited under the will. Roughly
+speaking, all his property goes to you, in addition to what you are
+entitled to under the marriage settlement."
+
+She made a slight gesture, as though putting these subjects aside.
+
+He made an elaborate gesture, indicating that he understood her, and
+that he was her obedient, humble servant. After another pause she
+asked:
+
+"Do you know anything of a man named Fahey--a man who was in some way
+or other connected with Mr. Davenport, and who was drowned or
+committed suicide many years ago, shortly after Mr. Davenport's
+marriage?"
+
+"Fahey--Fahey--Fahey? Yes, I do. I remember that he drowned himself
+near Kilcash House because the police were on his track for uttering
+forged bank-notes."
+
+"Do you know in what relation he stood to Mr. Davenport?"
+
+"I am under the impression he was some kind of humble hanger-on; but I
+am not sure."
+
+"You _know_ nothing of him?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Never saw him?"
+
+"Not to my knowledge."
+
+Another pause.
+
+"You were good enough to tell me a moment ago that you are acquainted
+with the legal business of my late husband. Suppose I did not wish to
+take any money or property under my late husband's will, how would the
+matter be?"
+
+"Not take your husband's money or property under the will! You are
+not, my dear Mrs. Davenport, thinking of anything so monstrous?" cried
+the old man, fairly surprised out of his measured tone and oracular
+manner.
+
+"Suppose I am. Have I, or shall I soon have, absolute control over
+what has been left to me?"
+
+"Certainly. There are no conditions. All will be yours absolutely."
+
+"Thank you. I am very much obliged. You will add further to my
+obligations to you if you will kindly hurry forward all matters in
+connection with the will. I am most anxious to have the money in my
+own hands."
+
+"Permit me to explain once more: I take it for granted you have not
+had leisure to read the copy of the will I forwarded to you?"
+
+She bowed.
+
+"In wills there are often very stupid conditions and provisions which
+govern the disposal of the property. In this case there are no
+conditions or provisions, so that you enter into possession quite
+untrammelled. You understand me when I say quite untrammelled?"
+
+"I understand."
+
+"So that if at any time it seemed well to you to----" He stopped. She
+had begun to rise, and he did not know whether it would be wise to
+complete the sentence or not.
+
+She stood before him holding out her hand as she finished what he had
+begun--"To marry again I should run no risk of forfeiting the money."
+
+"Precisely."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"Thank you. I am a little tired, and am not able to express my sense
+of your goodness to me during this interview. But I am, I assure you,
+grateful. I am not thinking of marriage. You will, I hope, be able to
+get everything into order soon. I must go now. Good-bye."
+
+He saw her into the cab waiting for her at the door, and then walked
+back to his private office.
+
+"A remarkable woman," he mused, "a remarkable and very fine woman. But
+I suppose she's mad. There's a screw loose in the heads of the
+Davenport family, and 'Evil communications corrupt good manners.'
+Perhaps she took the taint from him. There was no screw loose in his
+business head. He was as sharp as razors, and as close as wax. I think
+she's mad, or perhaps she's only a rogue. I suspect his money was not
+over clean, but that's no affair of mine. She married Davenport, every
+one said, for his money. She lived with him all these years for his
+money, every one said--although, for the life of me, I can't see what
+good it did him or her; and now he's gone, and the money is all hers,
+and she talks of doing away with it. Oh, she must be mad, for I don't
+see where the roguery could come in, unless--unless---- Ah, that may
+be it. By Jove, I'm sure that's it! Byron says, 'Believe a woman or an
+epitaph?' But he didn't mean it. Byron hardly ever meant what he said,
+and never what he wrote. It's a pity he never turned his attention to
+law. He never, as far as my reading has gone, did anything with law
+except to break all of it he could lay his hands on--civil and
+divine--especially divine, for that's cheap, and he was poor. She's a
+very fine woman, though. But what is this I was saying? Oh, yes. The
+only explanation of her conduct is that Blake, the blackguard Blake,
+has asked her, or is going to ask her, to marry him, and that she
+wants to test him by saying she is about to give away all her money to
+charitable institutions. That's the root of the mystery. And then,
+when she marries him, she'll throw all the money into his lap, and
+he'll spend it for her, and gamble it away and beat her. Anyway, he
+can't make quite a pauper of her, for even she herself can't destroy
+her marriage settlement, and the trustees won't stand any nonsense.
+_Always_ 'believe a woman _and_ an epitaph.' I wonder what kind of an
+epitaph will she put up to Davenport? Something about his name always
+reminding her of him--that she couldn't stand it, and so had to change
+it."
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+                 THE WIDOW'S THEORY OF THE CASE.
+
+
+When Mrs. Davenport got back to the hotel, she inquired if any
+telegram had come for her, and was told not. She seemed displeased,
+disappointed. She asked questions, and discovered that it would be
+next to impossible that her telegram could reach London before the
+departure of the morning mail. This put things right, for she felt
+certain that if Blake got her message he would have replied. He was on
+his way, and would be in Dublin that evening. In Dublin, yes; but how
+should he know where to seek her? She spoke to the manager, to whom
+she explained her difficulty.
+
+If the lady telegraphed to the mail-boat at Holyhead, the gentleman
+would be sure to get the message.
+
+She thanked the manager, and adopted his suggestion. The day was
+unpleasant under foot and overhead. There were no friends upon whom
+she wished to call. The ten years of secluded life at Kilcash House
+had severed all connection with old acquaintances, and she had made no
+new ones.
+
+She remained by herself in the sitting-room. She did not even try to
+read. She sat in the window, and kept her eyes turned towards the busy
+street. It could not be said she watched the crowds and vehicles, or
+was even conscious of their existence. She kept her eyes in their
+direction--that was all.
+
+Luncheon was brought in. She sat at the table for a quarter of an
+hour, ate something, and then went back to the old place at the
+window. It was dark before dinner appeared, but she did not ring for
+lights. When dinner was over, it was close to the time for the arrival
+of the mail. She put on her bonnet, and went to Westland Row terminus.
+The weather was still unpleasant, but she did not care, did not heed
+it. She had not long to wait in that dismal, squalid cavern at the
+foot of the stone steps leading down from the platform. The train
+rumbled in, and the passengers began to descend and pass between the
+double row of people. Suddenly she stepped forward and touched a man
+on the arm. He turned quickly, and looked at her, exclaiming:
+
+"You here, Marion! I got your telegram on the boat."
+
+"I was afraid it might miss you, so I thought it safer to come
+myself."
+
+"What extraordinary story is this? I can scarcely believe you were
+serious when you wired me yesterday from Rugby."
+
+"I was in no humour for jesting," she said. "This is no place to talk
+in. Wait until we get to the hotel."
+
+When they were seated in Mrs. Davenport's sitting-room, he waited for
+her to speak. She was in the arm of the couch--he by the table, with
+his elbow resting on it. They were facing one another. She clasped her
+hands in her lap and rested against the back of the couch. She was
+deadly pale, and when she spoke her voice was low, firm, and full of
+thought.
+
+"I want you to tell me _all_ you know about this man Fahey. Mind, you
+are to tell me all. There is no use in concealing anything now. I will
+not take a penny of that money. Speak plainly."
+
+"Not take the money, Marion! Are you mad?" he exclaimed, starting
+forward on his chair.
+
+"Not yet. The future of my reason will depend a good deal on the
+plainness of your speech. Go on."
+
+"But I have told you all that is worth telling."
+
+"Tell it to me all over again, and this time add everything, great or
+little, you can think of, you can recollect. Let me judge what is
+worth listening to, and what is not. I am waiting."
+
+"I know next to nothing of Fahey, and never saw the man in all my
+life. You are allowing this absurd story of his ghost to prey on you.
+You will make yourself ill."
+
+"Nothing is so bad as uncertainty. I am racked by uncertainty. Go on
+if you wish to do me a service."
+
+"Service! I'd die for your sake, Marion."
+
+"Then speak for my sake." She did not move or show any interest one
+way or the other in his words, although they had been spoken
+pleadingly, passionately.
+
+"At Florence, when he was seized by that delusion, he raved now and
+then, and in his ravings he said continually that there was a plot to
+rob and murder him. He did not include me in the conspiracy, but all
+others were leagued against him. At times he would become furious, and
+defy his imaginary foes, swearing that all of them together were
+powerless against him, as Fahey was loyal, and would be loyal to the
+death."
+
+"Loyal in what?"
+
+"I don't know. He did not say in either his sane or frantic moments."
+
+"What _did_ he say?"
+
+"That Fahey knew, but that no power on earth would drag the secret out
+of Fahey."
+
+"What secret?"
+
+"How should I know?"
+
+"Do you know?"
+
+"Upon my soul, Marion, I do not."
+
+"Well, and after that what would happen?"
+
+"He would laugh and snap his fingers at imaginary conspirators, and
+dare them to do their worst, and then he would break out into a laugh
+of triumph. And, as I hope to live, Marion, that's all."
+
+"Every word?"
+
+"Every syllable, I swear to you. Marion, I could not tell you a lie.
+Marion, I never loved you until now. If you bid me, I will die for
+you. If you tell me, I will go away and never see you again. Try me.
+Bid me go or bid me die. Tell me to do anything, if you will only
+believe I love you as I never loved you before--as I never loved any
+other woman in the world. Since you will not forgive me, since you
+will not give me your love for mine, since you will not let me be near
+you or see you, set me something to do by which I can show you I am
+sincere--madly in earnest."
+
+He bent towards her, and held out his hands, but did not leave his
+chair. His voice, his whole frame shook with excitement.
+
+She raised her hand and lowered it gently, as a signal that he was to
+be still and silent.
+
+He drew his arms and his body quickly back, and sat mutely regarding
+her.
+
+"I am sorry," she said, slowly, gently, "that you spoke in that strain
+now. This is not the time for such matters----"
+
+"Then a time may come, Marion--a time may come soon or late? I do not
+care when----"
+
+"No," she answered, quietly, resolutely.
+
+"That time came and went long ago. Be silent on that subject. I want
+to speak of long ago."
+
+He groaned, and struck his forehead with his clenched fist.
+
+"It was scarcely fair of me to ask you to come. Will you answer my
+questions?"
+
+"Ask me what you please. I'll do it. The only hope now left to me is
+that you will allow me to serve you."
+
+"My next question may be, must be painful to you."
+
+He laughed bitterly.
+
+"That does not matter. Nothing can matter now, except feeling I can be
+of no use to you."
+
+"What means of influence had you over my husband beyond what I knew
+of?"
+
+"I am not in the least pained by that question. I was a poor idiotic
+fool to give you up, but I could not support you if I married you on
+my own means then. I had no means. But still less could I, vile as I
+was, marry you on money got from him."
+
+"What influence had you?"
+
+"I had only one spell to conjure with."
+
+"And that was?"
+
+"The name of Fahey."
+
+"How did you employ that name?"
+
+"I said to him once, 'Is Fahey still loyal?' I said it half in jest.
+We were alone. He begged of me never to mention that name again, as it
+recalled his awful condition in Florence. He said if I would do him
+the favour of never referring to that circumstance or name, he would
+be my life-long debtor--adding: 'And I mean what I say, and that it
+shall have practical results.'"
+
+"He meant money."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Was that before or after he gave you the thousand pounds?"
+
+"Before--some months before. But now-poor Davenport is no more, and
+cannot be hurt by any one. And Fahey is dead, and can hurt no one,
+though foolish old women frighten themselves with the thought that
+they have seen his ghost. Did you know this Fahey?"
+
+She shuddered. This was the first sign of feeling she showed. What it
+sprang from he could not guess.
+
+"I did," she answered, unsteadily.
+
+"And you believe this story about the ghost?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"That"--with another shudder--"he is alive."
+
+"Alive, Marion--alive! You are overexcited. You are talking nonsense.
+Go and lie down. You are worn out."
+
+"I am. I feel my head whirling round. Leave me."
+
+He rose obediently to go.
+
+"My mind is giving way, Tom."
+
+That name spoken by her lips again rooted him to the spot.
+
+"They suspected you, Tom, of that awful deed, and they say he did it
+himself. I am going mad. Surely this is madness."
+
+"What--what! Marion!"
+
+"And now I suspect--_him!_"
+
+"Whom, in the name of heaven?"
+
+"Fahey. He was jealous of you both. Why did you put out the
+lights----"
+
+She tottered!
+
+
+
+
+                           CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+                "WHERE'ER I CAME I BROUGHT CALAMITY."
+
+
+Tom Blake was thunderstruck. They were both standing facing one
+another a few feet apart. Blake was not a man to be disturbed by a
+trifle. He had been a good deal about in the world, and had had
+experience of various kinds of men and women. Many years ago he had
+met this woman frequently, and in the end he made love to her.
+Although she accepted that love and returned it, she had never taken
+him fully into her confidence.
+
+In Marion Butler, as he knew her eleven or twelve years ago, there had
+always been a certain undefined reserve. She would not refuse to
+answer any question put to her, nor was there a doubt she answered
+truly and fully. But she always created the impression that there were
+questions which he could not devise or discover, and the answer to
+which he was in no way prepared for. He had no idea or hint of what
+these questions might be. He was in no way uneasy about them. He was
+convinced there were portions of her nature which would always be
+concealed from him; but he was not jealous or suspicious. He was not
+then even slightly disquieted by this blankness, this reticence. It
+had no more meaning for him than would her native tongue, had she been
+born a Hindoo and laid that language aside for English. She had told
+him she had never loved any one but him, and he believed her without
+the possibility of doubt. She promised to be his wife, and he believed
+she would have stood at the altar with him though death were his rival
+for the first kiss.
+
+But now he was amazed, confounded. He had never seen the man Fahey,
+but he had heard and read in the papers a little about him, and from
+all he had gathered he fancied Fahey was a kind of upper servant or
+hanger-on of some kind. Davenport had spoken to him of Fahey, but the
+talk had been very general and vague, except with regard to the
+conspiracy, and the former man always showed the greatest possible
+disinclination to hear anything, or be asked any questions relating to
+the latter. Blake had never run the risk of riding a free horse to
+death. He got money in large sums from Mr. Davenport, but he had been
+judicious. There was nothing so low or coarse as blackmail hinted at
+by Mr. Davenport. That gentleman and he were excellent friends, and he
+had had bad luck, or was in want of money for some other cause, and
+when men became alarmed about money matters, although they were quite
+innocent, they often did foolish things. Look at that idiot Fahey. So
+Mr. Davenport, because he was a gentleman and a friend of Blake's,
+gave him money out of mere courtesy and good nature, and not fear, as
+one gives to a strange fellow-pedestrian on the footway when the
+stranger carries a load. There was no more hint of threat or dread of
+fear in the case of Mr. Davenport's offering the money, or of Blake
+taking it, than in the case of the meeting of two unacquainted
+wayfarers.
+
+He had thought nothing the widow could tell him would take him by
+surprise, and here he now was fairly breathless and amazed. There was
+no doubt in his mind this Fahey had not been the social equal of
+Marion Butler, and Blake was of opinion the man's origin had been much
+lower than Mr. Davenport's, though whence the dead man had sprung he
+did not exactly know. Kilcash House had not always been the dead man's
+property. He had bought it only a little while before his marriage.
+Davenport seemed to be a man accustomed to meet men only. He was not
+by any means at his ease in an ordinary mixed company, and he had
+explained this to Blake by saying that until comparatively late in
+life he had been almost wholly a business man and unaccustomed to the
+society of ladies.
+
+But now what ghastly light shone on the dire tragedy of the Crescent
+House in Dulwich! What a wonderful revelation was this! Fahey, the
+humble follower of the dead man, had been an admirer of the dead man's
+wife; and he who had been declared dead a decade of years ago was by
+her believed to be living, and to have been connected directly with
+her husband's death! No wonder he was giddy. No wonder he could find
+no words to speak to her. No wonder he could only stand and gaze at
+her in stupid fear, revolving in a dim light the ghostly pageant of
+the past.
+
+It was she who broke the silence.
+
+"I wish I were dead!"
+
+Her voice recalled him to her presence and the immediate hour. He took
+her by the hand, led her to a seat, and began pacing up and down the
+room without speaking.
+
+"Advise me," she went on, after a pause. "Advise me, out of mercy. If
+I were dead, there would be no lips to tell, no soul to suspect the
+horrors by which I am haunted. Advise me. You know more of me than any
+other living being. Shall I die?"
+
+Still he could not speak. Her question came to his ears as though it
+were something apart from her personality and his consideration--as
+though it were a tedious impertinence rising from an indifferent
+source. Although he knew he was in that room with the widow of Louis
+Davenport, and that she had just said she believed Fahey was alive,
+and had killed her husband from jealousy, he could not give the
+situation substantial form. There were confounding murmurs in his
+ears, and indeterminable shadows floating before his eyes. His mind
+was clamorous for quiet, and the clamour stunned and confounded him.
+
+"Speak to me," she pleaded. "I am not deserted, yet I am alone. I have
+always been alone since I can first remember. Only I myself have
+broken the solitude in which I lived. Once, long ago, I thought you
+were coming towards me from a distance, to share my solitude, but
+you--you--went by. I felt like a castaway on a desolate island, who
+sees a sail bear down upon him in the twilight, only to find the
+morning sea a barren desert of water. Should I die? That is not a hard
+question for you to answer, is it?"
+
+"No; not a hard question, Marion. You must live."
+
+"For what?"
+
+If she had asked this question an hour ago, before she told him her
+horrible suspicions, he would readily have answered, "For me." As it
+was, such an answer would have seemed flippant, profane. But an answer
+of some kind must be made. He could find no answer, and said merely,
+"Give me time."
+
+She sat upright on her chair. One hand and arm rested on the table,
+the white hand lying open upon the leaf, the thumb holding on by the
+edge. Her head and face were thrust forward, her chin projecting, the
+forehead reclining. Her eyes, wide open, followed him closely,
+intently, but not eagerly. She seemed curious, more than anxious. It
+was as though she took but a reflected interest in the question,
+although the reply might govern her action. She waited for him
+patiently. He was a long time before he spoke.
+
+"Marion," he said at length, "if I am to be of any use to you--if even
+my advice is to be of service to you--I must know all--all, without
+reserve of any kind. On the face of it, your question is absurd.
+Supposing you had no code--no religious feeling in the matter; suppose
+you had no fear or hope of the other world, what earthly good could
+come of your doing violence to yourself?--of your throwing away your
+life suddenly?"
+
+While he was saying this, he continued to walk up and down the room,
+with his eyes bent on the floor.
+
+Her eyes had continued to follow him in the same close, intent way.
+Still they lacked eagerness. She was a pupil anxious to know--not an
+enthusiast impatient to act.
+
+"It would," she answered, with no trace of emotion, "close up his
+grave for ever, and give peace to his name."
+
+"Your husband's--your husband's grave and name! Come, Marion, let us
+be frank."
+
+"In what am I uncandid?"
+
+"You did not--you swore at the inquest you did not--love your husband,
+and now you are talking of killing yourself for his sake. Marion, you
+cannot hold such words candid."
+
+He paused in his walk, and stood before her. He looked at her a
+moment, and then averted his gaze. Her eyes, although they rested
+intelligently on him, did not appear to identify him. They were the
+eyes of one occupied with the solution of a mental problem, aided by
+formula of which he was merely the source.
+
+"Thomas Blake," she said, "I once thought you might grow to understand
+me, and then I came to the conclusion you never could. You are now
+further off than ever. Louis Davenport was my husband, and I belonged
+to him. I belong to him still. I swore--as they were good enough to
+remind me at the inquest--to love, honour, and obey him. I did not
+come to love him as women love their husbands, but my feeling towards
+him was whole and loyal. I was his, and I am his; and if my death, now
+that he is dead, can benefit him or comfort his name with quiet, I am
+willing to die. Do not be alarmed. I shall make no unpleasantness
+here. Do you think I am in the way of his rest?"
+
+"Marion, you are talking pure nonsense. Why, your feelings as a
+Christian alone----"
+
+"Who told you I was a Christian? I tell you I am a Pagan. Leave me at
+least the Pagan virtues of courage and fearlessness." She did not
+move.
+
+He looked at her. There could be no doubt she was sincere. Mad as her
+words sounded, they must be taken at the full value of their ordinary
+meaning.
+
+"I will not seek to break down your resolution or turn your purpose
+aside. But before I can be of any real use to you in the way of
+advice, you must trust me wholly. How am I to judge of your duty
+unless I know the entire case? Tell me all you know. Tell me all that
+passed between you and this Fahey, and all you know of the relations
+between him and your husband."
+
+"I will tell you all you need know."
+
+"Do you think you are a good judge of where your confidence in a
+matter of this importance should end?"
+
+"I think I am. At all events, I shall be reticent if I consider it
+better not to speak."
+
+"Well, then, go on, Marion, and tell me all you may. Mind, the more I
+know the more likely I am able to be of use to you."
+
+She passed the hand not resting on the table across her forehead.
+
+"Sit down," she said. "I can speak with greater ease while you are
+sitting."
+
+He took a chair directly opposite her, and she began:
+
+"All that I said at the inquest is true, and I told the whole truth in
+answer to any questions I was asked; but I did not say all that was in
+my mind. I have had bitter trials in my life. I will not refer again
+to what was once between you and me; and, remember, in anything I may
+say I shall have no thought of that. I put that away from my mind
+altogether, and it will be ungenerous of you if you draw any deduction
+towards our relations in the past from anything I may say. Is that
+understood?"
+
+"Perfectly, Marion. I know you too well to fancy for a moment you
+could be guilty of the mean cowardice of talking at any one. Go on."
+
+"Thank you. I am glad you think I am no coward." She still kept her
+hand before her face, as though to concentrate her attention upon her
+mental vision. "As I said at that awful inquest, there was never
+anything ever so slightly like a quarrel between Mr. Davenport and me.
+Except that we lived almost exclusively at Kilcash House, which was
+dull, I had little or nothing to complain of; and the great quiet and
+isolation of that place did not affect me much, for I had small or no
+desire to go out into the world, and after a few years it would have
+given me more pain than pleasure to have to mingle in society. Very
+shortly after my marriage I met Michael Fahey for the first time----"
+
+"What was he like?" asked Blake, interrupting her.
+
+"He was tall and slender. His hair was brown, his eyes light in
+colour--blue, I think. He wore a moustache of lighter colour than his
+hair, and small whiskers of the same colour. He was good-looking in a
+way----"
+
+"What kind of way?"
+
+"Well, a soft and gentle way. At first he struck me as being a man who
+was weak, mentally and physically. Later I had reason to think him a
+man of average, if not more than average, physical strength."
+
+"About how old was he then?"
+
+"I could not say exactly. Under thirty, I should think. He also struck
+me as a man of not quite good social position. His manners were
+uneasy, apprehensive, and his English uncertain. He was restless and
+ill at ease, and for my own peace of mind I was glad when I parted
+from him; for it struck me he would be much more comfortable if he and
+my husband were left alone together.
+
+"My husband spoke to me in the highest terms of Fahey, and said that
+although he wished nothing to be said about it just then, or until he
+gave me leave to mention it, Fahey had done him useful service in his
+time. That was all Mr. Davenport volunteered, and I asked no question.
+I was sure of one thing more--namely, that the less I was with Michael
+Fahey the better my husband would be satisfied.
+
+"I smiled when this conviction came first upon me. Up to the moment I
+felt it I had in my mind treated this Fahey as a kind of upper
+servant, who was to be soothed into unconsciousness that he was not an
+equal. For a short time I felt inclined to expostulate with Mr.
+Davenport on the absurdity of fancying Fahey could think of me save as
+the wife of his patron; but I kept silence, partly out of pride and
+partly out of ignorance of the relations which really existed between
+this man and my husband. You may, or may not, have heard of a
+circumstance which occurred shortly after my marriage?"
+
+"I remember nothing noteworthy. Tell me what it was."
+
+"At that time it was Mr. Davenport's habit to keep large sums of money
+in the house. Once upon his having to go away for a few days, he left
+me the keys of the safe in which the money was locked up. While he was
+away, an attempt was made to rob the house. A door was forced from
+outside, and two men were absolutely in my room, where I kept the key
+of the safe, when Fahey, who was staying in the village of Kilcash at
+the time, rushed in and faced the thieves. I was aroused and saw the
+struggle. Fortunately the men were unarmed. The light was dim--only my
+low night lamp.
+
+"The first blow Fahey struck he knocked one of the men through a
+window. Then he and the other man struggled a long time, and at last
+the thief broke loose and escaped by the way he had come in. Fahey had
+overheard the two thieves plan the robbery in the village, and had
+followed them that night to our house. My husband wished the matter to
+be kept quiet, and so it was hushed up.
+
+"The next time I met Fahey after that night I was alone on the downs.
+He was alone too. I stopped to thank him. I do not remember exactly
+what I said--commonplace words of gratitude, no doubt. While I was
+speaking I was close to him, and gazing into his face. I cut my speech
+short, for I saw a look in his eyes that told me I was not indifferent
+to him."
+
+The widow's hand fell from her face, and she looked at her visitor
+with an expression of trouble and dismay.
+
+"There was nothing distressing or alarming in that," said Blake, with
+an encouraging smile. "You must remember you were then, as you are
+now, an exquisitely lovely woman.
+
+
+        "'No marvel, sovereign lady; in fair field
+          Myself for such a face had boldly died.'"
+
+
+"Ay, ay," she said, with a shudder and a glance of horror round the
+room. "In the stanza before the one from which you quote my fate is
+written:
+
+
+        "'Where'er I came I brought calamity.'"
+
+
+She stared before her, shuddered again, and sighed.
+
+"Well?" said he. "You have more to tell me?"
+
+"Yes; I'll go on."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+                              A COMPACT.
+
+
+Mrs. Davenport rested slightly against the back of her chair, and
+resumed:
+
+"'Mrs. Davenport,' said Fahey, 'what I have done for you was nothing.
+It was really not done for you at all. It was done for Mr. Davenport,
+not you. The thieves did not want to steal you. They wanted to steal
+Mr. Davenport's money. If I may presume to ask you for that rose, I
+shall consider myself more than repaid for what I have done.'
+
+"I gave him the rose. He bowed, and said: 'Yes, they were stupid,
+mercenary fools. They thought a few pounds of more value than anything
+else in the world. I am not a rich man, and I care very little for
+money itself. I care more for what it may bring with it. I would not
+care to be the richest man in the world. I have in my time, Mrs.
+Davenport, been the humble means of forwarding Mr. Davenport's plans
+for making money. He is a rich man. He is rich in more ways than
+money.' Here he raised the rose to his lips and kissed it. I stood
+amazed. I could not speak or move."
+
+"Are you sure the man was serious, and that he meant it fully?--or was
+it only a piece of elaborate gallantry?" asked Blake, in perplexity.
+
+"There can be no doubt whatever of his absolute sincerity. Listen. I
+merely smiled, as if I did not catch his drift, and moved as though I
+would resume my walk towards home. He lifted his hat, and, standing
+uncovered, with his hat in one hand and the rose I had given him in
+the other, said:
+
+"'I would not give this rose for all Mr. Davenport's money, and
+I know more about his money than any other man living. Mr. Davenport
+and I have been close friends for a long time. It is my nature
+to be loyal. I have been loyal to him. If I liked I could do him
+injury--irreparable injury. If I cared, I could ruin him utterly. But
+it is my nature to be loyal. Do you credit me?'
+
+"For a few seconds I did not answer. I believed he was crazy, and I
+thought that I must soothe him in some way and get off. I had become
+apprehensive, so I said: 'I am perfectly sure of your loyalty to Mr.
+Davenport. I have always heard my husband speak of you in the highest
+terms, I hope we may soon have the pleasure of seeing you again at the
+House.'
+
+"'Not yet,' he said--'do not leave me yet. I want to say a few more
+words to you. It is easy to listen. Listen, pray. I would not, as I
+said before, give that rose for all his money. If I chose to speak,
+things might be different with him. By fair means or by foul, I will
+not say which, I could make his wealth melt like snow in the sun. But
+I have no caring, no need for wealth. I shall not hurt him if you will
+make me two promises. Will you make the two promises I ask?'
+
+"By this time I felt fully persuaded I was in the presence of a
+madman. I looked around and could see no one but the man before me. We
+were not a hundred yards from the edge of the cliff. I no longer
+thought him physically weak; his encounter with the thieves had
+settled that point. If he were mad, the promise would count for
+nothing. There could be no doubt he was insane. I resolved to try him:
+'How is it possible for me to make two promises to you until I know
+what they are?'
+
+"'Your husband trusts me--you may trust me. Do you promise?'
+
+"'First let me know what the promises are.'
+
+"'That you will say nothing of what I have said to you to Mr.
+Davenport, and that, if ever I have it in my power to do you another
+service, and do it, you will give me another rose.'
+
+"'Yes; in both cases,' I answered. 'You may rest satisfied.'
+
+"I got away then and was very glad to escape. There was no occasion to
+speak to any one about this meeting with Fahey on the downs, unless
+indeed I firmly believed he was mad; and now that I had time to recall
+all he had said, and review all his actions, I began seriously to
+question my assumption as to his insanity. I took the first
+opportunity of asking my husband if there was anything remarkable
+about Fahey. Mr. Davenport seemed a good deal put out by the question,
+and asked me what I meant. I said I thought Fahey was odd at times. My
+husband said Fahey was all right, and did not seem disposed to go on
+any further with the conversation.
+
+"I did not meet Fahey again for a long time--I mean months. He then
+seemed quite collected; but before wishing good-bye, he said
+significantly: 'A man may disappear at any moment on a coast like
+this, and yet may not be dead. Now, suppose I were to disappear
+suddenly on this coast, you would think I had died, and that Mr.
+Davenport no longer ran any risk from my being talkative, or you any
+chance of being called upon for that other rose. I am not enamoured of
+this coast. I consider it dreary and inhospitable, and it would not at
+all surprise me if one day I packed up and fled far away, and stopped
+away until almost all memory of me was lost. Do you think, Mrs.
+Davenport, that if, after such an absence, I were to come back, you
+would recognise me?'
+
+"I answered that I was sure of it, and got away from him as soon as I
+could. Again I spoke to Mr. Davenport about Fahey's sanity. My husband
+did not seem to care about discussing the subject, and so I let the
+matter drop. Afterwards, when Fahey jumped into the Puffing Hole in
+order to avoid the police, I thought to myself that when he talked
+about disappearing from the coast he was much nearer the truth than he
+had any notion of.
+
+"All this occurred many years ago, but it made a great impression on
+my mind, and I have not forgotten a tittle of it. The words Fahey
+spoke, and the way he looked, are as plain to me now as if it all
+happened only yesterday. For a long time after Fahey had disappeared,
+I believed his death at the Black Rock was nothing more than a pure
+coincidence. Now and then, at long intervals, Mr. Davenport would
+refer to the matter, but always in tones of anxiety and doubt. I do
+not know why I got the notion into my head, but gradually it found its
+way there, until at last I became quite sure Fahey was not dead. On
+more than one occasion when I had ventured to suggest such an idea to
+Mr. Davenport's mind, he showed great emotion, and, after a few
+struggles, either directly dismissed or changed the subject.
+
+"If Fahey had been right about his power of disappearing from that
+coast without dying, why should I refuse to believe that Fahey could
+injure--nay, ruin, my husband, if he were to appear and make certain
+statements of matters within his own knowledge? What these matters
+were I could not guess. Since I saw you last I have got good reasons
+to feel sure my husband had no proper right to the money he possessed,
+and that this man Fahey was aware of the facts of the case."
+
+"How did you find all this out, Marion?" asked Blake, looking across
+at her with freshly awakened interest.
+
+"I found papers of my husband's."
+
+"Will you tell me how you believe he came by the money?"
+
+"No. And you must say nothing of this conversation to any living
+being."
+
+"Trust me, I will not."
+
+"The difficulties now are, Thomas Blake, that I believe my husband did
+not come fairly by his fortune, that Michael Fahey is still alive, and
+that he had a hand in the death of my husband."
+
+Blake knit his brows, rose, and recommenced walking up and down the
+room.
+
+"Mr. Jerry O'Brien, who travelled over from London with me, told me
+after we left Euston that he himself and Phelan, the boatman of
+Kilcash, had seen the ghost or body of Fahey on the cliffs just above
+the Black Rock."
+
+"It may have been a delusion."
+
+"Yes, it may; but the chances are ten thousand to one against it. He
+told me, too, that a friend of his had seen the same figure, clad in
+the same clothes it wore ten or a dozen years ago. The last-named
+phenomenon I cannot account for. But if you can believe that a man who
+jumped into the Puffing Hole years ago is still alive, all other
+beliefs in this case are easy. Now, Thomas Blake, I have spoken more
+fully to you than I have ever spoken to any other man. I want you to
+advise and help me.
+
+"How?" asked Blake, stopping in his walk and looking straight into her
+white, fixed, expressionless face.
+
+"By finding out Fahey and discovering whence my husband got his money.
+Then, if I may return it without disgracing his name or exposing him,
+I will, and if not----"
+
+"Well, Marion, if not?"
+
+"I shall put an end to my knowledge and myself, and so keep his grave
+quiet and silent for him."
+
+"Marion, this is sheer madness."
+
+"So much the better. If I do wrong in an access of insanity, no moral
+blame attaches to me or my act. Will you help me? Once upon a time I
+could have counted on your aid."
+
+"At that time you held out the promise of a glorious reward. Do you
+hold it out still, Marion?"
+
+"No. That thought must be put to rest for ever. You may think it
+monstrous that such being my mind, I should deliberately seek you and
+ask for your help. But I have no future, and you are all that is left
+to me of the past----"
+
+"Marion, Marion, for Heaven's sake don't say it is too late!" he
+cried, passionately, and advanced a step towards her.
+
+She retired two steps, and made an imperative gesture, bidding him
+stand still.
+
+"Stay where you are and listen to me. To quote again from the poem you
+quoted awhile ago, 'My youth,' she said, 'was blighted with a curse.'"
+
+"And," he said, pointing to himself, "if we alter the text slightly,
+we find 'This traitor was the cause.' Is not that what you mean,
+Marion? Do not spare me; I am meet for vengeance."
+
+"The present one is not a case for vengeance. But if you like you may
+in this matter expiate the past."
+
+"And when my expiation is complete, in what relation shall you and I
+stand to one another?"
+
+"In the same relation as before we met. You will be just to me, and
+help me in this matter, Thomas Blake. Remember that my life has not
+been very joyous."
+
+"But, Marion," he urged, softening his voice, and leaning towards her,
+"if I am to take what you say at its full value----"
+
+"I mean it all quite literally."
+
+"Then my expiation would assume the form of leading you to the tomb
+instead of the altar."
+
+She drew back, and said:
+
+"Yes, put it that way if you will. At one time I believed your hand
+was guiding me up to the altar, beyond which lay love and life, and
+all manner of good and bright things. We never reached the altar. But
+something happened, and there was a dull, dead pause in life, like the
+winter sleep of a lizard or the trance of the Sleeping Beauty, and
+then I awoke, and, to my horror, found the altar had been changed into
+a tomb, and the Fairy Prince into Death. There was no time for love. I
+had slept through the period of love. I had no power to hate, but I
+had the power and the will to die. You will help me?"
+
+"Not to die, Marion. I will help you to solve the mystery of this
+Fahey, and the relations between him and Mr. Davenport, and then when
+all has been cleared up, you may----"
+
+He held out his hand pleadingly.
+
+"Yes," she said, coldly, firmly, "when all has been cleared up, I may
+say--good-bye."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XL.
+
+                       AN EXPEDITION PROPOSED.
+
+
+When Jerry O'Brien said there was absolutely nothing to be done in
+Kilcash, he had told the naked truth. The weather was still far from
+genial, and Jerry and Alfred Paulton were the only visitors in that
+Waterford village. For a man of active habits, in full bodily and
+mental vigour, the place would have been the very worst in the world;
+but for an invalid who had never been a busy man, it was everything
+the most exacting could desire. If Alfred's mind had only been as
+peaceful as his surroundings, he would have picked up strength visibly
+from hour to hour.
+
+But his mind was not at ease. For good or evil, he did not care which,
+he had given his heart to that woman, and now once more the shadow of
+this objectionable, this disreputable man Blake, had come between her
+and him. The most disquieting circumstance in the case was that Blake
+had not intruded, but had been summoned by her. It is true that on
+closer examination this did not seem to point to a love affair between
+the two; for unless a woman was fully engaged to a man, she would
+scarcely, he being her lover, summon him to her side, under the
+circumstances in Mrs. Davenport's case.
+
+Such thoughts and doubts were not the best salve for a hurt
+constitution; and although Alfred recovered strength and colour from
+day to day, he did not derive as much benefit from Kilcash as if his
+mind had been even as untroubled as it had been when the journey from
+Dulwich began.
+
+Jerry was by no means delighted with affairs. He put the best face he
+could on things, but still he was not content. As far as he was
+concerned, the detested Fishery Commissioners had gone to sleep, but
+there was no forecasting the duration of their slumber. Any moment
+they might shake themselves, growl, wake, and swallow up all his
+substance.
+
+"Until they are done with this part of the unhappy country, I shall
+feel as if the country was overrun by 'empty tigers,' and I was the
+only wholesome piece of flesh after which the man-eaters hankered."
+
+O'Brien did not pretend to be a philosopher when his own fortune or
+comfort was threatened or assailed. He chafed and fumed when things
+went wrong, or when he could not get his way. Now he was compelled, in
+a great measure, to keep silent, for there would be a want of
+hospitality in displaying impatience of Kilcash to Alfred. He had
+confided to the latter the secret of his love for Madge, and the
+brother had grasped his hand cordially and wished him all luck and
+happiness. No man existed, he had said, to whom he would sooner
+confide the future of his sister. How was O'Brien to act with regard
+to writing to Madge? There had been nothing underhand or dishonourable
+in telling the girl of his love that day on the Dulwich Road. The
+declaration had in a measure slipped from him before any suitable
+opportunity occurred of talking to Mr. Paulton. But speaking to Madge
+under the excitement of the moment and the knowledge of approaching
+separation was one thing, and writing clandestinely to her quite
+another. If he wrote to her openly, inquiries as to the nature of the
+correspondence would certainly be made at home, and then their secret
+would be found out, and the thought of being found out in anything
+about which an unpleasant word could be said was unendurable. In the
+haste of leaving Carlingford House he had made no arrangement with
+Madge as to writing to her. It was absolutely necessary for him to
+risk a letter. He would not be guilty of the subterfuge of writing
+under cover of one of Alfred's letters. Accordingly he wrote a bright,
+cheerful, chatty note to Madge, beginning "My dear Miss Paulton," and
+ending "Yours most sincerely, J. O'Brien." To those who were not in
+the secret, nothing could have been more ordinary than this letter.
+But its meaning was plain to Madge. Among other things, he said the
+Commissioners had not yet done with him, and until they had he could
+not count upon another visit to Dulwich; and he begged her to give his
+kindest regards to Mr. Paulton, and to express a hope that he might
+soon enjoy the pleasure of a walk on the Dulwich Road, when he would
+tell her father all about the Bawn salmon and the wretched
+Commissioners. Until then he should not bother either of them with any
+account of himself or the villains who were lying in wait for him.
+This he intended to show that he would not write to her again until he
+had cleared up matters with her father. And now that he had got rid of
+this letter--it was a task, not a pleasure, to write it--what should
+he do? He had told himself and Alfred that even in summer there was
+not anything to be done in Kilcash. But he, O'Brien, was in full
+health and vigour, and began to feel uneventful idleness very irksome.
+Boating even with the pretence of fishing was out of the question, and
+one grew tired of strolling along the strand or downs when fine, and
+looking out of the windows at the unneeded rain when wet. Against the
+weariness of the long evenings he had brought books, cards, and chess
+from Kilbarry. Time began to hang heavily on his hands. Nothing more
+had been heard or seen of the ghost of Fahey, and the two friends had
+been a couple of times to see the outside of Kilcash House, whither,
+he believed, Mrs. Davenport had not yet arrived from Dublin.
+
+The weather was mild, moist, calm.
+
+"I'll tell you what we shall do, Alfred," said Jerry briskly at
+breakfast one morning.
+
+"What?" asked the other, looking up from his plate.
+
+"There isn't a ripple on the sea. I'll go see Jim Phelan, and get him
+to launch his boat."
+
+"Capital!" cried Alfred, who was in that state of convalescence when
+the daily addition to physical strength begets a desire to use it and
+yields indestructible buoyancy. "I should like a good long-sail of all
+things--or, indeed, a good pull. I'm sure I could manage an oar nearly
+as well as ever."
+
+"Nonsense!" said Jerry, dogmatically. "I will not be accessory to your
+murder, or allow you to commit suicide in my presence. I have had
+enough of inquests for my natural life. It's too cold for sailing, and
+you're not strong enough for rowing. But there are the caves. The time
+of the year does, not make any difference in them, so long as the sea
+is smooth. They are as warm in winter as in summer. We can bring
+torches and guns, and a horn and grub with us. A torchlight picnic
+would be a novelty to me, anyway. The echoes in some places are
+wonderful, and I'll answer for the food being wholesome. I'll go down
+to Phelan immediately after breakfast."
+
+Big Jim Phelan was at home in his cottage--not the shelter that
+covered him in the summer, but the one which the high and mighty of
+the land could rent for eight to twelve pounds a month when they
+wished to enjoy the sea.
+
+O'Brien explained his design.
+
+"Are you mad, sir?" said Jim, drawing back from the chair which he had
+placed for his unexpected guest.
+
+"No. Why? What's mad about it? I and my friend want to see the caves,
+and they are just as good at this time of year as in summer. Will you
+take us?--Yes or no? Or are you afraid?"
+
+"I'm not afraid of anything that swims or walks or flies, Mr.
+O'Brien," said Jim in a tone of indignant protest. "But nature is
+nature, and it's not right to fly in the face of nature."
+
+"Face of fiddlesticks!" said O'Brien. "What has nature to do with our
+going to visit the caves? If you don't take us, some one else will.
+what on earth do you mean by 'flying in the face of nature'?"
+
+"Go to the caves at this time of year!" said Jim, in a musing tone of
+voice. "Why, no one ever thought of such a thing before!"
+
+"What difference does that make? No strangers are here, except in
+summer; and of course the people of the village never want to go to
+the caves either winter or summer, unless they are paid. Come on, Jim;
+don't send me off to look for some one else. I like to stick to old
+friends."
+
+Phelan reflected awhile. There was no greater danger on such a day as
+this in going to the caves than on the finest day in July. But the
+novelty of the idea was almost too much for Jim. That any man in his
+sober senses could even during the dog-days want to go to the caves
+was wonderful enough; but that a man, and, moreover, a man who had
+lived most of his life hard by, could think of exploring those gloomy
+vaults in the chilly, damp days of spring, was too much for belief.
+O'Brien was liberal, and if he happened to spend a couple of the
+summer months at Kilcash, as he had hinted, Jim was certain to be a
+few pounds the better for it. But it wouldn't do to give in too
+easily.
+
+"Mr. O'Brien, if you're bent on going, of course I must take you. I'll
+go to the Cove of Cork for you, sir, single-handed, in my own yawl.
+But mind you, sir, it wasn't I that put you up to going. If you ask me
+my advice, I say don't go. I won't take any of the responsibility,
+mind, sir."
+
+"All right," cried O'Brien, with a laugh. "You know as well as I do
+that there is no danger on a calm day like this. How soon will you be
+ready?"
+
+"I'll have to get a man to go with me, and gather a few hands to help
+to launch the yawl. Will an hour be soon enough, sir?" said Jim, who,
+now that he had decided on action, was already busy in preparation.
+
+"Yes; an hour will do. How is the tide?"
+
+"About an hour flood."
+
+"And how will that answer for the Red Cave?"
+
+"Red Cave!" said Phelan, pausing suddenly in his preparation. "Is it
+Red Gap Cave you're thinking of going to, sir?"
+
+There was a sound of uneasiness in the boatman's voice.
+
+"Yes. Isn't it the largest? Isn't it the one they say has never been
+explored?"
+
+"Ay, sir. It never has been explored fully, and I don't suppose ever
+will--for what would be the good?--and it isn't over agreeable in
+there, with its windings and twistings, I can tell you. I don't mind
+much about the Red Cave itself; but, Mr. O'Brien, it's only a little
+bit beyond the Whale's Mouth, and you have some queer notions about
+that cursed place; and, mind, I'll have nothing to do with it for love
+or money."
+
+"I didn't say anything about the Whale's Mouth," said O'Brien, in a
+tone of irritation. "I asked you how is the tide for the Red Cave?
+Can't you answer a simple question?"
+
+"The tide is always right for the Red Cave," answered Phelan,
+sullenly. "You can always go into it when the water is smooth."
+
+"Very well. I'll expect you on the strand by the rocks in an hour;"
+and saying this, O'Brien left the cottage and set out for the hotel.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLI.
+
+                        AT THE WHALE'S MOUTH.
+
+
+Red Head is about a pistol-shot from the Black Rock to the east. It is
+a tall, perpendicular red cliff, more than a hundred feet high,
+projecting from the land a few hundred yards, and rising up sheer out
+of deep water. In places it overhangs slightly--in places reclines.
+The rocks of which it is formed are in no place angular, show no sharp
+fracture, declare no brittleness in formation. They are rounded and
+smooth like the human hand, abrupt nowhere, save in their giddy
+descent to the water.
+
+The middle of the Head is cleft in two a hundred yards inward. This
+cleft is called the Gap, or the Red Gap, and is as wide as the nave of
+St. Paul's. At the depth of a hundred yards in the Gap the height of
+the opening suddenly grows less, and the mouth of a huge cave is
+formed by the precipitous sides, and an irregular, blunted, Gothic
+roof of the same firm, smooth red rock. The vast chamber, or system of
+chambers, beyond, is the Red Gap Cave, for brevity called the Red
+Cave.
+
+At the time appointed, O'Brien and Paulton found Jim Phelan and his
+mate Tim Corcoran afloat on the bay by the flat stretch of rocks which
+served Kilcash as a landing-stage. Billy Coyne had brought down a
+basket of food, some torches, a crimson light, and gun--the torches
+and light to illumine the gloom, and the gun to awaken the echoes of
+the vast vault.
+
+The day was fair and bright, with chill spring sunshine. Overhead vast
+fields of silvery white clouds stretched motionless across the full
+azure sky. There was no breath of wind, no threat of rain, no look of
+anger anywhere. The waters of the bay moved inward with a silken
+ripple that scarcely stirred the yawl as she glided slowly onward.
+When she reached the open water beyond the bay, and headed first south
+and then east, she met the long, even Atlantic roller, which glided
+towards her and under her as silently and gently as a summer's breeze.
+No sound broke the plenteous silence but the ripple of the water
+against the sides, the snap of the oars in the rowlocks, and the dull
+beat of the waves against the foam-footed crags. No ship, no boat, no
+bird was in view. The solitude of the air and sea was complete. The
+sounds of the sea on the crags seemed not the distant notes of opening
+war, but the soft prelude to long, breathless peace.
+
+They rowed in silence until they were close to the Black Rock, until
+it rose dark, inhospitable, forbidding above them. Phelan was on the
+stroke, Corcoran on the bow oar. The yawl was now abreast the point at
+which the Black Rock joined the cliff at the westward. There was no
+rudder to the boat. On that coast rudders are looked on as foppery. In
+smooth weather the stroke steers from the rowlocks; in a sea-way some
+one steers with an additional oar from the sculling notch. O'Brien and
+Paulton were aft, but there was no oar in the sculling notch to steer
+with.
+
+They were keeping a clean wake, and owing to the swelling out of the
+Black Rock they would, if they held on as they were going, pass within
+a few score fathoms of the Whale's Mouth. It was now about half flood.
+
+All at once Jim Phelan began to ease without looking over his
+shoulder.
+
+"Pull, after oar--ease bow!" sang out O'Brien, quickly.
+
+The bow eased as ordered, but, contrary to the order, the stroke oar
+stopped pulling altogether, and Phelan looked up with an angry
+expression at O'Brien.
+
+"I said ease bow--pull stroke," said O'Brien, quickly, in a tone of
+irritation.
+
+"And I say--stop all," said Phelan, decisively.
+
+Corcoran rested on his oar, and for a few seconds O'Brien and Phelan
+sat looking at one another. It was plain O'Brien was angry, and that
+Phelan was resolute. Paulton had no key to the difficulty. The clumsy
+yawl rose to the top and slid into the trough of two long, slow
+rollers before either of the men spoke further.
+
+Jim Phelan peaked his oar and broke silence.
+
+"Mr. O'Brien, I told you I wouldn't, and I won't. That's all."
+
+"You won't what, you stubborn fool?"
+
+O'Brien was hot, but he had not lost his temper.
+
+"I told you," said Phelan, leaning his great body forward, and resting
+his hands on his thighs, "as plain as words could be that I'd have
+nothing to do with the Whale's Mouth. You may not care about your
+life, Mr. O'Brien, but I have people looking to me. You're
+independent, and can do what you like; but neither for you nor any
+other man will I go nearer than I think safe to the Whale's Mouth. The
+Red Gap is bad enough at this time of year; but not at this time of
+year or any other will I have anything to do with that cursed hole in
+the Black Rock here. Now, sir, am I to put about?"
+
+"I think you're taking leave of your senses, Phelan," said Jerry,
+testily. "What on earth put it into your head I wanted to go into the
+Whale's Mouth? Why, if I wanted to do anything half so plucky as that,
+I'd get a man with a _red_ liver, and a heart as big as a sparrow's!
+Give way, I tell you."
+
+An ugly look came into Phelan's face. He was not bad-tempered or
+quarrelsome, but he justly had the reputation of being the most daring
+and the strongest man in the village. He was not very intelligent, and
+this was the first time in his life he had been accused of cowardice.
+He felt more amazed than angry, but he felt some anger. He knew he
+could, if he chose, catch O'Brien by the feet and throw him over the
+gunwale as easily as the oar lying across his legs. For a moment he
+thought the cold swim would do O'Brien good, but almost instantly he
+saw the punishment would be out of proportion to the offence. He drew
+a deep breath, partly straightened himself, and, catching his oar,
+said:
+
+"Are we to go on to the Red Gap, sir?"
+
+"Yes, confound you!" said O'Brien, far from amiably. "Keep as close to
+the rock as you think is _safe, quite safe_, Phelan. I wouldn't risk
+your life for a thousand pounds."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said Phelan, sullenly. "Neither would I--in a cave;
+but if it came to anything between man and man----"
+
+"I know," broke in O'Brien, with a laugh, "you'd be glad to risk your
+neck to satisfy your anger."
+
+He had suddenly regained his good humour.
+
+"That's it," said Phelan, laconically, as the yawl moved on.
+
+Paulton looked in surprise from one to the other. O'Brien smiled and
+shook his head to reassure him, but said nothing. Visibly the spirits
+of the little party were damped.
+
+At length they were opposite the much-dreaded Whale's Mouth. The two
+rowers, at the request of O'Brien, peaked their oars a few fathoms out
+of the direct set of the in-draught, now at its greatest strength.
+
+The wall of rock, in which the opening of the cave appeared, was at
+this time of tide almost square, and considerably wider than the yawl
+was long. Nothing could be more harmless-looking than the Mouth. Its
+sides were smooth and almost perpendicular. No huge mass of rock hung
+threateningly on high; the water beneath was pellucid, green, gentle.
+No awful sounds issued from that Mouth. The internal sounds told of
+little disturbance or danger. No sign of conflict appeared on the
+sides of the Mouth or the water, or in the soft olive depths below. In
+the heat of summer a stranger would have found it almost impossible to
+deny himself the luxurious refreshment of repose in the moist twilight
+of that water-cave.
+
+No teeth were visible; but the lithe, subtle, unceasing, undulating
+tongue was there--the polished, subtle water. It rose and fell,
+seemingly, as the water round it, in indolent, purposeless
+indifference; and looking at the water merely, it seemed to make no
+greater progress onward than the water outside and around. Yet the
+gentle swelling and hollowing of the waves had a purpose underlying,
+though they seemed, like other waves, to move tardily, almost
+imperceptibly forward. But here the water was dragged onward occultly
+by some power, and for some purpose unknown. The roof of the Mouth and
+the jaws were powerless for evil. No teeth were visible in this
+gigantic Mouth, but the unsuspected, oily, slimy water was there lying
+in wait for the unwary, and fatal to all things that touched it.
+
+It was the tongue of the ant-bear that attracts, enfolds, and finally
+engulphs its prey in its noisome maw.
+
+"Is that the Whale's Mouth of which you told me, Jerry?" asked Alfred.
+
+"That's it," answered Jerry, shortly. He took up one of the torches
+lying on the stern-sheets and threw the torch towards the cave into
+the sea.
+
+"It doesn't appear very dreadful now--does it?"
+
+"Watch that torch. No sea looks very terrifying in a calm," said
+Jerry, sharply.
+
+He had not yet quite recovered from the passage of arms with Phelan.
+The boatman had annoyed him by extravagantly over-estimating the
+dangers and powers of the chasm, and Paulton now ruffled him by
+seeming to make nothing of them.
+
+Slowly but surely the torch was carried towards the Whale's Mouth.
+Slowly at first, but more quickly as it approached the rock, more
+quickly as it approached the cave. Second by second the rate
+increased, until, when it reached the Mouth and disappeared, it was
+hurrying on as fast as a man could walk.
+
+"That's strange!" said Alfred. "I think you told me no one has been
+able to find out where all this water goes to."
+
+"To a place that's more hot than comfortable," said Phelan grimly,
+directing a look of inquiry towards Jerry.
+
+"It all comes back again," said Jerry.
+
+"Barring what doesn't," muttered Phelan. "Pull a stroke or two, Tim,"
+he said to the other boatman. "The current is under her keel already,
+and bad as this world is, I haven't made my will yet. A couple of more
+strokes, Tim."
+
+He looked at Alfred and addressed him, although he could not do so by
+his name, as he had never heard it.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir; but if you'd like to make money, sir, I'll
+lay you the price of this day's work to a brass button you never see
+that torch again, and I'll lie by to watch for it until the ebb is
+done."
+
+Alfred did not answer. His eyes had been raised for a few moments, and
+were now firmly fixed on the plain of the Black Rock. Jerry was
+peering intently into the jaws of the Whale's Mouth. Phelan was
+looking into Alfred's face to see the effect of his offer.
+
+"Jerry!" cried Alfred, abruptly.
+
+"What?" asked Jerry, without moving his eyes from the cavern.
+
+"There's some one on the Black Rock."
+
+"Good heavens!" exclaimed O'Brien, looking up. "Not Fahey?"
+
+"No," said Alfred. "It's Mrs. Davenport!"
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLII.
+
+                            THE RED CAVE.
+
+
+There was no mistaking that figure, and if the figure had not been
+ample confirmation of identity, there were the full widow's weeds,
+and, above all, the pale, placid face. The full light of the unclouded
+sun fell on her. The distance was not great, and she stood out in bold
+relief against the white field of cloud stretching across the northern
+sky.
+
+On impulse, Alfred rose in the boat, and took off his hat and bowed.
+
+She returned his salute, and without a moment's pause drew back from
+the edge on which she had been standing, and disappeared from view.
+
+"Mrs. Davenport!" said Phelan, forgetting his ill-humour in his
+surprise. "What a place for a lady to be all by herself! I thought
+Mrs. Davenport was away somewhere in foreign parts."
+
+Alfred sat down. The boatmen had resumed their oars, and the yawl was
+gliding steadily through the water.
+
+"Is the Rock really dangerous at this time?" asked Alfred anxiously of
+Phelan. O'Brien was buried in thought, and did not heed what the
+others were saying.
+
+"Not dangerous now, sir--not dangerous when the water is so smooth and
+the air so calm; but if there's a little sea on, and a little breeze,
+you never know what may happen here. Sometimes the sea alone will do
+it, and sometimes the wind alone will do it, and sometimes both
+together won't do it. You can only be sure she'll spout when the sea
+is high and the wind a strong gale from the south-west. What surprises
+me to see the lady there is because the place has a bad name, and she
+was just standing on the worst spot of all when we saw her first."
+
+"How a bad name, and how the worst place of all? Are you quite sure
+there is no danger to the lady now?" asked Alfred, struggling
+violently and successfully to conceal his extraordinary solicitude.
+
+"I am perfectly sure there is no danger of the spout now. The reason I
+said it has a bad name is because of all the people who were carried
+off that Rock; and where Mrs. Davenport stood is just the worst spot
+of all."
+
+"But Mrs. Davenport must know the Rock well. I dare say, as her house
+is near, she often comes to see it."
+
+"Ay, she may often come to see it. But to see it and to walk on it are
+different things. There are very few women in the village who would
+care to go on it without a man to lend them a hand. Why, sir, it's as
+slippery as ice, and two people fell and were killed on it out of
+regard to its slipperiness."
+
+"Is there no way of landing here?"
+
+"No, sir. You can't get a foot ashore anywhere nearer than Kilcash.
+You might, of course, land on many a rock here and there, but you
+couldn't get up the cliffs. It's iron-bound for miles."
+
+"But could not the lady be cautioned in some way? She could hear a
+shout even though we cannot see her. She cannot yet be out of
+hearing?" Paulton could scarcely sit still in the boat.
+
+"And suppose she could hear a shout, sir, what could you tell her she
+doesn't know? Do you think Mrs. Davenport has lived all these years
+and years a mile from the Black Rock, and doesn't know as much as any
+of us could tell her about it? Why, she lives nearer to it than any
+one else in the world! Her next-door neighbours are, I may say, the
+ghosts of men who lost their lives on that very spot."
+
+"What is that you're saying?" asked O'Brien, coming suddenly out of
+his reverie.
+
+"Only, sir, that Mrs. Davenport's next-door neighbours are the ghosts
+of the men who lost their lives on the Black Rock."
+
+O'Brien looked in amazement at the boatman. He had been recalled from
+his abstraction by the word "ghost;" but he had not fancied, when he
+asked his question, that the answer would lie so close to the thoughts
+which had been occupying his mind a moment before. For a while he
+could not clear his mind of the effect of this coincidence.
+
+"What on earth do you know or guess about the matter, Phelan?" he
+cried, quite taken off his guard.
+
+"I suppose I know as much about the Rock as any man of my years along
+the coast," answered Phelan, with a slight return of his former
+sullenness.
+
+O'Brien at once saw that he had made a mistake, that Phelan's words
+were perfectly consistent with ignorance of what he knew of the Fahey
+affair--or, indeed, with the absence of intention to refer to the
+Fahey affair. He hastened to put himself right.
+
+"Of course you do, Phelan," said he cordially. "No man knows more than
+you. Excuse me for what I said. I was thinking of something else when
+you spoke, and I did not exactly hear what you said. I did not mean to
+annoy you. I was only stupid myself."
+
+Jim Phelan considered this a very handsome and ample apology, not only
+for the words just then spoken, but for what had occurred a few
+minutes before.
+
+"He was thinking, poor gentleman," thought Phelan, "of those
+blackguards of Commissioners. I know how anxious a man gets about
+fish."
+
+"He was thinking," thought Alfred, "of Madge. I know all about that
+kind of thing."
+
+He had not been thinking of one or the other. He was wondering how
+Mrs. Davenport would have been affected if the figure of Fahey
+suddenly rose before her on that Rock.
+
+"This, sir," said the boatman, addressing Alfred, the stranger, "is
+what we call the Red Gap, and the cave beyond is what we call the Red
+Gap Cave--or the Gap Cave, or the Red Cave, for short."
+
+Alfred looked around him, and then up.
+
+Above towered the great perpendicular cliffs, silent and forlorn. From
+the dark green water at their bases, to the hard, dark line they made
+against the azure plain of sky that roofed the chasm, was no break, in
+form or colour, no noteworthy ledge or hollow, no clinging weeds below
+or verdurous patch above. All was smooth, and bluff, and huge, and
+liver-coloured.
+
+A peculiar silence, a silence of a new and startling quality, filled
+the gigantic cleft. The silence abroad upon the sea was that in which
+vast spaciousness engulfed sound. Here adamantine walls, beetling and
+threatening, a thousand feet thick, stood between the stagnant air and
+the large breathings of the sea. The atmosphere was dense, motionless,
+inert with salt vapours. The prodigious circumvallation of cliff
+crushed vitality out of the air. There was a breathless whisper of
+water against the sea line of the ramparts, and deep in the gorge of
+the cave a smothered snore, like the hushed breathing of some
+stupendous monster.
+
+The yawl glided slowly up between the closing walls of the Red Gap. No
+one spoke. The two boatmen were indifferent to the place. O'Brien and
+Paulton were lost in thoughts of diverse kinds, awakened by the
+spectacle of Mrs. Davenport on the Black Rock. None of the men was
+paying attention to the Gap.
+
+At last a sudden darkness fell upon the boat. O'Brien and Paulton
+looked up. The sky was no longer overhead. A gloom of purple brown was
+above them. The light of day stood like a lofty, luminous pillar in
+their wake. They had entered the Red Cave.
+
+The boatmen ceased rowing, and Phelan lit a torch.
+
+For a few moments nothing could be seen but the blazing red torch
+flare against a vast black blank, and round the glowing red boat a
+narrow pool of glaring orange water.
+
+No one moved. No sound informed the silence but the hiss of the torch
+and the profound sighs of distant, impenetrable hollows.
+
+The water illumined near the boat looked trustworthy, denser than
+water, a ruddy platform with shadowy verge. No undulation moved over
+its face save a dulling ripple caused by the boat's imperceptible
+motion. The boat and figures in it seemed the golden boss of a fiery
+brazen shield hung in a night of chaos.
+
+Alfred Paulton put his hand outward and downward. It touched the
+gleaming surface of the water. He drew his hand back with a start. The
+cold of the water froze his fingers, his soul. The water shone like
+solid metal, felt less buoyant than the ruddy air he breathed. Instead
+of resting on a firm plain of luminous beaten gold, the boat hung on a
+faint, thin fluid over a sightless abyss.
+
+This was a terrible place. Here was nothing but space for thought--for
+visions and fears too awful to dwell upon. Nothing was surer than that
+no loathsome dangers lurked, or swam, or hung pendulous above. Nothing
+was surer than that the imagination crouched back from dreads which
+had never affrighted it before.
+
+This water was only phantom water. It was no better than the spume of
+sea-mists held between invisible crags of blackness, of mute eternity.
+If one should fall out into that water, he would sink through it swift
+as lead through air. One would shoot down, and down, and down, giddy,
+but not stunned. One would sink--whither? Whither? To what fell
+intimacy with dripping rocks and clammy weeds and slime would one
+come? What agonising sense of impending gloom reaching infinitely
+upwards would lie upon one, as one fell! Would the falling ever cease?
+Never, never. Nor would one live, for to fall thus for a moment of
+time would serve to fill the infinite of eternity with chimeras of
+ebon adamant too foul for human eyes.
+
+The oars dipped. The boat moved forward into the immeasurable
+vagueness of shadow--into this sleeping chamber of night. It glided
+over the silent floor between hushed arras, which saw neither the
+gaudy sun that drowns in light the tender whisperings of the sea, nor
+the silver moon that hearkens forlorn to the faint complainings of the
+weary waves, arras woven of the flame of earth's primal fire, and
+limned by night in the smoke of ancient chaos.
+
+Something floated from the side of the boat and shone a while in the
+wake, and then was lost in the darkness as the boat moved slowly on.
+
+"Keep her west," whispered a voice in the boat.
+
+"We're keeping west," whispered another voice in the boat. The noise
+of the oars in the rowlocks clanked in the echoes like the
+complainings of a gigantic wheel whose bearings were dry. The whispers
+came back from the echoes like the whispers of a Titan whose teeth
+were gone, and whose tongue was thick with age or clumsy with disease.
+The voice of the giant seemed near--on a level with the head. It
+stirred the hair.
+
+The torch went out.
+
+"Light--give us light," whispered a voice in the boat.
+
+"Wait. Watch astern," whispered another voice.
+
+"Astern," whispered the awful, almost inarticulate voice close to the
+ear, in the hair.
+
+Then all was still. The oars stopped. All eyes were, unseeing, turned
+in the direction whence the boat had come. The faintest glimmer
+indicated the opening to the cave. All was black as the heart of
+unhewn granite.
+
+"Now watch," whispered a voice in the boat.
+
+"Now watch," whispered the echo against the throat and neck.
+
+"On no account start or stir. The report will be very loud. Hold on to
+the thwarts. I am going to fire!"
+
+Blended with the earlier portion of this speech, the echoes gave back
+a sharp battering sound like that of throwing metal from a height.
+This was the cocking of the gun.
+
+When this sound ceased, the echo whispered:
+
+"Fire!"
+
+A jagged rod of flame and luminous smoke shot outwards and upwards
+into the black void from the boat aft, and cleared the black space for
+a moment.
+
+Then the clash and clangour of a thousand shattered echoes close at
+hand bore downward on the head and bent the head, while out of
+far-reaching caverns thunders were torn with shrieks and yells and
+flung against concave-resounding roofs, until the whole still air of
+the monstrous hollows roared, and secret off-spring tombs of darkness,
+never seen by man, answered with fearful groans and shrieks of the
+Mother Cave.
+
+Paulton let go the thwart, bent his head, flung his arms up, and
+crossed them over his head.
+
+Here was the solid earth riven through and through with prodigious
+thunders of all the heavens!
+
+The roar of sound fell to a shout, the shout to a groan, the groan to
+a mutter. Then all was still, stiller than before--still with the
+silence of annihilation accomplished. Nothing that had been was. The
+echoes were dead, and would speak no more. The material had failed to
+be, and only darkness and the unweary spirit of man remained.
+
+A voice whispered, "Watch."
+
+Some lingering phantom of an echo whispered in ghostly gutturals,
+"Watch!"
+
+There was a hiss, a purple commotion on the surface of the water, in
+the air on the wake of the boat. A cone of intense red flame, as thick
+as a man's arm, rose up from the level of the water in the wake, and
+stood a cubit high:
+
+The air took fire and burned, and out from the brown darkness leaned
+huge polished pillars, copper-red, and broken walls, smooth pilasters,
+and architraves keen with light, and sightless gargoyles blurred with
+fire, and cloisters whose rich arches dripped with flame, and
+buttresses with fierce outlines impacted on plutonian shade, plinths
+with shafts of Moorish lightness and arabesques with ruby tags, sturdy
+bastions and flat curtains, broken Gothic windows, capitals of
+acanthus leaves flushed with ruddy flare.
+
+Aloft yawned arches and domes and hollow towers, vast in sombre
+distances and sultry with hidden fires. The secrets of their depths no
+eye could pierce. They were abysmal homes of viewless voices--homes of
+virgin night.
+
+Hither and thither, chapels and aisles and corridors and galleries,
+reached from the great central space into the copper gloom. Here above
+the surface of watery floor stood columns of fallen pillars, masses of
+broken walls, points of ruined spires.
+
+In the centre of the level floor rose a block of stone, flat, a little
+above the surface of the water, and on this the headless form of a
+colossal figure, showing in rude outline like an Egyptian sphinx.
+
+The ground was polished red granite here and there, ribbed with ruby
+marble, that shone with dazzling brightness against the aqueous glare.
+
+On the pedestal of the sphinx the men of the boat landed, and stood to
+gaze upon this Pompeii beneath Vesuvia's pall--this subterranean
+Venice in ruins--this water-floored Heliopolis without the sun!
+
+There was a loud hiss. The blood-red architecture thrust forward in
+fiercer light. A louder reverberating hiss, and all was dark!
+Everything had vanished--had drawn back into immeasurable darkness.
+The crimson light had burned down to the level of the tiny raft which
+bore it, and the water of the cave had quenched its flame.
+
+All was black darkness, turn which way one might.
+
+"Light!" whispered Paulton, overcome by what he had heard and seen.
+
+"What is that?" asked O'Brien, catching Phelan's hand, and pointing
+down to where the western gallery had glowed a minute ago. Light was
+seen piercing the cliff to the westward.
+
+For a while no answer was given. Then, in accents of awe and fear, the
+boatman answered:
+
+"A light--a light made by no mortal hand!"
+
+Far down in the gloom of the western gallery a yellow spot shone!
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+                            A RETROSPECT.
+
+
+Mrs. Davenport's visit to the Black Rock that day had not been one of
+mere curiosity, although nothing of import to her life was likely to
+result from it. Her career was over, if, indeed, it might be said ever
+to have begun.
+
+In her younger days she had been abandoned by the only man she had
+ever loved, and wed to a man whom she never loved, whom she could not
+even esteem. She had sworn to love her husband; she had fairly tried,
+and wholly failed. To her husband she had been a blameless wife, an
+admirable companion. He had signified his approval of her conduct by
+leaving her his fortune. All her lifetime she had been too proud to
+care for money, and now she could not take it. Her father had
+prevented her marrying the good-for-nothing, beggarly scamp, Tom
+Blake, and forced her into the arms of the elderly, rich, excellent
+Mr. Louis Davenport. In those days she had been torn by tempests of
+love and hate, of aspirations and despairs, which no mortal eye had
+seen, no mortal ear had heard. In the solitude of her own room, and of
+the woods about her father's home, she had wept and stormed, and
+pitied herself with the broken-hearted self-pity of youth. She had
+cast herself against the bars that confined her, and wished that the
+fury which shook her might end her. She had prayed in vain for death.
+In answer to her passionate appeals for a shroud, heaven sent her a
+bridal veil. When Blake gave her up, she did not care whether she
+walked into an open grave or up to the marriage altar. She took no
+interest in herself: why should she take interest in any one else?
+
+If Blake had asked her to fly with him then, she would have rushed
+into his arms with unspeakable eagerness and joy. But he sold his
+claim to her for a sum of money, and walked off with the cash in his
+pocket!
+
+She then knew she was beautiful--one of the most beautiful women in
+the country. Many men had sought her before Blake asked her for her
+love. But up to his coming she was heart-whole. She had never
+seriously considered any man. She thought little of the sex, of the
+race, herself included. She took but a weak interest in this world,
+and, up to the advent of her only sweetheart, would have stepped out
+of it any day without much reluctance. She was a dreamer, and told
+herself the hero of her dreams was not human. Then came Tom Blake, and
+forth went her whole heart to him. She gave him all the love she had
+to give. She told him her life had hitherto been dull, without
+expectation, hope, love, sunlight; but that, as he was now with her,
+and would, in spite of all opposition, be beside her all her life, her
+soul was filled with ineffable hope, with delicious love, and the
+dream-romance of her life had taken substantial form, which would be a
+thousand times sweeter than she had ever dared to figure in her
+thoughts.
+
+Her lover had no money. He had lost his patrimony. Her father had
+nothing to give her, and----
+
+And what?
+
+How was it to be? How could they live on nothing? She had been brought
+up a lady, but her father was hopelessly in debt--over head and ears
+in debt--and if he were ever so willing to do so, he was powerless to
+help them now, and could leave them nothing later.
+
+True--most sadly true. But what of that? Was Tom not her lover?--and
+was he going to die of hunger? Did he not think he could get enough
+money somehow to keep him from falling by the way?
+
+No doubt. But she had been tenderly, luxuriously brought up. He had no
+means of keeping her in any such position as she had all along in life
+enjoyed.
+
+But he could get bread? Not literally only bread, but as much as they
+paid a gamekeeper or a groom?
+
+Oh, nonsense! Of course he could. But gentlefolk could not live on the
+wages of a gamekeeper or a groom.
+
+Did he love her?
+
+Very much. But a gamekeeper got no more----
+
+Than a roof, and clothes, and food, and--love. How much did he love
+her?
+
+Oh, better than anything else in the world.
+
+Well, then, let him take time and look around him, and get house, and
+clothes, and food such as gamekeepers and grooms may have. Those would
+be his contributions to their lives. She would supply the love.
+
+But lady and gentleman could not live in such a way.
+
+Why not? He was a gentleman, and she was a lady, and poverty could
+take none of these poor possessions away, any more than riches could
+create them. Let him get a gamekeeper's wages, and she would share
+them with him, and give him all her love, every day renewed.
+
+But----
+
+Ah! Then all she had to give was not worth as much to him as a
+gamekeeper valued his own wife at. Good-bye. The air was damp, and
+this wood was chilly.
+
+Yes, it looked as if it were going to rain. She would not leave him
+thus. She would say good-bye to him, and give him one kiss at parting.
+
+She would say good-bye, and he might have as many kisses as he cared
+for, provided she got soon away--for it was going to rain. No man had
+ever kissed her but him. Kisses did not mean anything, or words
+either. Why did he draw back? She told him he might kiss her if he
+chose. Any man might kiss her now. Kisses or words did not mean
+anything. Well, good-bye. Whither was he going? It would surely rain.
+Whither, did he say?
+
+"To hell!"
+
+"No, not there. You are a gentleman, and gentlemen do not go there;
+only gamekeepers and grooms--and women such as I."
+
+She walked slowly away through the moist wood in the drizzling rain.
+
+He felt sorely sorry and hurt, and ill-used by fate; but he had a gay
+disposition, and was no dreamer. Besides, he was a man of the world,
+and devilishly pressed for money just then; so he took Louis
+Davenport's thousand pounds and went away.
+
+After a while she married the odd, rich, old bachelor, Louis Davenport
+(she did not care what man kissed her now), and he took her away to
+Kilcash House, and although he never laid any restraint upon her, she
+knew he did not care that she should go much abroad; so she lived
+almost wholly in the house, and rarely went out alone, and never had
+any guest at the place.
+
+Mr. Davenport was at home most of the time. Now and then he went away
+for a few days, and always came back alone. There were no callers at
+the house, and she at first hoped she might die, and when she found
+her bodily health unimpaired, looked forward with a sense of relief to
+the time when she should go mad.
+
+Still her mental health held out as well as her bodily health, and
+weeks grew into months, and found no change in her or her manner of
+life.
+
+But there came a slight change in her home. During the first few weeks
+of her married life no stranger ever crossed the threshold of Kilcash
+House.
+
+Now a tall, gaunt, humble-mannered man, of slow, soft speech and
+unpretending ways, was often with Mr. Davenport for a long time in the
+day, sometimes far into the night, The husband never took the wife
+into his business confidence, and the wife had no curiosity whatever.
+But from odd words she gathered that this young man, whose name was
+Michael Fahey, depended on her husband, and was helped and received by
+him because of some old ties between the families of both. She heard
+Fahey was staying at the village of Kilcash for his health, which was
+delicate, and that he was completely trustworthy and well-disposed
+towards Mr. Davenport.
+
+All this reached Mrs. Davenport without leaving any impression
+whatever on her mind beyond the simplest value of the words. Her
+husband introduced Fahey to her as a man in whom he took a sincere
+interest, and whom he wished her to think well of. Whether he intended
+his wife should or should not treat the stranger as an equal, she did
+not know, she did not care.
+
+For a time she took little heed of Fahey, but gradually it dawned upon
+her that in him she had a new admirer. She was accustomed to
+admiration, surfeited with it. Her love romance was at an end. She was
+married to a man for whom she did not care, from whom she did not
+shrink, to whom she owed no ill-will, who was in his poor, narrow,
+selfish way good and kind to her. If she had now any commerce with
+laughter, she would have laughed; but even the pathetically absurd
+experience she had had of love could not provoke a smile, and she
+simply took no heed, said no word, gave no sign. She did not feel
+angry, flattered, amused, even bored. She was past any of these
+emotions now. She would, she could be no more than indifferent.
+
+Nothing could be more respectful than Fahey's manner. He did not
+regard her as human. He worshipped her afar off. He ate his heart in
+silence. He breathed no word, no sigh, gave wilfully no sign. But she
+saw his downcast or averted face, and she read the homage in furtive
+glances of his wondering eyes.
+
+Then came the scene with the rose and her husband's absence abroad,
+followed by his return, and a brief history of the marvellous escape
+he had from that French bank, and his resolution that he would now
+settle down in life and speculate no more. She then had but a dim idea
+of what speculation meant, of what his business was.
+
+Soon came a day of mystery and horror to her.
+
+She was alone in the little sitting-room on the ground floor, purely
+her own. It faced west. Broad daylight flooded the garden before her,
+the rolling downs beyond.
+
+Suddenly the light of the window by which she sat was obscured. The
+window was opened by Fahey. She motioned him to enter. By way of reply
+he made an impatient gesture.
+
+"Is he in?" asked Fahey, breathlessly.
+
+"No," she answered. "Can I do anything for you?"
+
+She now saw he was in violent agitation, and physically distressed.
+
+He continued:
+
+"I have not a moment to spare. Say to him, 'All is well. All is safe
+for him.' I have arranged that."
+
+"Safe!" she answered. "Does any danger threaten my husband?"
+
+"Yes, while I am here--while I live."
+
+"You--you would not hurt him?"
+
+She remembered the look of admiration she had seen in this man's eyes,
+and rose and recoiled in horror.
+
+"Give him my message. Repeat all I have said, except this: 'I am not
+doing it for his sake, or my own sake, but for yours. Good-bye.' Tell
+no one else of my being here; no one but him--not a soul."
+
+In a moment he was gone.
+
+The next thing she heard of him was that he had drowned himself in the
+hideous Puffing Hole.
+
+At first she had been inclined to think Fahey's words referred solely
+to his feelings towards her; but when she learned he had drowned
+himself she doubted this. Against what was her husband secure? To say
+he was secure against Fahey's admiration for her would be the height
+of gratuitous absurdity. She cared no more for the young man than for
+any misty figure in a fable. He must be mad; yes, that was it. That
+supposition made all simple--explained everything.
+
+It was night when her husband returned. She, remembering Fahey's
+caution, and bearing in mind that walls have ears, went to the gate of
+the grounds, and there met Davenport. He had heard of Fahey's fate. It
+was dark--pitch dark--when she gave him the message with which she had
+been charged.
+
+"Poor Michael!" her husband said--"poor Michael! Unfortunate fellow!"
+
+He said no more then, and rarely spoke of the man afterwards.
+Davenport was not a communicative man, and there was nothing
+noteworthy in his silence.
+
+After her husband's death she went through his papers, and found
+evidence of a much closer intimacy between Fahey and him than she had
+till then suspected. There was no clear evidence in these documents.
+They were partly in her husband's handwriting, partly in Fahey's.
+There was an air of mystery in them, and she was certain many passages
+of them were figurative. But one dreadful secret she learned from them
+beyond all doubt: Louis Davenport had not come by his money fairly,
+and Fahey was an accomplice in his schemes. When leaving London for
+the Continent, she had carried those papers with her unread. There she
+opened them, with a view to destroying them, and burned them in
+terrified haste. She had never suspected her husband of dishonest
+actions. Now she felt perfectly sure he had come by his money foully.
+How, she did not know. The man had been her husband, and she would
+shield his memory from shame; but she would touch none of his money,
+let who would have it, when she got back to London.
+
+She was convinced Fahey had not thrown himself into the Puffing Hole
+for love of her, or because he was insane, but solely and simply
+because he and her husband were mixed up in crimes of some kind, and
+Fahey preferred death to discovery on his own part, and on her part
+too; for she would suffer from the exposure of her husband, and Fahey
+had nothing to expect from her. There was still a want of clearness
+and precision about the whole affair. But on her way back from France,
+she had no doubt her theory was right in the main.
+
+Before the inquest she had been in horror of revealing in court the
+history of the treatment she had received at the hands of Blake, and
+the bare notion that she, being then a married woman, had driven this
+man Fahey in a frenzy of self-sacrifice or devotion to drown himself,
+filled her mind with thoughts of shame and anguish, the contemplation
+of which nearly took away her own reason. She had contemplated making
+away with herself rather than face the ordeal of the court. She had
+been a recluse for years, and haughty in her consciousness of
+unblameableness all her life.
+
+On her return to London she heard the rumour of this apparition at the
+Puffing Hole. Phelan had told of the apparition to several people in
+Kilbarry. The news of it had got into the local papers, and London
+papers copied the account. No name was given but Fahey's, and attached
+to his name was a brief history of Fahey's disappearance years ago.
+
+Upon these two discoveries she resolved to go to Ireland and renounce
+all claim to the fortune her husband had left her. There could no
+longer be in her mind any doubt that her husband's fortune, or a
+portion of it, had been obtained by fraud. At Paulton's she met
+O'Brien, who, on the way to Ireland, told her he himself had seen
+Fahey.
+
+She was now quite sure Fahey was still alive. The horrible suspicion
+had taken hold of her mind that Fahey had, after keeping in hiding for
+years, poisoned her husband for her sake! In the light of her belief
+that Fahey still lived, the theory that her husband had poisoned
+himself while of unsound mind was absurd to her.
+
+Before setting out this day for the Black Rock she opened a drawer of
+her late husband's, took out a revolver she knew to be loaded, and
+dropped it into her pocket.
+
+When she left the edge of the Black Rock she walked carefully to the
+cliff and ascended by the path.
+
+When she reached the level of the downs she gazed round.
+
+She started. A loud explosion rose from beneath her feet. It was the
+gunfire of the boat and the tremendous reverberations from the caves
+and cliffs.
+
+She looked round in alarm. A minute ago she had been alone. Now
+Michael Fahey stood by her side!
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+                            A LAST APPEAL.
+
+
+"Michael Fahey! Michael Fahey!" cried Mrs. Davenport, slowly. "Am I
+awake and sane?"
+
+"Both," answered he, gently. "You are awake and sane, and I am Fahey,
+and alive. Nothing can be more incredible; but it is as I say, Mrs.
+Davenport. You will not betray me? You will not be unmerciful to me?
+Remember, I never meant to do you harm."
+
+She shrank back from him. Did this man, whose hands were reddened with
+her husband's blood, dare to plead to her for mercy. "Betray you! What
+do you mean? Do you call it betraying you to give you into the hands
+of justice? You will gain nothing by threats. I am not afraid of you;
+and I am not defenceless, even though I am alone." She moved further
+off, and pressed the revolver in her hand.
+
+He seemed dejected rather than alarmed. "What good can it do you? When
+I disappeared years ago, it was for the good of your husband----" He
+held out his hands appealingly to her.
+
+Her tone and attitude were firm, as she interrupted him. "You
+disappeared years ago for the good of my husband, and reappear for his
+death--for his murder! I can have no more words with you. I shall
+certainly not shield you from the consequences of your crime."
+
+"If you only knew me as well as you might--if you could only
+understand how I felt that day I was hunted like a beast, you could
+not believe I would willingly do anything to annoy, much less to harm
+you.... Mrs. Davenport," he burst out, vehemently, "I would have died
+then for you: I will die now if you bid me--die for that second rose."
+
+She looked at him with a glance of loathing, and gathered herself
+together as though she felt contaminated by contact with the air he
+breathed.
+
+"Go away at once. Your audacity is loathsome. Has it come to this with
+me, that I must bandy words with such a monster?"
+
+"Mrs. Davenport," said he, in a tone of expostulation, "I am very far
+from saying I am blameless. I have committed crimes for which the
+punishment would be great, but I was not alone in my crimes. I did not
+invent them."
+
+"And who invented the atrocious crime of last February? Who was in our
+house in Dulwich that night?"
+
+"I read the case, and saw that Mr. Thomas Blake was at your house on
+that night."
+
+"And where were you?"
+
+"In Brussels. Good heavens!--you cannot imagine I had anything to do
+with that awful night! The idea is too monstrous to resent--to think
+of for a moment. I swear to you I was in Brussels at the time, and
+that I never did, or thought of doing, any injury to your husband. I
+loved him well; but I loved some one else better---better than all the
+world besides."
+
+He did not look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on the sea.
+
+She moved as if to go.
+
+He heard the motion, and went to her and stood between her and the
+house.
+
+"I will not say another word about myself; but hear me out. If I have
+nothing to hope for, let me go away in the belief I am not unjustly
+suspected by you of hurting your husband. I never cared much for my
+life. Let me feel that when I die I shall not be worse in your eyes
+than I deserve to be. Mrs. Davenport, hear me."
+
+He entreated her with his voice, with his eyes, with his bent body,
+with his outstretched hands.
+
+Without speaking, she gave him to understand he might go on.
+
+"I knew Mr. Davenport years before I saw you. I had business
+connections with him which would not bear the light. You must have
+heard or guessed something of what we have been busy about?"
+
+She made no sign--said nothing.
+
+"I was a steel engraver. Now and then he wanted plates done. I did the
+plates for him."
+
+"What kind of plates?"
+
+She betrayed no emotion of any kind. Her voice was as calm as though
+she was asking an ordinary question.
+
+"You had better not know. It would do you no good to know. But do you
+believe me that I was hundreds of miles away from London that awful
+night?"
+
+"And what brought you back to this place now?"
+
+"I came back--because you are free!"
+
+She made a gesture of impatience and dissent.
+
+"You do not mean to say you will continue your suspicion in the face
+of my denial, in the face of my horror at the mere thought?"
+
+"But why should I take your unsupported word? If you are innocent, why
+were you so horrified at the mere thought of inquiry?"
+
+"But, good heavens! Mrs. Davenport, you did not for a moment imagine I
+was afraid of inquiry into anything which occurred in February? I
+thought the inquiry to which you referred had reference to some old
+transactions between me and Mr. Davenport?"
+
+"What were these transactions?"
+
+"I beg of you not to ask. What good can it do to go into matters so
+far back? You would find my answers of no advantage to you."
+
+"Were they of a business character?"
+
+"Purely of a business character, I assure you."
+
+"And they would not bear the light?"
+
+"Not with advantage to me."
+
+"Or to my husband?"
+
+"Or with advantage to your late husband."
+
+"And to you, and to you alone the secret of these transactions is now
+known?"
+
+"To me, and to me alone."
+
+She paused in thought. She held up her hand to bespeak his silence.
+After a few moments' pause, she said:
+
+"In the course of these transactions injury was done to some one? Was
+that not so?"
+
+"You are asking too much. Neither your happiness nor your fortune
+could be served by my answering your questions. I refuse to answer."
+
+With a gesture, she declined to be satisfied with this treatment.
+
+"I have no fortune and no happiness. Once you told me you would do
+anything I requested of you if I gave you a rose. There are no roses
+now. In all likelihood there will be no more roses while I live----"
+
+"While you live!"
+
+"Let me go on. I have not much to say. You could not prize a rose for
+its intrinsic value?"
+
+"No; but for two other considerations--for the fact that it had once
+been yours, and for what the gift of it from you to me might signify."
+
+"If I gave you a rose now it could signify nothing--mind, absolutely
+nothing. But if the mere fact that it belonged to me would make
+anything valuable in your eyes, I will give you my glove, or my
+bracelet, or this for your secret;" and she drew from her pocket the
+revolver and pointed it at him.
+
+He started towards her at the sight of the weapon, crying angrily:
+
+"What do you mean by carrying that? Great heavens, it cannot be that
+you came out here with the intention of committing suicide!"
+
+He looked at her in horror.
+
+"No," she answered quietly--"but with the intention of defending
+myself against you. I thought if I should meet you, and you had
+murdered my husband, and knew from me I had guessed it, that I might
+need _this_. But I have no evidence you did murder him, and I see no
+sign of guilt in you. Will you take it, or the bracelet, or the glove,
+or all three, and tell me about those transactions in which my husband
+was engaged with you?"
+
+"It is not enough for my secret," he said.
+
+"What more do you want? My purse?"
+
+She put those questions in a placid tone, and showed no impatience or
+scorn.
+
+"No," he said, shaking with conflicting passions, "I do not want your
+purse. If I wanted money, I could have had as much as any man could
+care for out of your husband's purse. I have enough for myself. You
+cured me of the love of money, and put another love in its place. Give
+me your hand, or fire."
+
+She raised her hand quickly, and flung the revolver from her over the
+cliff. It fell on the Black Rock beneath. The fall was followed by a
+long silence on both sides.
+
+"I make one last appeal to you," she cried in soft, supplicating
+tones--"one last appeal. I do not purpose keeping a penny of the
+money--not one farthing. Some papers which fell accidentally into my
+hands after my husband's death convinced me he came by his money
+dishonestly. He himself told me you had been of great service to him,
+and that your actions would not bear the light. Give me, for pity's
+sake, a chance of restoring this money to those who ought to have it.
+I did think of dying and shielding his memory, for if I died no one
+could be surprised at my leaving the wretched money to charities. But
+it would be better still to give what remains of the money to the
+rightful owners. Will you tell me who they are?"
+
+She caught his hand in hers and drew it towards her.
+
+He seized hers eagerly, and held it.
+
+"I will for this," he whispered. "We can give all his money back if
+you will."
+
+She snatched her hand away.
+
+"That is impossible, sir. I have told you so finally."
+
+She essayed to pass by him once more.
+
+"Only a minute. I cannot live openly in this country; I must go
+abroad. I have been concealed close to this place in the hope of
+meeting you. I may never see you again. Do not go for a minute. Your
+husband was always good and loyal to me, and I was always loyal to
+him. He dealt honourably with me in money matters. It was necessary
+for us to have a hiding-place near this, and I found it. Just before I
+disappeared he made up his mind to abandon business of all kinds. He
+had enough of money, and so had I--though of course he was a rich man
+compared with me. Well, as you know, I disappeared. I went, no matter
+where. I disappeared because I had no longer any business here, and
+because of another reason to which I will not again refer. That is all
+I have to say, except that I left documents which would be
+intelligible to your husband--they contained the clue to our
+hiding-place should I die or your husband want it--in Mr. John
+O'Hanlon's hands for Mr. Davenport and you. Nothing, I suppose, ever
+reached you about them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"That, then, is all I have to say."
+
+"You will tell me no more? Give me no key?"
+
+"Mr. Davenport left you his money. Why should I help you to get rid of
+it? Good-bye."
+
+He turned eastward, went along the cliff, and she moved off slowly in
+the direction of Kilcash House.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XLV.
+
+                           BEYOND THE VEIL.
+
+
+It was Phelan who said it was not the hand of mortal man that had
+kindled the fire the four men in the Red Cave saw after the dying of
+the red light on the water.
+
+For a long time after he had spoken no human voice was heard. All was
+silence save the mystic whispers and breathings of the cave, which,
+after the prodigious clangour lately filling the void, were no more
+than the ripple of faint air flowing through mere night.
+
+The three men watched the light breathlessly. At first it seemed
+steady, but now it began to waver slowly this way and that way, like a
+warning hand admonishing or threatening, a spiritual hand beckoning or
+blessing.
+
+It was not crimson, as the other flame had been, but pale yellow, like
+the early east. It was not fierce and dazzling, but lambent and soft.
+It was not light in darkness, as a zenith moon, but light against
+darkness, as a setting star. It was independent, absolute, taking or
+giving nothing. Space lay between it and the eyes that saw; infinity
+between it and the sightless vault.
+
+There was something in this cave that killed you, and yet in that
+place you must not die.
+
+"Heaven be merciful to us!" whispered a human voice.
+
+"To us," whispered the phantom voice against the men's hair.
+
+"It's the corpse-candle of the dead men of the Black Rock," whispered
+Phelan.
+
+"Of the Black Rock!" echoed the spirit.
+
+The words "Black Rock" acted like a charm, and broke the terrible
+spell of the place. Never before had the name of that fatal and hated
+shelf of land sounded grateful to human ears.
+
+The two boatmen had been often in that stupendous cave before, had
+seen its colossal glories in the ruby flare, and heard its
+reverberating thunders in the inexorable gloom. But never until now
+had they gazed upon this weird light; they were certain that if it had
+existed when they had been visitors on other occasions they could not
+have missed observing it.
+
+What they now saw made a profound impression on them, and powerfully
+excited their superstitious minds. They had never rowed to the end of
+that eastern shaft of the labyrinth, but they knew from the sharp turn
+it struck west, and the great depth to which it penetrated, that the
+onward limit of it must be near the rear of the Black Rock.
+
+This filled them with doubt--uneasy doubt. Owing to the darkness and
+the nature of the remote light, they could not form an exact notion of
+its position, but they guessed it to be no less than a mile from the
+Red Gap, and, allowing for everything, that would be the back of the
+Black Rock.
+
+Why should there be a light at the back of the Black Rock? How could a
+light be accounted for there? except it was a corpse-candle on that
+murderous reef.
+
+It was a thought to shudder at.
+
+With the other two men the effect was wholly different. Neither had
+ever been in this marvellous place before; neither had seen its
+sights, or heard its sounds, or endured its darkness until now, and
+their imaginations had been powerfully excited and exercised. At one
+time they were exalted by the visible--at another overawed by the
+unseen. Sobriety of thought and familiarity of experience were absent,
+and they were face to face with things undreamed of and enormous, and
+with phantoms and monstrous ideas that baffled investigation and
+pursuit.
+
+But to them the mention of the Black Rock meant the re-entry of
+ordinary ideas and homely thoughts. It lay out there in the noonday
+sunlight beside the sunlit sea. It was part of the pastoral land where
+people sang and trees waved their leaves and winds bore perfumes.
+There was nothing more disquieting about it than about a ship, or a
+house, or a rampart.
+
+O'Brien's thoughts had now gone back to their ordinary course. If this
+light came from anywhere near the Black Rock, might it not have
+something to do with the Puffing Hole?
+
+The question was fascinating, alluring. It might prove a beacon to
+discovery.
+
+"Where do you think it is from, Phelan?" he asked, in a whisper.
+
+"Somewhere near the Black Rock. I can't say exactly where."
+
+"What do you believe it is?"
+
+"A corpse-candle. The corpse-candle of the men that the Rock killed."
+
+"Nonsense! You ought to know better. A corpse-candle is not for the
+dead--it's for the living."
+
+"Above ground it may be so. But under ground it may be different."
+
+"Let us go and see what it is."
+
+"Not a stroke."
+
+"What, Phelan!--afraid again? There's hardly a thing you are not
+afraid of."
+
+"I'm not afraid of you or any other man."
+
+"If you don't go to it with me, I'll swim to it."
+
+"If you do, it will be _your_ corpse-candle."
+
+"I don't care. If you won't go, I'll swim to it. If you don't make up
+your mind while I'm counting twenty, I'll dive off and swim."
+
+"It would be murder to let you, O'Brien. Put it out of your head. We
+won't let you go."
+
+None of the men could see where another was standing.
+
+O'Brien laughed.
+
+"You can't touch me--you can't stop me."
+
+"Whisht--whisht! For heaven's sake, don't laugh. This is no place for
+laughing with that candle before you."
+
+O'Brien laughed softly, and counted, "One."
+
+"If you laugh again, by heavens, I'll throw you in, O'Brien."
+
+"Two!" O'Brien laughed. "Then you won't let me count twenty? You
+launch me on my swim at 'three'?"
+
+"He'll bring the cliffs down on us."
+
+"Four! Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+Up to this the words and the laughter had been in whispers. This time
+O'Brien counted and laughed out loud.
+
+The effect was prodigious. Those vast chambers of solemn night had
+never before heard human laughter, and they roared and bellowed, and
+yelled and shrieked, and grumbled, as though furiously calling upon
+one another to rush together and tear asunder or crush flat the
+impious intruders who dared to profane with such sounds the sanctuary
+of their repose.
+
+"I'll go," whispered Phelan--"I'll go. But--wait!"
+
+A torch was now lit, and by the aid of its fitful flame the four men
+scrambled into the yawl. The two rowers took their places standing and
+facing the bow. O'Brien held the flaring torch on high, and the
+boatmen gave way.
+
+As they glided gently along, the irregular walls of the aisle came
+nearer to them out of the darkness with a nearness that was sinister
+and hateful. It was as though they crept close with the full intention
+of crushing the craft and grinding the men to death between their
+ponderous fangs and molars. They seemed avengers of the echoes
+outraged by the laughter.
+
+The luminous shaft still shone; but as they came nearer, the light
+grew whiter and less like flame. The red glare of the torch seemed to
+overcome it.
+
+The men watched it with starting eyes.
+
+The walls of the cave came closer out of the darkness, and the roof
+lowered.
+
+By this time Phelan had lost all his fears, and was as curious as the
+others to know what the light was.
+
+All at once he cried out--"Ease!"
+
+Both men stopped rowing. The sound of the oars ceased, and the noise
+of the ripple from the oars. All listened intently. A hissing sound
+could be distinctly heard--a loud hissing sound which they had not
+noticed before, because, no doubt, of the gradualness of their
+approach and the noises made by the rowers.
+
+"It's water--falling water. But, in the name of all the saints, where
+is it falling from, and how can we see it in the darkness? Give way,
+Tim."
+
+The cave grew narrower still, and now there was barely room for the
+shortened oars. The sides of it came closer, the roof lowered until it
+was no more than an arm's length above the heads of the standing men.
+The bright patch grew higher and broader. The torch still burned. A
+dull whiteness shone on the rocks.
+
+The luminous space now looked like a faintly-lighted sheet of glass.
+The hissing sound of the water had gathered intensity.
+
+"I don't know what's beyond, but I'll risk going through if you are
+willing," cried Phelan, who was now in a state of almost frenzy from
+suppressed excitement.
+
+"Go on--go on!" shouted O'Brien, who found it difficult to keep from
+jumping overboard.
+
+"Go on!" repeated Alfred, who, too, was now standing up.
+
+"Give way with a will!" shouted Phelan; and in a minute the boat shot
+through a thick sheet of foam and falling water, and glided into a
+placid pool.
+
+For a moment the men were blinded by the foam and water, and could see
+nothing.
+
+They rubbed their eyes, looked up obliquely, and were blinded once
+again.
+
+The mid-day sun flamed above their heads at the end of a stupendous
+tube.
+
+An indescribable cry arose. Then all was still.
+
+A crow flew between them and the sun. All bent their heads and
+crouched low as though instant death was rushing down upon them. The
+crow went by harmlessly.
+
+"Do you know where we are?" asked Phelan, in the voice of an awestruck
+child.
+
+"No."
+
+"At the bottom of the shaft of the old mine. It slants to the
+southward, and that's the sun!"
+
+They looked around: some wreckage floated on one side of the boat.
+
+"The planks that covered the mouth of the shaft. They must have fallen
+in."
+
+Something that was not a plank floated on the other side of the boat.
+
+It was the body of Fahey!
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+                           AN EVENING WALK.
+
+
+"Yes, Madge, 'twas an awful time. I never felt anything like it in my
+life; and as for Alfred, he was stunned with terror. You see, that old
+mine shaft had followed the soft part of the cliff (there's not much
+use in looking for copper in solid sandstone), and so was like a huge
+telescope, pointed south at some angle or other--the angle, I think,
+at which you are now holding your chin."
+
+"Jerry, don't talk nonsense."
+
+"You'd be very sorry indeed if I didn't. Well, we hauled the dreadful
+thing we had found into the boat, and then began to think of getting
+back; but Phelan, the boatman, swore he would not go through that
+awful Red Cave with it on board.
+
+"We looked round us to see the best thing we could do. We found we
+were in what I may call an under-ground pool, from which there were
+three ways out--one leading into the cliff, one leading in the
+direction of the sea, and the one by which we had entered. Am I tiring
+you with my long-winded description?"
+
+"No, Jerry--go on; I came out to hear all," said Madge, pressing the
+arm on which her own rested.
+
+"We first tried the way towards the sea, and found, to Phelan's
+amazement and consternation, that it led right under, or, rather,
+through the Puffing Hole. No power on earth could induce Phelan to go
+that way. When we made this discovery, I now plainly saw the meaning
+of those mysterious measurements and instructions left by the
+unfortunate Fahey, and the means by which he had effected his
+extraordinary disappearance years ago. He had jumped down and swum
+inward to where we had found his dead body. In his 'Memorandum,' 'Rise
+15.6 lowest' meant what I had expected--the rise of the lowest tide.
+'At lowest minute of lowest forward with all might undaunted,' meant
+that one entering at the Whale's Mouth at the lowest minute of the
+lowest tide was to push forward with all vigour.... But, Madge
+darling, this must bore you to death?"
+
+"No, Jerry, I love to hear it. Just fancy having the hero of such an
+adventure telling it quietly to me on the Dulwich Road!"
+
+"Twenty years hence how sick you'll be of these same adventures! You
+will then have heard them told at least a thousand times to every
+fresh acquaintance I make--man, woman, or child. But you'll be
+very tired of me also, sweetheart, and you shall go to sleep in an
+easy-chair while I prate on."
+
+"Don't say such horrid things, or I shall cry. Please go on."
+
+"Ah, well, you may bully me now, but you won't then. Where did I leave
+off, darling?" He pressed her arm and she pressed his.
+
+"At the man going up under the Puffing Hole. The paper he left with
+your solicitor."
+
+"Our solicitor--say our solicitor."
+
+"Our solicitor. There! But how tiresome you are!"
+
+"Oh, ay! I have the whole thing off by heart. The 'Memorandum' goes
+on, 'The foregoing refers to s-c-u-l-l-s with only one s-k-u-l-l any
+lowest, or any last quarter, but great forward pluck required for
+this. In both cases (of course!) left.' You see, here he underlines
+the words 'sculls' and 'skull,' which shows something unusual was
+meant. Remembering everything, 'sculls' evidently meant _sculls_, as
+very few people have more than one skull, and 'skull' meant what it
+seems to mean--your head. By-the-way, I beg your pardon. It's only men
+have skulls, not angels.'
+
+"Jerry, I'm going home."
+
+"Well, I won't, I won't! Put your arm back. Let us, in fact, have an
+armed peace."
+
+"This kind of thing, Jerry, is very bitter, and I feel as if--as
+if--as if----"
+
+"As if what?"
+
+"As if I can't help liking you--sometimes when you're nice."
+
+"I'll be good and nice. Well, what he meant was that when you wanted
+to get at his hiding-place by the sea, in a boat pulling sculls, you
+came and did certain things; and that when you wanted to get there by
+jumping down the Puffing Hole, you did other things.
+
+"When we came back to the foot of the shaft the sun had gone off it,
+and it was comparatively dark. We tried the passage leading inward,
+and here we found Fahey's hiding-place. It was a small low cave, with
+a rocky ledge about as wide as the footway we are walking on....
+Madge, are those new boots? They look new. I wonder did I ever tell
+you I think you have awfully pretty feet."
+
+"I give you up. You are incorrigible."
+
+"As I was saying, we found a ledge of rock about as broad as your
+foot. This was Fahey's retreat, and here were all the materials used
+by the forgers of bank-notes. How Fahey got them there unobserved is
+the puzzle. He must have brought them piecemeal Here, beyond all
+doubt, were printed the notes forged upon the bank of Bordelon and
+Company, of Paris, by means of which Mr. Davenport stole a colossal
+fortune.
+
+"Here we found an explanation of how Fahey's suit of clothes lasted
+ten or twelve years. We found two suits precisely similar. He kept one
+to wear, no doubt, while the other was drying. There was a place which
+had evidently been used as a fireplace, and although there was water
+so close to this ledge, it was above the highest reach of the highest
+tide, and dry as tinder. The dryness of the place and the salt of the
+sea-water had preserved these clothes from decay, while most of the
+metal things had crumbled into dust.
+
+"He must have discovered this place in his boat, and after that found
+out the shaft of the mine communicated with the whole cavernous
+system, which is so vast as to stagger the mind. Thus he had two means
+of gaining his retreat; and when he said he had lost his boat, she was
+safely moored in the cave in case of emergency--for we found the
+painter-chain hanging from a bolt."
+
+"But what of that light you saw that turned out to be water? And did
+the miners work in the sea?"
+
+"Attentive and intelligent darling, I thank thee. The theory is that
+Fahey, in falling or sliding down the shaft, struck the western wall
+of the pool in which we found him, and brought down a huge mass of
+clay which was ripe for falling, or that it had fallen recently, or
+that our gunshot had brought it down. The curtain of water was formed
+by a spring of fresh water. There are always dozens of such springs in
+cliffs. As to the foot of the shaft, the explanation is that at the
+time the miners were at work the sea had not eaten so far inward. In
+fact, that whole district is and has been gradually so enormously
+undermined, that soon a mighty subsidence must take place."
+
+"But you say that the hole down to the mine slanted. How did he get up
+and down? It would have been barely possible, but dangerous, to crawl
+up."
+
+"He had a rope by which to hold on, and while holding on thus, he
+could walk upright--that is, hand over hand. Before the fall of the
+planks that covered the top of the shaft, Fahey had crept out by a
+small opening looking seaward, and concealed from view, if any one
+ever should be so foolhardy as to go there, by a thick growth of
+furze."
+
+"Well, what did you do afterwards?"
+
+"When?"
+
+"You told me only as far as coming back from the Puffing Hole."
+
+"True. Well, we laid what remained of the unfortunate man on the rock
+which had often been his resting-place before, and then rowed back
+through the wonderful Red Cave, and put the matter in the hands of the
+police. At the inquest all about the forgery of Davenport and Fahey
+and the swindle on the Paris bank came out, and Mrs. Davenport was
+examined, She admitted Fahey had made love to her, as you saw by the
+papers. Wasn't it strange that Alfred should be the first to see her
+husband and her husband's partner in guilt dead, and not by natural
+means, and that at both inquests she spoke of a new lover, and that
+Alfred, the newest lover of all three, should have been at both
+inquests?"
+
+"It is astonishing and terrible. I wonder what will come of it?"
+
+"Heaven knows. But there, let it go now, Madge. When you come to
+Ireland, love, you shall see those wonderful caves."
+
+"I'd rather die," she said, "than go near them."
+
+"What!--if they were lit by the glorious effulgence of this splendid
+specimen of the O'Briens?"
+
+This dialogue took place one day after dinner in the June following
+the visit to the cave. The villainous Fishery Commissioners had been
+overcome, and Jerry and Madge were to be married in a week.
+
+Alfred Paulton was still at the "Strand Hotel," in the village of
+Kilcash.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+                             CONCLUSION.
+
+
+"Marion, will you not listen to me?--will you not listen to reason?
+Your fortune, you say, is now all gone--must be restored to its lawful
+owners, the Paris bankers, and that you have made the necessary
+arrangements for doing so. You are bankrupt in fortune: why should you
+be bankrupt also in love?"
+
+"Understand me, Thomas Blake, I will speak on this subject no more to
+you. I do not think you will have the bad taste to remain any longer
+in this house when I ask you to go."
+
+"I will do anything on earth for you, Marion--anything in reason you
+ask me."
+
+"Then go."
+
+"But is that reasonable? Is it reasonable to ask me to leave you now
+that you are as free as you were in the olden times?"
+
+She looked at him wrathfully, scornfully.
+
+"Have you got a second bidder for me in view? Did you not take my
+heart when it was young, when you were young, and sell it for a sum of
+money down? You know there is no one in this house but servants. Save
+yourself the ignominy of my ringing the bell. Sir, will you go? I have
+affairs to attend to. You have broken your promise by renewing this
+subject."
+
+"Why did you telegraph for me to London?"
+
+"Because I thought you might be useful to me, and you have proved
+useless."
+
+"And if I had proved useful, would you have rewarded me?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Oh, Marion, Marion, you are playing with me! Do you mean to say you
+would have allowed me to hope if I had proved of service in that
+affair? I did my best. I swear to you I did my best, and if you will
+only give me your hand now----"
+
+"Thomas Blake, I would have rewarded you by saying that your debt to
+me had been diminished by one useful act of yours. But my contempt for
+you would have been just the same. Take your elderly protestations of
+love to fresh ears. Mine are too old and too weary, and too well
+acquainted with their value, to care much for them. Go now. When I
+have need of you again I shall send for you."
+
+"Marion, this is too bad. You are treating me as if I were a dog."
+
+"Worse--much worse. We were intended for one another. Once I would
+have died for you; now I cannot endure you except when I think you may
+be of use to me. I shall send for you if I should happen to want you
+again."
+
+His face grew white, and he set his teeth. They were in the green
+drawing-room of Kilcash House. The full June sun was flaming abroad on
+the sea, and shining in through the windows.
+
+"You outrage me. I am not accustomed to be----"
+
+"Told the simple truth," she said, finishing the sentence for him. "I
+threatened to ring."
+
+She went to the bell-rope. He sprang between her and it menacingly.
+
+"I believe you are capable of violence," she said, surveying him with
+a taunting smile.
+
+"I am capable of murder."
+
+"Only for plunder," she said, still smiling.
+
+He ground his teeth.
+
+"You will drive me to it, Marion Butler."
+
+At the mention of her maiden name, a swift flush of crimson darkened
+her face. Her eyes flashed, her nostrils dilated, her head bent
+forward, her mouth opened, the veins in her temple swelled. She
+clenched her hands--her bosom heaved--she stood still.
+
+The sudden change in her appearance arrested his anger. He believed
+she was going to have a fit. Her maiden name had not been purposely
+uttered by him. It loosed some current in the brain which had not
+flowed for years.
+
+Awhile she stood thus. Then all at once the colour fled from her face,
+and left it pallid, cold, rigid. She pressed her hand once or twice
+across her brow, and then, looking at him intently for a few moments,
+said, in a quiet, weary voice:
+
+"I am ill. Leave me; but come to me soon again. In an
+hour--half-an-hour. I did not mean what I said. Pray leave me, and
+come to me soon. I shall be here. I am confused."
+
+Without speaking, and scarcely believing the words he heard, he stole
+from the room.
+
+She sat down on a couch and covered her face with her hands.
+
+"Wait," she said softly to herself. "There is something I must
+do--something I have forgotten. Oh, I know! He is an honourable
+gentleman, and must not be disregarded."
+
+She went over to a table, found writing materials, sat down, and
+wrote:
+
+
+"Dear Mr. Paulton,
+
+"I got your note this morning. I told you the first time you did me
+the honour of offering me marriage that there was no hope. I am sorry
+to say I am of the same mind still. You will forget and forgive me in
+time. I shall never forget your kindness to me in my distress.
+
+                   "Yours sincerely,
+
+                          "Marion Butler."
+
+
+She read the note over and over again from top to bottom. Something in
+the look of it did not please her, but she could not think of anything
+better to say. She had received a note from him that morning, asking
+her to grant him another interview. He had proposed to her a week ago.
+She had told him plainly she would not marry him. He had begged that
+he might be allowed to call again. She said it was quite useless. He
+craved another interview, and she gave way, on the understanding no
+hope was to be based on the permission. He had come again, and again
+had been refused. And now he was asking for a third chance. She would
+not give it to him. It would be worse than useless under the
+circumstances. There was something wrong with this note, but it must
+serve, as Tom Blake was waiting.
+
+She put the letter in an envelope, addressed it to Alfred at the
+"Strand Hotel," Kilcash, rang the bell, and sent a servant off with
+it.
+
+When it was gone she said:
+
+"I must go now and meet Tom. He said he'd be---- Where's this he said
+he'd be? Oh, I know! By the corner of the wood on the Bandon Road.
+I'll put on the white muslin Tom likes. If Mr. Paulton should come
+they must say I am out."
+
+Alfred Paulton got the note, and although he could not understand the
+signature--it was no doubt the result of a lapse of memory, in which
+she went back for a moment to her girlish days--he knew his dismissal
+was final.
+
+That day he set off for London, and arrived in time to see Madge
+married to his old friend, Jerry O'Brien, who was secretly delighted
+at the failure of Alfred's suit.
+
+While Jerry was on his honeymoon he got a letter from his old friend
+and solicitor, the postscript of which gave him the latest news of
+Mrs. Davenport: the doctors had pronounced her hopelessly insane.
+
+
+
+                               THE END.
+
+
+                         * * * * * * * * * *
+           CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Tempest-Driven (Vol. III of 3), by Richard Dowling
+
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