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diff --git a/75876-h/75876-h.htm b/75876-h/75876-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..62cafe0 --- /dev/null +++ b/75876-h/75876-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9948 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Lucius Davoren Volume 2 | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; + color: #A9A9A9; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center; font-size: 85%;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.fs70 {font-size: 70%} +.fs80 {font-size: 80%} +.fs90 {font-size: 90%} +.fs120 {font-size: 120%} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%} +.fs200 {font-size: 200%} + +.no-indent {text-indent: 0em;} +.bold {font-weight: bold;} +.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.lh {line-height: 1.5em;} + +h2 {font-size: 130%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.6em; word-spacing: .3em;} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent1 {text-indent: -2.5em;} +.poetry .indent3 {text-indent: -1.5em;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp10 {width: 10%;} +.illowp15 {width: 15%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75876 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 85%"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</div> + + +<h1>LUCIUS DAVOREN</h1> + +<p class="center no-indent fs80">OR</p> + +<p class="center no-indent fs120 wsp">PUBLICANS AND SINNERS</p> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent bold wsp">A Novel</p> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent fs90 wsp">BY THE AUTHOR OF</p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp">‘LADY AUDLEY’S SECRET’</p> + +<p class="center no-indent fs80 wsp">ETC. ETC. ETC.</p> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent fs90 wsp">IN THREE VOLUMES</p> + +<p class="center no-indent fs120 wsp">VOL. II.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp15" id="titlr" style="max-width: 9.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/titlr.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent wsp">LONDON<br> +<span class="fs120">JOHN MAXWELL AND CO.</span><br> +<span class="fs80">4 SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET<br> +1873<br> +[<em>All rights reserved</em>]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent fs80"> +LONDON:<br> +ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.<br> +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS_OF_VOL_II">CONTENTS OF VOL. II.</h2> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp15" id="a003_deco" style="max-width: 19em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/a003_deco.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> +<br> + +<table class="autotable lh"> +<tr> +<td class="tdc bold" colspan="3">Book the First.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc fs80" colspan="3">(<em>Continued</em>).</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr fs70">CHAP.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr fs70">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XIV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Geoffrey learns the Worst</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Beginning of a Mystery</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XVI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An unpleasant Discovery</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc bold" colspan="3"><br>Book the Second.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">I.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Geoffrey begins a Voyage of Discovery</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">II.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lady Baker</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">III.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lady Baker tells the Story of the Past</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">IV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lucius makes a Confession</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc bold" colspan="3"><br>Book the Third.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">I.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Change came o’er the Spirit of my Dream</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">II.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lucius is puzzled</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">III.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Homer Sivewright’s last Will and Testament</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">IV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">What Lucius saw betwixt Midnight and Morning</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_171">171</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">V.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lucius at Fault</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">VI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Plunder of the Muniment Chest</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">VII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The hidden Staircase</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">VIII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mr. Otranto pronounces an Opinion</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">IX.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Mystery of Lucille’s Parentage</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">X.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mystic Music</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At Fault</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Troubles thicken</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + +<p class="center no-indent fs200 wsp bold">LUCIUS DAVOREN</p> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp10" id="p001_deco" style="max-width: 19em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p001_deco.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> +<br> + +<p class="center no-indent bold wsp">Book the First.</p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.<br> +<span class="fs70">GEOFFREY LEARNS THE WORST.</span></h2> + + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">They</span> had dined, and the letter was written. A week-old +moon shone in the placid heaven; the tender +night-stillness had descended upon the always quiet +town; lights twinkled gaily from the casements of +surrounding villas; like a string of jewels gleamed +the lamps of the empty High-street. The slow river +wound his sinuous course between the rushes and +the willows with scarce a ripple. No sweeter air +could have breathed among the leaves, no calmer +sky could have o’er-canopied this earth on that night +in Verona when young Romeo stole into Capulet’s +garden under the midnight stars. It was a night +made for lovers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span></p> + +<p>The clock struck the half hour after nine as +Geoffrey left the hotel, with his friend’s letter in his +pocket; assuredly a strange hour in which to visit a +lady who had forbidden him to visit her at all. But +a man who feels that he is taking a desperate step +will hardly stop to consider the details of time or +place which may render it a little more or less desperate.</p> + +<p>To approach the woman he loved armed with a +letter from another man; to bring a stranger’s influence +to bear upon her who had been deaf to his most +passionate pleading; to say to her, ‘I myself have +failed to touch your heart, but here is my bosom +friend’s prayer in my behalf: will you grant to his +vicarious wooing the grace you have persistently +denied to me?’—what could seem madder, more +utterly desperate, than such a course as this?</p> + +<p>Yet women are doubtless strange creatures—a +fact which those classic poets and satirists whose +opinions it had been his pleasing task to study had +taken pains to impress on Mr. Hossack’s mind. He +remembered Mrs. Bertram’s agitation in that brief +scene with Lucius, her exalted sense of gratitude. +It was just possible that she really might regard him, +even at this hour, as the preserver of her child’s life—second +only to Providence in that time of trouble.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> +And if she thought of him thus, his influence might +have some weight.</p> + +<p>‘Dear old fellow!’ thought Geoffrey affectionately; +‘he wouldn’t let me see the letter. I daresay he has +given me no end of a character,—like other written +characters, which are generally of the florid order—praised +me up to the skies. Will his eloquence +move her to pity me, I wonder? I fear not. And I +feel odiously caddish, going to deliver my own testimonials.’</p> + +<p>If he could have faced Lucius with any grace, it +is possible that he would have turned back, even on +the very threshold of Mrs. Bertram’s tiny garden. +But after bringing his friend down from London, +could he be so churlish as to reject his aid, let it be +offered in what manner so ever?</p> + +<p>He plucked up his courage at sight of the lamp +in her window—a gentle light. The upper half of +the casement was open, and he heard the dreamy +arpeggios of one of Mendelssohn’s Lieder played by +the hand whose touch even his untutored ear knew +so well. In another minute he was admitted by a +neat little servant, who opened the door of the parlour +unhesitatingly, and ushered him straightway in, +assured that he had come to propose a new pupil, +and regarding him as the harbinger of fortune.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p> + +<p>‘A gentleman, if you please ’m, to see you.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bertram rose from the piano, the graceful +figure he knew so well, in the plain black dress, just +as he had seen her the first time at the morning +concert in Manchester-square—a certain lofty pose of +the head, the dark eyes looking at him with a grave +steady look, after just one briefest flash of glad surprise, +just one faint quiver of the perfect lips.</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Hossack!’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I know you have forbidden me to call upon +you, and yet I dare to come, at this unseasonable +hour, in defiance of your command. Forgive me, +Mrs. Bertram, and for pity’s sake hear me. A man +cannot go on living for ever betwixt earth and heaven. +A time has come when I feel that I must either leave +this place, and,’ with a faint tremble in his voice, ‘all +that makes it dear to me, or remain to be happier +than I am—happy, at least, in the possession of +some sustaining hope. You remember my friend +Davoren—’</p> + +<p>Remember him! Her cheek blanched even at +the mention of his name.</p> + +<p>‘The doctor who came down to see your +daughter?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ she said, looking at him strangely; ‘I +am not likely to forget Mr. Davoren.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> + +<p>‘You are too grateful for a trifling service. Well, +Davoren, my dear old friend, the best and truest +friend I have, is here again.’</p> + +<p>‘Here!’ she cried, looking towards the door as if +she expected to see it open to admit him. ‘O, I +should so like to see him again.’</p> + +<p>‘He will be only too proud to call upon you to-morrow; +but in the mean time he—Mrs. Bertram, +you must forgive me for what I am going to say. +Remember, Davoren is my friend, as near and dear +to me as ever brother was to brother. I have told +him the story of my hopeless love—’</p> + +<p>‘O, pray, pray, not that subject!’ she said, with +a little movement of her hand, half in warning, half +entreaty.</p> + +<p>‘I have told him all,’ continued Geoffrey, undeterred +by that deprecating gesture, ‘and he has +written to you, believing that his influence might +move you a little in my favour. You will not refuse +to read his letter, will you, Mrs. Bertram, or feel +offended by his interference?’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ she said, holding out her hand to receive +the letter; ‘I can refuse him nothing.’</p> + +<p>She betrayed neither surprise nor anger, but read +the letter, which was somewhat long, with deepest +interest. Her countenance, as she read, watched<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> +closely by her lover, betrayed stronger emotion than +he had ever yet seen in that inscrutable face. Tears +gathered on her eyelids ere she had finished, and at +the end a half-stifled sob burst from that proud +bosom.</p> + +<p>‘<em>His</em> eloquence has more power than mine,’ said +Geoffrey, with kindling jealousy.</p> + +<p>‘He pleads well,’ she answered, with a slow sad +smile—‘pleads as few men know how to plead for +another. He urges me to be very frank with you, +Mr. Hossack; bids me remember the priceless worth +of a heart as true and noble as that you have offered +me; entreats me, for the sake of my own happiness +and of yours, to tell you the wretched story of my +past life. And if, when all is told, wisdom or honour +counsels you to leave me, why,’ with a faint broken +laugh, ‘you have but to bid me good-bye, and go +away, disenchanted and happy.’</p> + +<p>‘Happy without you! Never; nor do I believe +your power to disenchant me.’</p> + +<p>‘Do not promise too much. My—this letter bids +me do what, of my own free will, I never could have +done—tell you the story of my life. Perhaps I had +better write to you; yet no, it might be still more +difficult. I will tell you all, at once. And then hate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> +me or despise me, as you will. You must at least +remember that I have never courted your love.’</p> + +<p>‘I know that you have been the most cruel among +women, the most inexorable—’</p> + +<p>‘I was not so once, but rather the weakest. Hear +my story, as briefly, as plainly as I can tell it. Years +ago I was a guest at a great lady’s house—a visitor +among people who were above me in rank, but who +were pleased to take a fancy to me, as the phrase +goes, because I had some little talent for music. I +sang and played well enough to amuse them and their +guests. The lady was an amateur, raved about +music, and delighted in bringing musical people +about her. Among her favourites when I visited her +was one who had a rare genius—a man with whom +music was a second nature, whose whole being seemed +to be absorbed by his art. Violinist, pianist, organist, +with a power of passionate expression that gave a +new magic even to the most familiar melodies, he +seemed the very genius of music. I heard him, and, +like my patroness, was enchanted. She was amused +to see my delight; threw us much together; wove a +little romance out of our companionship; made us +play and sing together; and in a word, with the +most innocent and kindly intentions, prepared the +way for my deepest misery.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p> + +<p>‘You loved this man!’ cried Geoffrey, ready to +hate him on that ground.</p> + +<p>‘Loved him! I thought so then. There are times +when I believe I never really loved him, that the +glamour which he cast around me was only the +magic of his art. But for the time being my mind +was utterly subjugated by his influence; I had no +thought but of him, and, fascinated by his genius, +deemed him worthy of a self-sacrificing love. He +was a creature of mystery—a mere waif and stray, +admitted to the house where I met him on no better +recommendation than his genius. He had the manners and +education of a gentleman, the eccentricities +of an artist. He asked me to be his wife, disregarded +my refusal, pursued me with an unwearying persistence, +and, aided by the wondrous power of his +genius, triumphed over every argument, conquered +every opposition, wrung from me my consent to a +secret union. It would be useless to repeat his +specious statements—his pretended reasons for desiring +a secret marriage. I was weak enough, wicked +enough, to consent to the arrangement he proposed; +but not until after many a bitter struggle.’</p> + +<p>‘Why pain yourself by these wretched memories?’ +exclaimed Geoffrey. ‘Tell me nothing except that +you will be my wife. I will take all the rest upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> +trust. There is no such thing as truth or purity in +woman if you are not worthy of an honest man’s +love.’</p> + +<p>‘You shall hear me to the end,’ she answered +quietly, ‘and then pronounce whether I am or not. +The house in which we were visitors was only two +miles from a cathedral city. He of whom I have +been speaking—’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Bertram.’</p> + +<p>‘I will call him Bertram, although I am bound +to tell you that name is not the true one. Mr. Bertram +proposed a marriage before the registrar in the +cathedral town. We both had been long enough +resident in the neighbourhood for the necessary +notice. Indeed, that notice had been given some +days before I gave my most reluctant consent. At +the last, harassed by Mr. Bertram’s importunity, +loving him with a girl’s first romantic fancy, and +believing that I was the object of a most devoted love, +without an adviser or friend at hand to whom I could +appeal, conscious that I was guilty of ingratitude +and disobedience towards the dearest and best of +parents, I suffered myself to be hurried into this +wretched union. We walked across the park early +one morning, and went to the registrar’s office, where +the brief form was gone through, and my lover told<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> +me I was his wife. I went home that very day, for +the necessity of a fortnight’s notice to the registrar +had deferred the marriage to the last day of my visit. +I went back to the parents who loved and trusted +me, weighed down by the burden of my guilty secret.’</p> + +<p>‘Was Mr. Bertram’s rank superior to yours? and +was that his reason for secrecy?’ asked Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>‘He made me believe as much. He told me that +he hazarded position and fortune by marrying me, +and I believed him. I was not quite nineteen, and +had been brought up in a small country town, brought +up by people to whom falsehood was impossible. +You may suppose that I was an easy dupe. Some +time after my return he appeared in our little town. +I implored him to tell my father and mother, or to let +me tell them of our marriage. He refused, giving +me his reasons for that refusal; using the same arguments +he had employed before, and to which I was +obliged to submit, reluctantly enough, Heaven knows. +But when he claimed me as his wife, and reminded +me that I was bound to follow his fortunes, I refused +to obey. I told him that the marriage before the +registrar had to me seemed no marriage at all, and +that I would never leave home and kindred for his sake +until I had stood before God’s altar by his side. +This, which he called a mere school-girl prejudice,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> +made him angry; but after a time he gave way, and +told me that I should be satisfied. He would marry +me in my father’s church, but our union must not +the less remain a secret. He had a friend, a curate +in a London parish, who would come down to perform +the ceremony quietly one morning, without witnesses. +The marriage before the registrar was ample for all +legal purposes, he told me. This marriage in the +church was to be only for the satisfaction of my conscience, +and it mattered not how informal it might +be. No witnesses would be wanted, no entry need be +made in the Register.’</p> + +<p>‘Never shall I forget that day—the empty church +wrapt in shadow, the rain beating against the great +window over the altar, the face of the stranger who +read the service, the dreary sense of loneliness and +helplessness that crept about my heart as I stood by +the side of him for whom I was now to forsake all I +had loved. Never, surely, was there a more mournful +wedding. I felt guilty, miserable, despairing, my +heart at this last hour clinging most fondly to those +from whom I was about to sever myself, perhaps for +life. When the service ended, the stranger who had +read it looked at me in a curious way and left the +church, after a little whispered talk with my husband. +When he had gone, Bertram went straight to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> +organ—that organ on which he had played for many +an hour during the last few weeks—and struck the +opening chords of the “Wedding March.”</p> + +<p>“Come, Janet,” he cried, “let us have our triumphal +music, if we have no other item in the +pageantry of a wedding.”</p> + +<p>‘He played, as he always played, like a man who, +for the time being, lived only in music; but for my +overburdened heart even that magic had no soothing +influence. I left the organ-loft, and went down-stairs +again. Here, in the dimly-lighted aisle, I almost +stumbled against the stranger who had read the marriage-service.</p> + +<p>“I was anxious to see you,” he began, in a +nervous hesitating way, and very slowly—“anxious +to be assured that all was right. You have been +already married before the registrar, your husband +informs me, and this ceremonial of to-day is merely +for the satisfaction of your own conscience; yet I am +bound to inform you—”</p> + +<p>‘The last notes of the “Wedding March” had +pealed out from the old organ before this, and I +heard my husband’s footstep behind me as the +stranger spoke. He came quickly to the spot +where we stood, and put my arm through his.</p> + +<p>“I thought I told you, Leslie, that my wife has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> +had the whole business fully explained to her,” he +said.</p> + +<p>‘The stranger muttered something which sounded +like an apology, bowed to me, wished my husband +good-bye, and hurried away. If he had come back +to the church to give me friendly counsel or timely +warning, he quitted it with his intention unfulfilled.</p> + +<p>‘I left my father’s house secretly at daybreak +next morning, half heartbroken. I have no excuse +to plead for this wicked desertion of parents who had +loved me only too well; or only the common excuse +that I loved the man who tempted me away from +them—loved him above duty, honour, self-respect. +I left the dear old home where I had been so happy, +conscious that I left it under a cloud. Only in the +future could I see myself reestablished in the love +and confidence of my father and mother; but Mr. +Bertram assured me that future was not far off. Of +the bitter time that followed, I will speak as briefly +as possible. Mine was a wretched wandering life, +linked with a man whom I discovered but too soon +to be utterly wanting in honour or principle; a life +spent with one whose only profession was to prey +upon his fellow men; who knew no scruple where +his own advantage was in question; whom I soon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +knew to be relentless, heartless, false to the very +core. Heaven knows it is hard to say all this of +one I had so deeply loved, for whom I had hazarded +and lost so much. Enough that the day came when +I could no longer endure the dishonour of association +with him; when I felt that I would sooner go out +into the bleak world of which I knew so little, and +commit my own fate and my child’s to the mercy of +God, than share the degradation of a life sustained +by fraud. I told my husband as much: that finding +all my endeavours to persuade him to alter his mode +of life worse than useless, since they led only to +bursts of scornful anger on his part, I had resolved +to leave him, and live as I best might by my own +industry, or, if God pleased, starve. He heard my +decision with supreme indifference, and turning to +me with the bitter smile I knew so well, said:</p> + +<p>“I congratulate you on having arrived at so wise +a decision. The matrimonial fetters have galled us +both. I thought you a clever woman, and a fitting +helpmeet for a man who has to live by his wits. I +find you a puling fool, with a mind cramped by the +teaching of a country parsonage. Our union has +been a mistake for both; but I am happy to inform +you that it is not irrevocable. Our marriage before +the registrar and our marriage in the church are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> +alike null and void; for I had a wife living at the +time, and, for aught I know, have still.”’</p> + +<p>‘The consummate scoundrel,’ cried Geoffrey, with +a smothered curse; ‘but why do you tell me these +things? why torture yourself by recalling them? +However wronged by this villain, in my eyes you +are purest among the pure.’</p> + +<p>‘I have little more to tell. He took the initiative, +and left me with my child in furnished lodgings in a +garrison town, where he had found profitable society +among the officers of the regiment then quartered +there, and had distinguished himself by his skill at +billiards. He left me penniless, and at the mercy of +the lodging-house-keeper, to whom he owed a heavy +bill. I will not trouble you with the details of my +life from this point. Happily for me, the woman +was merciful. I freely surrendered the few trinkets I +possessed, and she suffered me to depart unmolested +with my own and my child’s small stock of clothes. +I removed to humbler lodgings, gave lessons in music +and singing, struggled on, paid my way, and after +some time left the town with my child and came +straight to London, glad to be lost in that ocean of +humanity. I had heard before this of the death of +both my parents—heard with a remorseful grief which +I shall continue to suffer till my dying day: the sin<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> +of ingratitude such as mine entails a lifelong punishment. +I was therefore quite alone in the world. I +think if it had not been for my little girl I could +hardly have survived so much misery, hardly have +faced a future so hopeless. But that one tie bound +me to life—that sweet companionship made sorrow +endurable—lent a brightness even to my darkest +days. I have no more to tell; God has been very +good to me. All my efforts have prospered.’</p> + +<p>‘I know not how to thank you for this confidence,’ +said Geoffrey, ‘for to my mind it removes +every barrier between us, if you only can return, in +some small measure, the love I have given you, and +which must be yours till the end of my life.’</p> + +<p>‘You forget,’ she said sadly, ‘he who is in my +estimation my husband still lives; or, at least, I +have had no evidence of his death.’</p> + +<p>‘What! you would hold yourself bound by a tie +which he told you was worthless?’</p> + +<p>‘I swore before God’s altar, in my father’s church, +to cleave to him till death should part us. If he perjured +himself, there is no reason why I should break +my vow. I left him because to live with him was to +participate in a life of fraud and dishonour, but I +hold him not the less my husband. If you have any +doubt of the story I have told you, the books of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> +registrar at Tyrrelhurst, in Hampshire, will confirm +my story.’</p> + +<p>‘If I doubt you!’ cried Geoffrey. ‘I am as incapable +of doubting you as you are of falsehood. +But for Heaven’s sake abandon this idea of holding +by a marriage which was from first to last a lie!’</p> + +<p>Then followed passionate pleading, met by a resolution +so calm, yet so inflexible, that in the end +Geoffrey Hossack felt his prayers were idle, and +farther persistence must needs degenerate into persecution.</p> + +<p>‘Be it so!’ he exclaimed at last, angry and despairing; +‘you have been consistently cruel from the +first. Why did you suffer me to love you, only to +break my heart? Since it must be so, I bid you +farewell, and leave you to the satisfaction of remaining +true to a scoundrel.’</p> + +<p>He hurried from the room and from the house, +not trusting himself with a last look at the face +which had wrought this fever in his brain; rushed +away through the tranquil summer night, neither +knowing nor caring where he went, but wandering +on by the grassy banks that followed the sinuous +river, by farm and homestead, lock and weir, under +the shadow of hill and wood. It was nearly three +hours after midnight when the sleepy Boots admitted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> +Mr. Hossack to the respectable family hotel, and +Lucius Davoren was waiting for him, full of anxiety +and even fear.</p> + +<p>‘If I had known anything of this place, I should +have come out in search of you, Geoffrey,’ he said. +‘It isn’t the kindest thing in the world to ask a man +to come down here to see you, and then leave him for +five mortal hours under the apprehension that you +have come to an untimely end.’</p> + +<p>Geoffrey wiped the travel stains from his forehead +with a long-drawn sigh.</p> + +<p>‘I was too downhearted to come straight home,’ +he said, ‘so I went for a walk. I suppose I walked +a little too far, but don’t be angry, old fellow. I’m +as nearly broken-hearted as a man can be.’</p> + +<p>‘Did she tell you all?’</p> + +<p>‘Everything; a dismal story, but one that proves +her to be all I have ever believed her—sinned against +but sinless. And now, Lucius, can you explain how +it was that your letter could influence her to do what +she would have never done for my sake?’</p> + +<p>‘Easily. You have proved yourself a true-hearted +fellow, Geoffrey, and I’ll trust you with a secret—Mrs. +Bertram is my sister.’</p> + +<p>‘Your sister?’ cried Geoffrey, with supreme astonishment.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> + +<p>‘Yes, the sister whose name I have not uttered +for years, but whom I have never ceased to love. +My sister Janet, who left her home eight years ago +under a cloud of mystery, and whose wrongs I then +swore to avenge.’</p> + +<p>‘How long have you known this—that my Mrs. +Bertram and your sister were one and the same +person?’</p> + +<p>‘Only since I came to Stillmington to see the +little girl.’</p> + +<p>‘Then this explains her emotion that night. +Thank God! Dear old Lucius—and now, as you +love her, as you love me, your friend and companion +in the days of our youth—use your influence with +her, persuade her to abandon all memory of that +villain, to blot him out of her life as if he had never +been.’</p> + +<p>‘I have tried that already, and failed. I thought +your love might accomplish what my arguments could +not achieve. I fear the case is hopeless. But my +duty as a brother remains, to find this man, if possible, +and ascertain for myself whether the marriage +was legal or not. He may have told Janet that story +of another wife out of pure malice.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.<br> +<span class="fs70">THE BEGINNING OF A MYSTERY.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Lucius</span> had a long interview with Mrs. Bertram on +the following morning, and he and Geoffrey left Stillmington +together in the afternoon; to the despair of +the proprietor of the family hotel, who had not had +such a customer as Mr. Hossack for many years, not +even during that halcyon period which he spoke of +fondly as ‘our ’untin’ season.’ They travelled to +London by the same express-train, having a long and +friendly talk on the way, Geoffrey <em>en route</em> for Christiana, +with a view to shooting grouse among the +Norwegian hills, and if it were possible in some +measure to stifle the pangs of hopeless love in the +keen joys of the sportsman; Lucius to return to the +beaten round of a parish doctor’s life, brightened +only by those happy hours which he spent in the +old house with Lucille.</p> + +<p>It was too late to visit Cedar House on the evening +of his return from Stillmington, so Lucius and +Geoffrey dined, or supped, together at the Cosmopolitan,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> +and had, what the latter called, ‘a gaudy +night;’ a night of prolonged and confidential talk +rather than of deep drinking, however; for Lucius +was the most temperate of men, and with Geoffrey +pleasure never meant dissipation. They talked of +the future; and hope kindled in Geoffrey’s breast as +they talked. Not always would Fate be inexorable; +not always would the woman he loved be inaccessible +to his prayers.</p> + +<p>‘I could hardly bear my life if it were not for one +fond hope,’ he said; ‘and even that is, perhaps, a delusion. +I believe that she loves me.’</p> + +<p>‘I know she does,’ replied Lucius; and the two +men grasped hands across the table.</p> + +<p>‘She has told you!’ cried Geoffrey, rapture gleaming +in his honest face.</p> + +<p>‘She has told me. Yes, Geoffrey, a love such as +yours deserves some recompense. My sister confessed +that you had made yourself only too dear to her; that +but for the tie which she deems binding until death +she would have been proud to become your wife.’</p> + +<p>‘God bless her! Yes, I have been buoyed up by +the belief in her love, and that will sustain me still. +Did she tell you nothing of that wretch—her husband—nothing +that may serve as a clue for you to hunt +him down?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> + +<p>‘Very little; or very little more than I already +knew. She gave me a general description of the +man; but she possesses no likeness of him, so even +that poor clue is wanting. The name he bore was +doubtless an assumed one, therefore that can help us +little. But the strangest part of all this strange story +is—’</p> + +<p>‘What, Lucius?’</p> + +<p>‘That the description of this man, Vandeleur—that +was the name under which he married my sister—tallies +in many respects with the description of another +man, whose fate I have pledged myself to discover; +a man who had the same genius for music, +and was as complete a scoundrel.’</p> + +<p>Hereupon Lucius told his friend the story of his +engagement to Lucille Sivewright, and the condition +attached to its fulfilment, to which Geoffrey lent an +attentive ear.</p> + +<p>‘You say this man sailed for Spanish America in +the year ’53. Your sister was married in ’58. How, +then, can you suppose that Lucille’s father and the +man calling himself Vandeleur are one and the same +person?’</p> + +<p>‘There would have been ample time for Sivewright +to have grown tired of America between ’53 and +’58.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<p>‘So there might. Yet it seems altogether gratuitous +to suppose any identity between the two men. +Musical genius is not so exceptional a quality; nor +is scoundrelism the most uncommon of attributes to +be found among the varieties of mankind.’</p> + +<p>They discussed the subject at length in all its +bearings. It was a relief to Lucius to unburden his +mind to the friend he loved and trusted; the chosen +companion of so many adventures; the man whose +shrewd sense he had never found wanting in the hour +of difficulty. They talked long and late, and Lucius +slept at the Cosmopolitan, and returned to the Shadrack +district at an hour when the domestics of that +popular hotel were only just opening their weary eyelids +on the summer morning.</p> + +<p>He spent his day in the accustomed round of toil; +had double work to do in consequence of his brief +holiday; found the atmosphere of the Shadrack-road +heavy and oppressive in the sultry noontide, after the +clearer air and bluer skies of the hills and woods round +Stillmington. And that all-pervading aspect of +poverty which marked the streets and alleys of his +parish struck him more keenly after the smug respectability +and prosperous trimness of Stillmington’s +dainty High-street and newly-erected villas. He travelled +over the beaten track somewhat wearily, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> +felt ever so little inclined to envy Geoffrey, who was +by this time hurrying across the face of the sun-dappled +country-side, in the Hull express, on the first stage +to Norway. But he was no whit less patient than +usual in his attention to the parish invalids; and +when the long day was done he turned homeward +hopefully, to refresh himself after his labours before +presenting himself at Cedar Lodge.</p> + +<p>It was dusk when Mrs. Wincher admitted him +into the blossomless courtyard. Mr. Sivewright had +retired for the night, but Lucille was at work in the +parlour, Mrs. Wincher informed him, with her protecting +air.</p> + +<p>‘You never come anigh us yesterday, nor yet the +day before, Dr. Davory,’ she said, ‘and Mr. Sivewright +was quite grumptious about it—said as he began +to feel you was neglecting of him. “It serves me +right,” he said, “for believin’ as any doctor would go +on caring for his patient without the hope of a fee;” +but I took him up sharp enough, and told him he +ought to know you’d never looked at your attendance +here from a fanatical pint of view.’</p> + +<p>‘Meaning financial, I suppose, Mrs. Wincher?’</p> + +<p>‘O lor, yes, if you like it better pernounced that +way. I gave it him up-right and down-straight, you +may be sure.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> + +<p>‘It was very good of you to defend the absent. +Nothing but absolute necessity would have kept me +away from this house even for two days. Has Miss +Sivewright been quite well?’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher hesitated before replying, and Lucius +repeated his question anxiously.</p> + +<p>‘Well, yes; I can’t say as there’s been anythink +amiss with her. Only yesterday evening,’ here Mrs. +Wincher dropped her voice, and came very close to +him, with a mysterious air, ‘between the lights—blind +man’s holiday, as my good gentleman calls it +in his jocose way—she gave me a bit of a turn. She’d +been walking in the garden, and down by that blessed +old wharf, where there’s nothink better than stagnant +mud and strange cats for anybody to look at, and it +might be just about as dark as it is now, when she +came past the window of the boothouse, where I happened +to be scouring my saucepans and such-like; +for the work do get behindhand in this great barrack +of a place. You know the boothouse, don’t you, Dr. +Davory,—the little low building with the peaky roof, +just beyond the laundry?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I know. Go on, pray.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, she came past the window, looking so pale +and strange, with her hands clasped upon her forehead, +as if she’d been struck all of a heap by somethink<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> +as had frightened her. I bounced out upon her sudding, +and I suppose that scared her all the more; for +she gave a little skreek, and seemed as if she’d have +dropped on the ground. “Lor, Miss Lucille,” says +I, “it’s only me. What in goodness name’s the matter?” +But she turned it off in her quiet way, and said +she’d only felt a little dull and lonesome-like without +you. “Miss Lucille,” says I, “you look for all the +world as if you’d seen a ghost.” And she looks at me +with her quiet smile, and says, “People do see ghosts +sometimes, Wincher; but I’ve seen none to-night;” +and then all of a sudding she gives way, and busts +out crying. “Astaricall,” says I; and I takes her +into the parlour, and makes her lie down on the sofa, +and biles up the kittle with half a bundle of wood, and +makes her a cup of tea, and after that she comes round +again all right. You mustn’t let out to her that I’ve +told you about it, Dr. Davory; for she begged and +prayed of me not to say a word, only I thought it +my bonding duty to tell you.’</p> + +<p>‘And you were right, Mrs. Wincher. No, I’ll +not betray you. This dismal old house is enough +to blight any life. How I wish I could take her to +a brighter home without delay!’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure I wish you could,’ answered Mrs. +Wincher heartily; ‘for I must say there never was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> +house that less repaid the trouble of cleaning, or +weighed heavier on the spirits.’</p> + +<p>This little exchange of confidences had taken +place in the forecourt, where Mrs. Wincher had detained +Mr. Davoren while she disburdened her bosom +of its weight.</p> + +<p>Lucius went straight to the parlour, where Lucille +was seated before a formidable pile of household +linen—table-cloths in the last stage of attenuation, +sheets worn threadbare, which she was darning with +a sublime patience. She looked up as Lucius entered +the room, and a faint flush lighted up the pale +face at sight of her lover. Yet, despite her pleasure +at his return, he saw that she had changed for the +worse during his brief absence. The transient glow +faded from her cheek, and left her paler than of old; +the hand Lucius held in both his own was burning +with a slow fever.</p> + +<p>‘My dearest,’ he said anxiously, ‘has anything +been amiss in my absence?’</p> + +<p>‘Was not your absence itself amiss?’ she asked, +with the faintest possible smile. ‘I have been very +dull and very sad without you; that is all.’</p> + +<p>‘And you have fretted yourself into a fever. O, +Lucille, end all difficulties; make no impossible conditions, +and let me take you away from this great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> +lonely house very soon. I cannot give you the fair +home we have talked about yet awhile—it may even +be long before prosperity comes to us; but all that +patience and courage can do to achieve fortune, I will +do for your dear sake. I would not ask you to share +debt or poverty, Lucille; I would not urge you to +link your fate with mine if I did not see my way to +a secure position, if I had not already the means +of providing a decent home for my sweet young +bride.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you think that the fear of poverty has ever +influenced me? No, Lucius, you must know me +better than that. But I will not let you burden +yourself too soon with a wife. Believe me, I am more +than content. I am very happy in my present life, +for I see you nearly every day. And I would not +leave my poor old grandfather in his declining years. +Let us think of our marriage as something still a +long way off—in that happy future which it is so +sweet to talk and dream about. Only, Lucius,’ she +went on in a faltering tone, and with a downward look +in the eyes that were wont to meet his own so frankly, +‘you spoke just now of my having imposed too hard +a condition upon you—you meant, of course, with regard +to my father?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dear.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> + +<p>‘I have been thinking a great deal about this +subject in your absence, and have come to see it in +a new light. The condition was too difficult; forget +that I ever imposed it. I am content to know no +more of my father’s fate than I know already.’</p> + +<p>‘This change is very sudden, Lucille.’</p> + +<p>‘No, it is not sudden. I have had ample time +for thought in these two long days. I had no right +to ask so much of you. Let my father’s fate be +what it may, neither you nor I could have power to +alter it.’</p> + +<p>It happened somewhat strangely that this release +was not altogether welcome to Lucius. He had +thought his mistress unreasonable before; he thought +her capricious now.</p> + +<p>‘I have no desire in this business except to obey +you,’ he said somewhat coldly. ‘Am I to understand, +then, that I am absolved from my promise? I am +to make no farther effort to discover Mr. Sivewright’s +fate.’</p> + +<p>‘No farther effort. I renounce altogether the idea +of tracing out my father’s life.’</p> + +<p>‘You are content to remain in utter ignorance of +his fate—not to know whether he is living or dead?’</p> + +<p>‘He is in God’s hands. What could my feeble +help do for him?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p> + +<p>‘And after cherishing the idea of finding him all +these years, you abandon the notion at once and for +ever?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes. You think me changeable—frivolous, perhaps?’ +with a faint sigh.</p> + +<p>‘Forgive me, Lucille. I cannot help thinking +you just a little capricious. I am naturally very glad +to be released from the task you imposed upon me, +which I felt was almost impossible. Yet I can but +wonder that your opinions should undergo so complete +a change. However, I do not question the +wisdom of your present decision. I have placed the +business in the hands of Mr. Otranto, the detective. +You wish me to withdraw it—to forbid farther inquiries +on his part.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes! It will be better so. He is not likely to +discover the truth. He would only raise false hopes, +to end in bitter disappointment.’</p> + +<p>‘His manner was certainly far from hopeful when +I put the case before him. But these men have an +extraordinary power of hunting up evidence. He +might succeed.’</p> + +<p>‘No, no, Lucius. He would only lure you on to +spend all your hardly-earned money, and fail at last. +Tell him your inquiry is at an end. And now let us +say no more about this painful subject. You are not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> +angry with me Lucius, for having caused you so +much trouble?’</p> + +<p>‘It is impossible for me to be angry with you, +Lucille,’ answered the surgeon; and then followed the +foolish lovers’ talk, at which Mrs. Wincher (presently +appearing with the supper tray, whereon was set forth +a banquet consisting of a plate of hard biscuits and a +tumbler of London milk, for Lucille’s refreshment), +assisted in her capacity of duenna and guardian angel, +for half an hour of unalloyed bliss; after which she +escorted Lucius to the grim old gate, like a state +prisoner led across the garden of the Tower on his +way to execution.</p> + +<p>‘I shall come early to-morrow to see your grandfather,’ +said Lucius to Lucille at parting.</p> + +<p>He went home lighter-hearted than usual. It was +a relief to be rid of that troublesome search for a man +who seemed to have vanished utterly from human +ken. He wrote to Mr. Otranto, the detective, that +very night, bidding him abandon the inquiry about +Ferdinand Sivewright.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sivewright received his medical attendant +with a somewhat fretful air next morning, and Lucius +was both shocked and surprised to discover that +a change for the worse had occurred in his patient +during his absence. There was a touch of fever that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> +was new to the case—a nervous depression, such as +he had not found in the invalid for some time past. +But this change seemed the effect of mental excitement +rather than of physical weakness.</p> + +<p>‘Why did you leave me so long?’ asked Mr. Sivewright +peevishly. ‘But I am a fool to ask such a +question. I pay you nothing, and it is not likely you +would allow any consideration for my comfort to stand +in the way of your pleasures.’</p> + +<p>‘I have not been taking pleasure,’ answered Lucius +quietly, ‘nor could I give you more honest service +than I do now were you to pay me five hundred a year +for my attendance. Why are you always so ready to +suspect me of sordid motives?’</p> + +<p>‘Because I have never found mankind governed +by any other motives,’ replied the old man. ‘However, +I daresay I wrong you. I like you, and you +have been very good to me; so good that I have +come to lean upon you as if you were indeed that +staff of my age which I ought to have found in a +son. I am glad you have come back. Do you believe +in sinister influences, in presentiments of approaching +misfortune? Do you believe that Death casts +a warning shadow across our path when he draws +near us?’</p> + +<p>‘I believe that invalids are fanciful,’ answered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> +Lucius lightly; ‘you have been thinking too much +during my absence.’</p> + +<p>‘Fanciful!’ repeated Mr. Sivewright with a sigh, +‘yes, it may have been nothing more than a sick +man’s fancy. Yet I have seemed to feel a shadowy +presence in this house—the unseen presence of an +enemy. There have been strange sounds too in the +long sleepless night—not last night, all was quiet +enough then—but on the previous night; sounds +of doors opening and shutting; stealthily opened, +stealthily closed, but not so quietly done as to cheat +my wakeful ears. Once I could have sworn that I +heard voices; yet when I questioned both the Winchers +next morning they declared they had heard +nothing.’</p> + +<p>‘Did you say anything to Lucille about these +noises?’</p> + +<p>‘Not a word. Do you think I would scare that +poor lonely child? No, the house is dreary enough. +I won’t put the notion of ghosts or other midnight +intruders into her head; girls’ brains are quick +enough to grow fancies.’</p> + +<p>‘There was wisdom in that reserve,’ said Lucius; +and then he went on thoughtfully, ‘The noises you +heard were natural enough, I have no doubt. Old +houses are fruitful of phantoms; doors loosely fastened,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> +old locks that have lost their spring; given a +strong wind, and you have a ghostly promenade.’</p> + +<p>‘But there was no wind the night before last. +The air was hot and sultry. I had my window open +all night.’</p> + +<p>‘And you may therefore have imagined the noises +in yonder road to be sounds proceeding from the interior +of this house. Nothing is so deceptive as the +sense of hearing, especially in nervous subjects.’</p> + +<p>‘No, Davoren, I made no such mistake. Nothing +you or any one else can say will convince me that I +did not hear the shutting of the heavy outer door, a +door in the back premises that opens upon the garden. +I should, perhaps, have thought less of this +fact, strange and alarming as it is in itself, were it +not for my own feelings. From the hour in which +I heard those sounds I have had an overpowering +sense of approaching evil. I feel that something, +or some influence inimical to myself, is near at +hand, overshadowing and surrounding my life with +its evil power. I feel almost as I felt twelve years +ago, when I woke from my drugged sleep to find that +my son had robbed me.’</p> + +<p>‘The delusion of an overwrought brain,’ said +Lucius. ‘I must give you a sedative that will insure +better sleep.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> + +<p>‘No, for pity’s sake,’ cried the old man eagerly, +‘no opiates. Let me retain my natural sense to the +last. If there is danger at hand I need it all the +more.’</p> + +<p>‘There can be no such thing as danger,’ said +Lucius; ‘but I will examine the fastenings of that +back door, and of all other external doors, and, if +necessary, have the locks and bolts made more +secure.’</p> + +<p>‘The locks and bolts are strong enough. You +need waste no money on them. I used to fasten all +the doors myself every night before my illness.’</p> + +<p>‘You have every reason to trust the Winchers, I +suppose?’</p> + +<p>‘As much reason as I can have to trust any +human being. They have served me upwards of five-and-twenty +years, and I have never yet found them +out in any attempt to cheat me. They may have +been robbing me all the time, nevertheless, as my +son robbed me, and may wind up by cutting my +throat.’</p> + +<p>‘A crime that would hardly repay them for their +trouble, I imagine,’ said Lucius, with his thoughtful +smile, ‘since you possess nothing but your collection, +and the assassins could hardly dispose of that.’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps not. But they may think that I am<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> +rich—in spite of all I have ever told them of my +poverty—just as you may think that I am rich, and +that the penniless girl you have chosen may turn out +a prize by and by.’</p> + +<p>‘I have no such thought,’ answered Lucius, meeting +his patient’s cunning look with the calm clear +gaze of perfect truth; ‘wealth or poverty can make +no difference in my love for your granddaughter. For +her own sake I might wish that she were not altogether +portionless; for mine I can have no such +desire. I value no fortune but such as I can win for +myself.’</p> + +<p>‘You speak like a proud man, and a foolish one +into the bargain. To say you do not value money is +about as wise as to say you do not value the air you +breathe; for one is almost as necessary to existence +as the other. What does it matter who makes the +money, or how it is made, so long as it finds its way +to your pocket? Will a sovereign buy less because +it was scraped out of a gutter? Is wealth one whit +the less powerful though a man crawls through the +dirt to win it? Let him squeeze it from the sweat +and toil of his fellow men, it carries no stain of their +labour. Let him cheat for it, lie for it, betray his +brother or abjure his God for it, his fellow men will +honour him none the less, so long as he has enough<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> +of it. The gold won on a racecourse or at a gaming-table, +though broken hearts and ruined homes went +along with it, has as true a ring as your honourable +independence, by whatever inspiration of genius or +toil of brain you may earn it.’</p> + +<p>‘You speak bitterly, like a man who has been accustomed +to contemplate humanity “the seamy side +without,”’ said Lucius coldly; ‘but be assured I +have never calculated on being enriched by the fruits +of your industry.’</p> + +<p>‘Not even upon finding yourself the inheritor of +my collection?’ inquired Mr. Sivewright, his keen +eyes peering into the surgeon’s face.</p> + +<p>‘I have not even aspired to that honour,’ replied +Lucius, with a somewhat contemptuous glance at the +outer shell of painted canvas, inscribed with hieroglyphics, +which encased the defunct Pharaoh.</p> + +<p>‘So much the better,’ said the old man. ‘I +should be sorry to think you might be disappointed +by and by, when this shrunken form is clay, and you +come to grope among my art treasures, thinking to +find some hidden hoard—the miser’s hoard of slowly-gathered +wealth which he loved too well to spend, +and yet was obliged to leave behind him at the last.’</p> + +<p>Lucius looked at the speaker curiously. The old +man’s pale gray eyes shone with a vivid light; his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> +thin tremulous hands were spread above the bedclothes, +as if they had been stretched over a pile of +gold, protecting it from a possible assailant.</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ thought Lucius, ‘I have often fancied this +man must be a miser; I am sure of it now. Those +words, that gesture, tell their own story. In spite +of all his declarations to the contrary, he is rich, and +these groundless fears spring from the thought of +some concealed hoard which he feels himself powerless +to protect.’</p> + +<p>He felt some pity, but more contempt, for the subject +of these thoughts, and no elation at the idea that +this hoarded wealth might possibly descend to him. +He did his best to soothe the old man’s excited nerves, +and succeeded tolerably well. He had taken up his +hat, and was on the point of hurrying off to begin his +daily round—delayed considerably by the length of +this interview—when Mr. Sivewright called him +back.</p> + +<p>‘Will it trouble you to return here after your +day’s work?’ he asked.</p> + +<p>‘Trouble me? very far from it. I had counted +on spending my evening with Lucille—and you, if +you are well enough to be plagued with my company.’</p> + +<p>‘You know I always like your company. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> +to-night I have something to do; some papers that +I want to look over, of no particular importance +either to myself or those that come after me; old +documents connected with my business career and +what not. But I want to set my house in order +before I leave it for a narrower one. Now, Davoren, +I want you to hunt up some of these papers for me. +I have sent that old fumbler, Jacob Wincher, to look +for them, but the man is purblind, I suppose, for he +did not succeed in finding them. They are in an old +oak cabinet in a loft where I keep the dregs of my +collection. Lucille will show you the place. Here is +the key—the lock is a curious one—and the papers +are stowed away in odd corners of the cabinet; inner +drawers which brokers call secret, but which a child +might discover at the first glance. Bring me all the +papers you find there.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you wish me to make the search now, sir, or +in the evening?’</p> + +<p>‘In the evening, of course. It is a business to be +done at your leisure. But you must have daylight +for it. Come back as early as you can, like a good +fellow; I have a fancy for looking over those papers +to-night. Heaven only knows how many days remain +to me.’</p> + +<p>‘The same doubt hangs over the lives of all of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> +us,’ answered Lucius. ‘Your case is by no means +alarming.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know that. I have a presentiment of +evil, an instinctive apprehension of danger, like that +which all nature feels before the coming of a storm.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.<br> +<span class="fs70">AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> thought of this conversation with Mr. Sivewright +followed Lucius all through the day’s work. He +meditated upon it in the intervals of his toil, and +that meditation only tended to confirm him in his +opinion as to the lonely old man. Soured and embittered +by his son’s ingratitude, Homer Sivewright +had consoled himself by the indulgence of that passion +which is of all passions the most absorbing—the +greed of gain. As he beheld his profits accumulate +he became more and more parsimonious; surrendered +without regret the pleasures for which he had no +taste; and having learned in his poverty to live a life +of hardship and deprivation, was contented to do +without luxuries and even comforts which had never +become necessary to his existence. Thus the sole +delight of his days had been the accumulation of +money, and who could tell how far the usurer’s exorbitant +profits had gone to swell the tradesman’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> +honest gains? The art collection might have been +little more than a cover for the money-lender’s less +reputable commerce.</p> + +<p>Thus reasoned Lucius. He returned to Cedar +House at about five in the afternoon, having dined +hastily at a coffee-house in the Shadrack-road, in the +midst of his day’s work.</p> + +<p>He found the table in the spacious old parlour +laid for tea, and drawn into one of the open windows. +Lucille had contrived, even with her small means, to +give a look of grace to the humble meal. There were +a few freshly-cut flowers in a Venetian goblet, and +some fruit in an old Derby dish; the brown loaf and +butter and glass jar of marmalade had a fresher and +daintier look than anything Mrs. Babb the charwoman +ever set before her master. Lucius thought +of the fair surroundings that wealth could buy for the +girl he loved; thought how easy their lives would be +if he were only rich enough to give her the home he +dreamed of, if there were no question of waiting and +patience. True that he might give her some kind of +home—a home in the Shadrack district—at once, but +was it such a shelter as he would care to offer to his +fair young bride? Would it not be a dreary beginning +of wedded life?</p> + +<p>Yes, Mr. Sivewright’s hoarded wealth might give<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> +them much, but could he, Lucius, as an honest man, +feel any satisfaction in the possession of a fortune +gained in such crooked ways as the miser treads in +his ruthless pursuit of gold? He tried to put all +thought of that possible wealth out of his mind. +That way lay temptation, perhaps dishonour; for in +his mind it was impossible to disassociate the miser’s +wealth from the means by which it had been amassed.</p> + +<p>Lucille had the same pale troubled look which +had alarmed him on the previous evening, but this he +ascribed to a natural anxiety about her grandfather. +He did his best to cheer her, as they drank tea together +at the little table by the open window, ministered +to by the devoted Wincher, whose bonnet +hovered about them throughout the simple meal.</p> + +<p>‘She’s fidgety about the old gentleman, poor +child,’ said Mrs. Wincher. ‘I’m sure she’s been up +and down that blessed old staircase twenty times to-day, +that restless she couldn’t settle to nothink. +And he is a bit cranky I’ll allow, not knowing his +own mind about anythink, and grumbling about as +beautiful a basin of broth as was ever sent up to a +ninvalid. But sickness is sickness, as I tell our +missy, and she mustn’t be surprised if sick folks is +contrairy.’</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Wincher had departed with the teatray,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> +Lucius told Lucille of the search he had undertaken +for Mr. Sivewright.</p> + +<p>‘My grandfather told me about it,’ she said. ‘I +am to show you the cabinet in the loft. He would +have sent me up to fetch the papers alone, he said, +only there is so much lumber crowded together that +he doubted if I should be able to get at the cabinet. +We had better go at once before the light begins to +fade, for it is rather dark up there.’</p> + +<p>‘I am ready, dear.’</p> + +<p>Lucille produced a great bunch of rusty keys +from the desk at which Mr. Sivewright had been +wont to transact the mysterious business of his retirement, +and they went up the old staircase side by side +in the afternoon sunlight, which had not yet begun +to wane. The wide corridor which led to the invalid’s +room, with the doors of other rooms on either +side of it, was familiar enough to Lucius; but he had +never yet ascended above this story, and Lucille had +told him that the upper floor was a barren desert—the +undisputed territory of mice and spiders. She +unlocked a door which opened on a narrow flight of +stairs—the steep steps worn by the tread of departed +generations, and of various levels. This staircase +brought them to the topmost story, above which rose +the loft they had to explore. The ceiling of the landing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> +on this upper floor was low, blotched and swollen +here and there with the rain of many a winter, the +dilapidated roof being in some parts little better than +a filter. There were curious old panelled doors on +either side of this landing, which was lighted by one +melancholy window, across whose narrow panes the +spider had woven her cloudy tapestries.</p> + +<p>‘Are all those rooms empty?’ asked Lucius, looking +at the numerous doors.</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Lucille hurriedly. ‘My grandfather +fancied the floors unsafe, and would put nothing +into them. Besides, he had room enough +down-stairs. The things he has stowed away in the +roof are things upon which he sets no value—mere +rubbish which almost any one else would have given +away. Come, Lucius.’</p> + +<p>There was a steep little staircase leading up to +the loft, only one degree better than a ladder. This +they mounted cautiously in semi-darkness, and then +Lucius found himself in a vast substantially floored +chamber, just high enough in the clear to admit of +his standing upright, and amidst a forest of massive +beams leaning this way and that, evidently the roof +of a house built to defy the grim destroyer Time.</p> + +<p>For some moments all was darkness; but while +Lucius was striving to pierce the gloom, Lucille<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> +raised a sloping shutter in the centre of the roof, and +let in a burst of western sunlight. Then he beheld +the contents of the place—a chaos of ancient lumber, +the wreck of time. It was like standing among the +bruised and battered timbers of a sunken vessel at +the bottom of the sea.</p> + +<p>The objects around him were evidently the merest +waste and refuse of a large and varied collection—broken +armchairs, dilapidated buffets, old oak-carving +in every stage of decay, odd remnants of mildewed +and moth-eaten tapestry, fragments of shattered +plaster casts; the head of a Diana, crescent crowned, +lying amidst the tattered remains of a damask curtain; +an armless Apollo, leaning lopsided and despondent +of aspect against an odd leaf of a Japanese +screen; old pictures whose subjects had long become +inscrutable to the eye of man; stray cushions covered +with faded embroidery, which had once issued bright +and glowing from the fair hands that wrought it—on +every side the relics of perished splendour, the very +dust and sweepings of goodly dwellings that had +long been empty. A melancholy picture, suggestive +of man’s decay.</p> + +<p>Lucille peered into the shadows which filled the +angles of the loft, in quest of that oaken cabinet, of +which she had but a faint remembrance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> + +<p>‘It used to stand in the back-parlour in Bond-street +when I was a child,’ she said. ‘Yes, I remember, +a curious old thing, with the figures of Adam +and Eve, Cain and Abel. There are little folding-doors +that open the gates of Eden, with the angel +and his flaming sword. There are carvings on each +side; on one side the expulsion from Paradise, on +the other the death of Abel. See, there it is, behind +that pile of pictures.’</p> + +<p>Lucius looked in the direction she indicated. In +the extreme corner of the loft he saw a clumsy cabinet +of the early Dutch school, much chipped and battered, +with several old frameless canvases propped +against it. He clambered over some of the more +bulky objects which blockaded his way, cleared a +path for Lucille, and after some minutes’ labour they +both reached the corner where the cabinet stood.</p> + +<p>The western light shone full upon this corner. +The first task was to remove the pictures, which +were thickly coated with dust, and by no means innocent +of spiders. Lucille drew back with a shudder +and a little girlish scream at the sight of a black +and bloated specimen of that tribe.</p> + +<p>Lucius put aside the pictures one by one. They +were of the dingiest school of art, old shopkeepers +doubtless, for which Mr. Sivewright had vainly striven<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> +to find a customer. Here and there an arm or a +head was faintly visible beneath the universal brown +of the varnish, but the rest was blank. It was, therefore, +with considerable surprise that Lucius perceived +beneath this worthless lumber a picture in a frame, +and, by the appearance of the canvas, evidently +modern. He turned it gently to the light, and saw—What? +The face of the man he killed in the pine +forest.</p> + +<p>Happily for Lucius Davoren, he was kneeling on +the ground, and with his back to Lucille, when he +made this discovery. A cry of surprise, pleasure, +terror, he knew not which, broke from her lips as he +turned that portrait to the light; but from his there +came no sound.</p> + +<p>For the moment the blow stunned him; he knelt +there looking at the too-well-remembered face—the +face that had haunted him sleeping and waking—the +face that he would have given years of his life +utterly to forget.</p> + +<p>It was the same face; on that point there could +be no shadow of doubt. The same face in the pride +of youth, the bloom and freshness of early manhood. +The same keen eyes; the same hooked nose, with its +suggestion of affinity to the hawk and vulture tribe; +the unmistakable form of the low brow, with its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> +strongly marked perceptives and deficiency in the +organs of thought; the black hair, growing downward +in a little peak; the somewhat angular brows.</p> + +<p>‘My father’s portrait,’ said Lucille, recovering +quickly from that shock of surprise. ‘To think that +my grandfather should have thrust it out of sight, +here amongst all this worthless rubbish. How bitterly +he must have hated his only son!’</p> + +<p><em>‘Your father!’</em> cried Lucius, letting the picture +drop from his nerveless hands, and turning to Lucille +with a face white as the plaster head of Diana. +‘Do you mean to tell me that man was your father?’</p> + +<p>‘My dear father,’ the girl answered sadly; ‘my +father, whom I shall love to the end of my life, whom +I love all the better for his misfortunes, whom I pity +with all my heart for the ill fate that changed his +father’s natural affection into a most unnatural +hate.’</p> + +<p>She took up the portrait, and carried it to a +clearer spot, where she laid it gently down upon an +old curtain.</p> + +<p>‘I will find a better place for it by and by,’ she +said. ‘It was too cruel of my grandfather to send it +up here. And I have so often begged him to show +me a picture of my father.’</p> + +<p>‘I wonder you can remember his face after so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +long an interval,’ said Lucius, who had in some +measure regained his self-possession, though his +brain seemed still full of strange confused thoughts, +amidst which the one horrible fact stood forth with +hideous distinctness.</p> + +<p>The man he had slain yonder was the father of +the woman he loved. True that the act had been a +sacrifice, and not a murder; the execution of ready-handed +justice upon a criminal, and not an act of +personal revenge. But would Lucille ever believe +that? She who, in spite of all her grandfather’s +dark hints and bitter speeches, still clung with a +fond belief to the father she had loved. She must +never know that fatal deed in the western wilderness; +never learn what a wretch man becomes when necessity +degrades him to the level of the very beasts +against which he fights the desperate fight for life. +Take from man civilisation and Christianity, and +who shall say how far he is superior, either in the +capacity to suffer or in kindliness of nature, to the +tiger he hunts in the Indian jungle, or the wolf he +shoots in the Canadian backwoods? And this was +the man whose fate, until last night, he had stood +pledged to discover; the man whose lost footsteps he +was to have tracked through the wilderness of life. +Little need of inquiry. This man’s troubled history<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> +had been brought to an abrupt ending, and by the +seeker’s rash hand.</p> + +<p>‘Come,’ said Lucille anxiously; ‘we must find +those papers for my grandfather. He will not rest +unless he has them this evening.’</p> + +<p>Lucius began his task without another word; he +could not trust himself to speak yet awhile. He unfastened +the clumsy folding-doors of the cabinet, +with a hand that trembled a little in spite of his +effort to be calm, and opened the drawers one after +another. They came out easily enough, and rattled +loosely in their frames, so shrunken was the wood. +Outer drawers and inner drawers, and papers in +almost all of them—some were mere scrappy memoranda, +scrawled on half sheets or quarter sheets of +letter paper; other documents were in sealed envelopes; +others were little packets of letters, two or +three together, tied with faded red tape. Lucius +examined all the drawers and minute cupboards, +designed, one would suppose, with a special view to +the accumulation of rubbish; emptied them of their +contents, tied the papers all together in his handkerchief, +and gave them into the custody of Lucille. +The light had faded a little by the time this was +done, and the corners of the loft were wrapped in +deepening shadow—a gruesome ghostly place to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> +left alone in by this half-light. Lucille looked round +her with a shudder as she turned to leave it.</p> + +<p>They were on the perilous staircase—Lucius in +front, Lucille behind him, half supported by his uplifted +arm, both obliged to stoop to avoid knocking +their heads against the low sloping ceiling—when +Lucius saw and heard something sufficiently startling.</p> + +<p>In the half dusk of the landing below them, he +saw the door of one of those empty rooms which Lucille +had declared to be locked opened—ever so little +way—and then closed again quickly but softly, as if +shut by a careful hand. He distinctly saw the opening +of the door; he distinctly heard the noise of the +lock.</p> + +<p>‘Lucille,’ he said, in an eager whisper, ‘you are +wrong. There is some one in that room—the door +exactly facing these stairs. Look.’</p> + +<p>He pointed, and her eyes followed the direction of +his finger. For a few moments she stood speechless, +looking at the door with a scared face, and leaning +upon him more heavily than before.</p> + +<p>‘Nonsense, Lucius! you are dreaming. There +can be no one there; the rooms are empty; the +doors are all locked.’</p> + +<p>‘I am quite certain, dearest,’ he answered, still +in a whisper, and with his eyes fixed upon the door<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> +that had opened, or seemed to open. ‘Don’t be +alarmed; it may be nothing wrong. It is only old +Wincher prowling about this floor, I daresay, just as +he prowls about the down-stair rooms. I’ll soon +settle the question.’</p> + +<p>‘I tell you, Lucius, the doors are all locked,’ +cried Lucille, in a tone far louder than her wonted +accents—a voice of anger or of alarm.</p> + +<p>Lucius tried the door with a strong and resolute +hand—shook it till it rattled in its time-worn frame. +It was locked certainly, but locked on the inside. +The keyhole was darkened by the key.</p> + +<p>‘It is locked on the inside, Lucille,’ he said; +‘there is some one in the room.’</p> + +<p>‘Impossible! Who should be there? No one +ever comes up to this floor. There is nothing here +to tempt a thief, even if thieves ever troubled this +house. I keep the keys of all these rooms. Pray +come down-stairs, Lucius. My grandfather will be +impatient about those papers.’</p> + +<p>‘How can that door be locked on the inside if +you have the key of it?’</p> + +<p>‘I have not the key of that particular door. +There is a door of communication between that room +and the next, and I keep one locked on the inside. +It saves trouble.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> + +<p>‘Let me see the two rooms; let me satisfy myself +that all is right,’ he said, stretching out his hand +for the keys.</p> + +<p>‘I will not encourage any such folly,’ answered +Lucille, moving quickly towards the staircase leading +to the lower story. ‘Pray bring those papers, Lucius. +I could not have imagined you were so weak-minded.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you call it weak-minded to trust my own +senses? And I have a special reason for being anxious +upon this point.’</p> + +<p>She was on her way down-stairs by this time. +Lucius lingered to listen at the door, but no sound +came from the room within. He tried all the doors +one after another: they were all locked. He knelt +down to look through the keyholes. Two of the +rooms were darkened by closed shutters, only faint +gleams of light filtering through the narrow spaces +between them. One was lighter, and in this he saw +an old bedstead and some pieces of dilapidated furniture. +It looked a room which might have been used +at some time for a servant’s bedroom.</p> + +<p>After all, that opening and shutting of the door +had been, perhaps, a delusion of his overwrought +mind. Only a few minutes before there had been a +noise like the spinning of a hundred Manchester cotton-looms<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> +in his brain. The horror and anguish of +that hideous discovery in the loft still possessed him +as he descended those stairs: what more likely than +that, in such a moment, his bewildered senses should +cheat him?</p> + +<p>And could he doubt Lucille’s positive assurance +as to the condition of those rooms? Could he doubt +her whose truth was the sheet-anchor of his life? Or +could he mistrust her judgment whose calm good +sense was one of the finest qualities of her character?</p> + +<p>Had it not been for Homer Sivewright’s strange +story of noises heard in the dead of the night, he +could have dismissed the subject far more easily. As +it was he lingered for some time; listening for the +faintest sound that might reach his ear, and hearing +nothing but the scamper of a mouse within the wainscot, +the fall of a dead fly from a spider’s web.</p> + +<p>He found Lucille waiting for him in the corridor +below, very pale, and with an anxious look, which +she tried to disguise by a faint smile.</p> + +<p>‘Well,’ she asked, ‘you have kept me waiting +long enough. Are you satisfied now?’</p> + +<p>‘Not quite. I should very much like to have the +keys of yonder rooms. Such a house as this is the +very place to harbour a scoundrel.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> + +<p>The girl shuddered, and drew back from him +with a look of absolute terror.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be frightened, Lucille. I daresay there is +no one there; a strange cat, perhaps, at most; yet +cats don’t open and shut locked doors. There may +be no one; only in such a house as this, so poorly +occupied by two helpless women and two feeble old +men, one cannot be too careful. Some notion of +your grandfather’s wealth may have arisen in the +neighbourhood. His secluded eccentric life might +suggest the idea that he is a miser, and that there is +hoarded money in this house. I want to be assured +that all is secure, Lucille; that no evil-intentioned +wretch has crept under this roof. Give me your keys +and let me search those rooms. It will only be the +work of a few minutes.’</p> + +<p>‘Forgive me for refusing you anything, Lucius,’ +she said; ‘but my grandfather told me never to part +with those keys to any one. You know his curious +fancies. I promised to obey him, and cannot break +my promise.’</p> + +<p>‘Not even for me?’</p> + +<p>‘Not even for you. Especially as there is not the +slightest cause for this fancy of yours. That staircase +door is kept always locked, the keys locked up in +my grandfather’s desk. It is impossible that any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> +living creature could go up to that attic-floor without +my knowledge. Nor is it possible for any one to get +into the lower part of the house unseen by me or by +the Winchers.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know about that. It would be easy +enough for any one to get from the wharf to the +garden. There are half-a-dozen doors at the back of +the house, and more than a dozen places in the +stables and outhouses where a man might lie hidden, +so as to slip into the house at any convenient moment.’</p> + +<p>‘You forget how carefully Mrs. Wincher turns +all the keys, and draws all the bolts at sunset. Pray +be reasonable, Lucius, and dismiss this absurd fancy +from your mind. And instead of standing here with +that solemn face, arguing about impossibilities, come +to my grandfather’s room with those papers.’</p> + +<p>Never had she spoken more lightly. Yet a minute +ago her cheek had been blanched, her eye dilated +by terror. Lucius gave a little sigh of resignation +and followed her along the corridor. After all it was +a very foolish thing that he had been doing; raising +fears, perhaps groundless, in the breast of this lonely +girl. Her grandfather had studiously refrained from +any mention of his suspicions lest he should alarm +Lucille. Yet he, the lover, had been so reckless as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> +to suggest terrors which might give a new pain to her +solitary life.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sivewright received the bundle of papers with +evident satisfaction, and turned them over with hands +that trembled in their eagerness.</p> + +<p>‘Documents of no moment,’ he said; ‘a few old +records of my business life, put away in that disused +piece of lumber up-stairs, and half forgotten. But +when, at the gates of the tomb, a man reviews his +past life, it is a satisfaction to be able to try back +by means of such poor memorials as these. They +serve to kindle the lamp of memory. He sees his +own words, his own thoughts written years ago, and +they seem to him like the thoughts and words of the +dead.’</p> + +<p>He thrust the papers into a desk which was drawn +close to his bedside.</p> + +<p>‘You have been better to-day, I hope?’ said +Lucius, when Lucille had left the room in quest of +the old man’s evening meal.</p> + +<p>‘No; not so well. I don’t like your new medicine.’</p> + +<p>‘My new medicine is the medicine you have been +taking for the last five weeks—a mild tonic, as I told +you. But you are tired of it, perhaps. I’ll change +it for something else.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> + +<p>‘Do. I don’t like its effect upon me.’</p> + +<p>And then he went on to state symptoms which +seemed to indicate increasing weakness, nausea, lassitude, +and that unreasonable depression of mind +which was worse than any physical ailment.</p> + +<p>‘It seems like a forecast of death,’ he said despondently.</p> + +<p>Lucius was puzzled. For some time past there +had been a marked improvement, but this change +boded no good. The thread of life had been worn +thin; any violent shock might snap it. But Lucius +had believed that in supreme rest and tranquillity lay +the means of recovery. He could not vanquish organic +disease; but he might fortify even a worn-out +constitution, and make the sands of life drop somewhat +slower through the glass.</p> + +<p>To the patient he made light of these symptoms, +urged upon Mr. Sivewright the necessity of taking +things quietly, and above all of not allowing himself +to be worried by any groundless apprehensions.</p> + +<p>‘If you have a notion that there is anything +going wrong in this house, let me sleep here for a +few nights,’ said Lucius. ‘There are empty rooms +enough to provide lodgings for a small regiment. Let +me take up my quarters in one of them—the room +next this one, for instance. I am a light sleeper;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> +and if there should be foul play of any kind, my ear +would be quick to discover the intruder.’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ said the old man. ‘It is kind of you to +propose such a thing, but there’s no necessity. It +was a nervous fancy of mine, I daresay; the effect of +physical weakness. Say no more about it.’</p> + +<p>Lucius went home earlier than usual that evening, +much to the amazement of Mrs. Wincher, who +begged him to give them a ‘toon’ before departing. +This request, however, was not supported by Lucille. +She seemed anxious and restless, and Lucius blamed +his own folly as the cause of her anxiety.</p> + +<p>‘My dearest,’ he said tenderly, retaining the icy-cold +hand which she gave him at parting, ‘I fear +those foolish suspicions of mine about the rooms up-stairs +have alarmed you. I was an idiot to suggest +any such idea. But if you have the faintest apprehension +of danger, let me stay here to-night and +keep guard. I will stay in this room, and make my +round of the house at intervals all through the night. +Let me stay, Lucille. Who has so good a right to +protect you?’</p> + +<p>‘O no, no,’ she cried quickly, ‘on no account. +There is not the slightest occasion for such a thing. +Why should you suppose that I am frightened, Lucius?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + +<p>‘Your own manner makes me think so, darling. +This poor little hand is unnaturally cold, and you +have not been yourself all this evening.’</p> + +<p>‘I am a little anxious about my grandfather.’</p> + +<p>‘All the more reason that I should remain here +to-night. I can stay in his room if you like, so as to +be on the spot should he by any chance grow suddenly +worse, though I have no fear of that.’</p> + +<p>‘If you do not fear that, there is nothing to fear. +As to your stopping here, that is out of the question. +I know my grandfather wouldn’t like it.’</p> + +<p>Lucius could hardly dispute this, as Mr. Sivewright +had actually refused his offer to remain. +There was nothing for him to do but to take a lingering +farewell of his betrothed, and depart, sorely +troubled in spirit.</p> + +<p>He was not sorry when the old iron gate closed +upon him. Never till to-night had he left the house +that sheltered Lucille without a pang of regret, but +to-night, after the discovery of the portrait in the loft, +he felt in sore need of solitude. He wanted to look +his situation straight in the face. This man—the +man his hand had slain—was the father of his promised +wife. The hand that he was to give to Lucille +at the altar was red with her father’s blood. Most +hideous thought, most bitter fatality which had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> +brought that villain across his path out yonder in the +trackless forest. Was this world so narrow that they +two must needs meet—that no hand save his could +be found to wreak God’s vengeance upon that relentless +savage?</p> + +<p>Her father! And in the veins of that gentle girl, +who in her innocent youth had seemed to him fair +and pure as the snowdrop unfolding its white bells +from out a bed of newly-fallen snow, there ran the +blood of that most consummate scoundrel! All his +old theories of hereditary instincts were at fault here. +From such a sire so sinless a child! The thought +tortured him. Could he ever look at that sweet pensive +face again without conjuring up the vision of +that wild haggard visage he had seen in the red glare +of the pine-logs, those hungry savage eyes, gleaming +athwart elf-locks of shaggy hair, and trying to find +a strange distorted likeness between the two faces?</p> + +<p>And this horrible secret he must keep to his +dying day. One hint, one whisper of the fatal truth, +and he and Lucille would be sundered for ever. Did +honour counsel him to confess that deed of his in +the forest? Did honour oblige him to tell this +girl that all her hopes of reunion with the father she +had loved so dearly were vain; that his hand had +made a sudden end of that guilty life, cut off the sinner<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> +in his prime, without pause for repentance, without +time even to utter one wild appealing cry to his +God? True that the man had declared himself an +infidel, that he was steeped to the lips in brutish +selfishness, grovelling, debased, hardened in sin. +Who should dare say that repentance was impossible, +even for a wretch so fallen? Far as the east is +from the west are the ways of God from the ways of +man, and in His infinite power there are infinite +possibilities of mercy and forgiveness.</p> + +<p>‘I was mad when I did that deed,’ thought Lucius; +‘mad as in the time that followed when I lay +raging in a brain fever; yet, Heaven knows, I believed +it was but stern justice. There was no tribunal yonder. +We were alone in the wilderness with God, and +I deemed I did but right when I made myself the +instrument of His wrath. All that followed that +awful moment is darkness. Schanck never spoke of +that villain’s fate, nor did I. We instinctively avoided +the hideous subject, and conspired to hide the secret +from Geoffrey. Poor, good-natured old Schanck! I +wonder whether he has found his way back from the +Californian gold-fields. If I had leisure for such a +pilgrimage, I’d go down to Battersea and inquire. I +doubt if a rough life among gold-diggers would suit +him long.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> + +<p class="center no-indent fs120 bold wsp">Book the Second.</p> + +<hr class="r5"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br> +<span class="fs70">GEOFFREY BEGINS A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Not</span> very far did Geoffrey Hossack proceed upon his +Norwegian voyage. At Hull he discovered that—perusing +his Bradshaw with a too rapid eye, and a +somewhat disordered mind—he had mistaken the +date of the steamer’s departure, and must waste two +entire days in that prosperous port, waiting for the +setting forth of that vessel. Even one day in that +thriving commercial town seemed to him intolerably +long. He perambulated King William-street and the +market-place, Silver-street, Myton-gate, Low-gate, +and all the gates; stared at the shipping; lost his +way amidst a tangle of quays and dry docks and wet +docks and store-houses and moving bridges, which +were for ever barring his way; and exhausted the +resources of Kingston-upon-Hull in the space of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> +two hours. Then, in very despair, he took rail to +Withernsea, and dined at a gigantic hotel, where he +was ministered to by a London waiter, who provided +him with the regulation fried sole and cutlet. Having +washed down these too familiar viands with two +or three glasses of Manzanilla, he set forth in quest +of a solitude where to smoke his cigar in communion +with that vast waste of waters—the German Ocean—and +his own melancholy thoughts.</p> + +<p>Go to Norway; try to forget Janet Bertram amid +those lonely hills, with no companions save the two +faithful lads who carried his guns, and performed +the rough services of life under canvas? Try to forget +her amidst the solitude of nature? Vain hope! +An hour’s contemplation of the subject on that lonely +shore, remote from the parade and the band and all +the holiday traffic of a popular watering-place, was +enough to make a complete change in Mr. Hossack’s +plans. He would not go to Norway. Why should +he put the North Sea betwixt himself and his love? +Who could tell what might happen in his absence, +what changes might come to pass involving all his +chances of happiness, and he, dolt and idiot, too far +away to profit by their arising? No; he would stay +in England, within easy reach of his idol. He might +write her a little line now and then, just to remind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> +her of the mere fact of his existence, and to acquaint +her with his abode. She had not forbidden him to +write. Decidedly, come what might, he would not +leave England.</p> + +<p>This decision arrived at, after profound cogitation, +he breathed more freely. He had been going +forth like an exile—unwillingly, as if driven by +Nemesis, that golden-winged goddess who made such +hard lines for the Greeks. He had set forth in the +first rush and tumult of his passion, deeming that +in the wild land of the Norse gods he might stifle +his grief, find a cure for his pain. He felt more at +ease now that he had allowed love to gain the victory. +‘It is a privilege to inhabit the same country with +her,’ he told himself.</p> + +<p>Not long did he linger in Hull. The next morning’s +express carried him back to London, uncertain +as to how he should spend his autumn; willing even +to let his guns rust so that he need not drag himself +too far away from Janet Bertram.</p> + +<p>‘Janet,’ he repeated fondly, ‘a prettier name +than Jane; a name made for simplest tenderest verse. +I’m glad I have learnt to think of her by it.’</p> + +<p>There were letters waiting for him at the Cosmopolitan, +forwarded from Stillmington, nearly a +week’s arrears of correspondence; letters feminine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> +and masculine; the feminine bulky, ornamental as +to stationery, be-monogramed, redolent of rose and +frangipani; cousinly epistles which Geoffrey contemplated +with a good-humoured indifference.</p> + +<p>He looked over the addresses eagerly, lest by remotest +chance—yet he could not even hope so much—there +might be a letter from Mrs. Bertram. +There was none; so he opened one of the cousinly +epistles with a profound sigh.</p> + +<p>Hillersdon Grange, Hampshire. <em>Her</em> county and +his. He and Lucius had been born and bred not +twenty miles apart, and had begun their friendship +at Winchester School. Mr. Hossack’s people lived +in Hampshire, and were unwearying in their invitations, +yet he had not revisited his native place since +his return from America.</p> + +<p>‘I can’t understand why a man should be attached +to the place where he was born,’ he used to say in his +careless fashion when his cousins reproached him for +his indifference. ‘In the first place, he doesn’t remember +the event of his birth; and in the second, +the locality is generally the most uninteresting in +creation. Wherever you go, abroad or at home, you +are always dragged about to see where particular +people were born. You knock your head against +the low timbers of Shakespeare’s birthplace at Stratford;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> +you go puffing and panting up to a garret to +see where Charlotte Corday was first admitted to the +mystery of existence; you drive through Devonshire +lanes to stare at the comfortable homestead where +Kaleigh blinked at life’s morning sun; you mount a +hill to admire the native home of Fox; you go stages +out of your way to contemplate the cradle of Robespierre. +And when all that a man loved in his boyhood +lies under the sod, and the home where he spent +his early life seems sadder than a mausoleum, people +wonder that he is not fond of those empty rooms, +haunted by the phantoms of his cherished dead, +simply because he happened to be born in one of +them.’</p> + +<p>Thus had argued Mr. Hossack when his cousins +reproached him with his want of natural affection for +the scenes of his childhood. Hillersdon Grange was +within three miles of Homefield, where Geoffrey’s +father had ended his quiet easy life about ten years +ago, leaving his only son orphaned but remarkably +well provided for. Squire Hossack of Hillersdon was +the elder scion of the house, and owner of a handsome +landed estate, and the Miss Hossacks were +those two musically-disposed damsels whom it had +been Geoffrey’s privilege to escort to various concerts +and matinees in the winter season last past.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> + +<p>The letter now in Geoffrey’s hand was from the +elder of the damsels, a hard-riding good-looking +young woman of four-and-twenty, who kept her +father’s house, domineered over her younger sister, +and would have had no objection to rule Geoffrey +himself with the same wise sway.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Her letter was a new version of the oft-repeated +invitation. ‘Papa says, if you don’t come to +us this year, he shall think you have quite left off +caring about your relations, and declares he really +never will ask you again,’ she wrote. ‘It does seem +a hard thing, Geoffrey, that you can go scampering +about the world, and living in all manner of outlandish +places—Stillmington, for instance, a place +which I am told is abominably dull out of the hunting +season, and what you can have found to amuse you +all these months in such a place, I can’t imagine—and +yet, excuse the long parenthesis, can’t find time +to come to us, although we are so near dear old +Homefield, which you must be attached to, unless +your heart is much harder than I should like to suppose +it. The birds are plentiful this year, and papa +says there are some snipe in Dingley marsh. Altogether +he can promise you excellent sport after the +first of next month.</p> + +<p>‘But if you want to oblige Jessie and me’ (Jessie<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> +was the younger sister) ‘you will come at once, as +there are to be grand doings at Lady Baker’s next +week; and eligible young men being scarce in this +neighbourhood, we should be glad to have a good-looking +cousin to show off. Papa escorts us, of +course; but as he always contrives to get among the +old fogies who talk vestry and quarter-sessions, we +might almost as well be without any escort at all. So +do come, dear Geoff, and oblige your always affectionate +cousin,</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Arabella Hossack</span>.<br> +</p> + +<p>‘P.S. Please call at Cramer’s, Chappell’s, and a +few more of the publishers before you come, and +bring us down anything they may recommend. Jessie +wants some really good songs, and I should like +Kalbé’s fantasias upon the newest Christy melodies.’</p> +</div> +<br> + +<p>Lady Baker! Lucius had named this lady as +one of the friends of his sister Janet; one of the +county people whose notice had been the beginning +of the fatal end. It was at Lady Baker’s house that +Janet had met the villain who blighted her life.</p> + +<p>This was an all-sufficient reason for Geoffrey’s +prompt acceptance of his cousin’s invitation. It was +only by trying back that he could hope to discover +the after-life of that man who had called himself Vandeleur, +only by going back to the very beginning that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> +he could hope to track his footsteps to the end. +Could he but discover this scoundrel’s later history, +and find it end in a grave, what happiness to carry +the tidings of his discovery to Janet, and to say, ‘I +bring you your freedom, and I claim you for my own +by the right of my devotion!’</p> + +<p>He knew that she loved him. That knowledge +had power to comfort and sustain him in all the pain +of severance. True love can live for a long time upon +such nutriment as this.</p> + +<p>He wrote to Lucius, telling him where he was +going, and what he was going to do, and started for +Hillersdon next morning, laden with a portmanteau +full of new music for those daughters of the horseleech, +his cousins.</p> + +<p>Hillersdon Grange was, as Geoffrey confessed +with the placid approval of a kinsman, ‘not half a +bad place’ for an autumn visit. The house was old, +a fine specimen of domestic architecture in the days +of the Plantagenets. It had been expanded for the +accommodation of modern inhabitants; a ponderous +and somewhat ugly annex added in the reign of +William the Third; a cloister turned into a drawing-room +at a later period—as the requirements of civilised +people grew larger. The fine old hall, with its +open roof, once the living room of the mansion, was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> +now an armoury, in which casques that had been +hacked at Cressy, and hauberks that had been battered +in the Wars of the Roses, were diversified by +antlers and stuffed stags’ heads, the trophies of the +hunting field in more pacific ages.</p> + +<p>The Hossacks were not an old family. They could +not boast that identity with the soil which constitutes +rural aristocracy. They had been bankers and +merchants in days gone by, and their younger sons +were still merchants, or bankers. Geoffrey’s father, +and the Squire of Hillersdon Grange, had succeeded, +one to the patrimonial acres, acquired a few years +before his birth; the other to the counting-house +and its wider chances of wealth. Both had flourished. +The Squire living the life that pleased him best, +farming a little in a vastly expensive and vastly unprofitable +fashion; writing a letter to the <cite>Times</cite> now +and then about the prospects of the harvest, or the +last discovery in drainage; quoting Virgil, sitting at +quarter-sessions, and laying down parochial law in +the vestry. The younger making most money, working +like a slave, and fancying himself the happier and +the better man; to be cut off in his prime by heart-disease +or an overworked brain, while Geoffrey was +a lad at Winchester.</p> + +<p>The grounds at Hillersdon were simply perfection.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +The place was on the borders of the New +Forest, and the Squire’s woods melted into that +wider domain. A river wound through the park, and +washed the border of the lawn; a river which had +shadowy willow-sheltered bends where trout abounded, +rushy coves and creeks famous for jack, a river delightful +alike to the angler and to the landscape +painter.</p> + +<p>‘Not half a bad place,’ said Geoffrey, yawning +and looking at his watch on the first morning after +his arrival; ‘and now, having breakfasted copiously +upon your rustic fare—that dish of cutlets <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à la Soubise</i> +was worthy of mention—may I ask what I am to +do with myself? Just eleven! Three hours before +luncheon! Do you do anything in the country when +you are not eating or sleeping?’</p> + +<p>This inquiry was addressed to the sisters Belle and +Jessie—good-looking young women, with fine complexions, +ample figures, clear blue eyes, light brown +hair, and the freshest of morning toilets, in the nautical +style, as appropriate to the New Forest—wide +blue collars flung back from full white throats, straw +hats bound with blue ribbon, blue serge petticoats +festooned coquettishly above neat little buckled shoes, +with honest thick soles for country walking; altogether +damsels of the order called ‘nice,’ but in no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> +manner calculated to storm the heart of man. Good +daughters in the present, good wives and mothers, +perhaps, in the future, but not of the syren tribe.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t suppose Hillersdon is much duller than +the backwoods of America,’ said Arabella, the elder, +with some dignity; ‘and I hope you may be able to +endure life until the 1st with no better company than +ours.’</p> + +<p>‘My dearest Belle, if you and Jessie had paid me +a visit on the banks of the Saskatchewan, I should +have been unutterably happy, especially if you had +brought me a monstrous hamper of provisions—a +ham like that on the sideboard for instance, and a +few trifles of that kind. I didn’t mean to depreciate +Hillersdon; the hour and a half or so I spent at +the breakfast table was positively delightful. But +the worst of what people call the pleasures of the +table is that other pleasures are apt to pall after +them. Perhaps the best thing you could do would +be to drive me gently about the park in your pony +carriage till luncheon. I don’t suppose for a moment +that I shall be able to eat any more at two o’clock; +but the country air <em>might</em> have a revivifying effect. +One can but try.’</p> + +<p>‘You lazy creature! drive you indeed!’ exclaimed +Jessie. ‘We’ll do nothing of the kind. But I tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> +you what you shall do if you like—and of course you +will like—you shall be coxswain of our boat, and we’ll +row you up to Dingley.’</p> + +<p>‘<em>You’ll</em> row? Ah, I might have known those blue +collars meant something rather desperate. However, +steering a wherry isn’t wery hard labour, as the burlesque +writers would say. I’ll come.’</p> + +<p>The sisters were delighted. A good-looking cousin +to damsels in a rural district is like water-brooks in +a dry land. In their inmost hearts these girls doated +on Geoffrey, but artfully suppressed all outward token +of their affection. Many a night during the comfortable +leisure of hairbrushing, when their joint maid +had been dismissed, had the sisters speculated on +their cousin’s life, wondering why he didn’t marry, +and whom he would marry, and so on; while the real +consideration paramount in the mind of each was, +‘Will he ever marry <em>me</em>?’</p> + +<p>They strolled across the lawn (not a croquet lawn +of a hundred and twenty feet square, after the manner +of ‘grounds’ attached to suburban villas, but a wide +undulating tract of greensward, shaded here and there +by groups of picturesque old trees—maple and copper +beech, and ancient hawthorns on which the berries +were beginning to redden) to a Swiss boathouse with +pointed gables and thatched roof, ample room for a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> +small flotilla below, and a spacious apartment above—a +room which, had young men been dominant in the +household, would doubtless have been made a <em>tabagie</em> +or a billiard room, but which, under the gentler sway +of young ladies, had been gaily decorated with light +chintz draperies and fern cases, innocent-looking +maple furniture, easels, piano, and workbaskets.</p> + +<p>That winding river reminded Geoffrey of the weedy +ditch at Stillmington on which he had spent many a +summer afternoon, pulling against the stream with +disconsolate soul, thinking of his implacable divinity. +He gave a little sigh, and wished himself back in Stillmington; +to suffer, to hope, to despair—only to be +near her.</p> + +<p>‘I must make an end of this misery somehow,’ +he said to himself, ‘or it will make an end of me.’</p> + +<p>‘What a sigh, Geoffrey; and how thoughtful you +look!’ exclaimed Jessie, who had an eye which marked +every mote in the summer air.</p> + +<p>‘Did I sigh? I may have eaten too much breakfast. +Look here, Belle, you’d better let me take a +pair of sculls, while you and Jessie dabble your hands +in the water and talk of your last new dresses. It +isn’t good for a man to be idle. I shall have the +blues if I sit still and steer.’</p> + +<p>‘What a strange young man you are!’ said Belle.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> +‘Ten minutes ago you wanted to loll in a pony carriage +and be driven.’</p> + +<p>‘I might have endured the pony carriage, but I +can’t endure the boat unless I make myself useful. +There, get in please, and sit down. What a toyshop +affair! and as broad as a house! I should think the +man who built Noah’s Ark must have designed this.’</p> + +<p>The sisters exclaimed against this disparagement +of their bark, which a local boatbuilder had adorned +with all the devices of his art—cane-work, French +polish and gilding, crimson damask-covered cushions, +dainty cord and tassels—all those prettinesses which +the Oxonian, who likes a boat that he can carry on +his shoulder, regards with ineffable contempt.</p> + +<p>The stream was narrow but deep, and pleasantly +sheltered, for the most part, with leafage; the banks +clothed in beauty, and every turn of the river disclosing +a new picture. But neither Geoffrey nor his +companions gave themselves up to the contemplation +of this ever-varying landscape. Geoffrey was thinking +of Janet Bertram; the girls were wondering what +made their cousin so silent.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hossack plied his sculls bravely, despite his +abstraction, but even in this was actuated less by a +desire to gratify his cousins than by a lurking design +of his own. Six miles up this very stream lay Mardenholme,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> +the mansion of the Bakers. Lady Baker’s +famous gardens—gardens on which fabulous sums +were annually lavished—sloped down to the brim of +this very river. If he could row as far as Mardenholme, +he might induce the girls to take him in to +Lady Baker forthwith, and thus obtain the interview +he sighed for. To hope for any confidential conversation +with that lady on the day of a great garden +party seemed foolish in the extreme; nor did it suit +his impatient spirit to wait for the garden party.</p> + +<p>‘When are these high-jinks to come off at Lady +Baker’s?’ he inquired presently, in his most careless +manner.</p> + +<p>‘Next Tuesday. It’s to be such a swell party, +Geoffrey—croquet, archery, a morning concert, a +German tea, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tableaux vivants</i>, and a dance to wind up +with.’</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Tableaux vivants</i>,’ said Geoffrey with a yawn; +‘the Black Brunswicker and the Huguenot, I suppose. +We have grown too æsthetic for the Juan and +Haydee, and the Conrad and Medora of one’s youth. +Are you two girls in the tableaux?’</p> + +<p>‘O dear no,’ exclaimed Belle, bridling a little. +‘We are not Lady Baker’s last mania. We are neighbours, +and she always invites us to her large parties, +and begs us to come to her Thursday kettledrum, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> +is monstrously civil; but in her heart of hearts she +doesn’t care a straw for humdrum country people. +She is always taking up artists and singers and +actors, and that kind of thing. She positively raves +about <em>them</em>.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, I’ve heard something of that before,’ said +Geoffrey thoughtfully. ‘She’s musical, isn’t she?’</p> + +<p>‘She calls herself so—goes to the opera perpetually +in the London season, and patronises all the +local concerts, and gives musical parties—but nobody +ever heard her play a note.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah,’ said Geoffrey, ‘I don’t think people with +a real passion for music often do play. They look +upon the murder of a fine sonata as a species of +sacrilege, and wisely refrain from the attempt, but +not the deed, which would confound them. By the +way, talking of Lady Baker and her protégées, did +you ever hear of a Miss Davoren, who was rather +distinguished for her fine voice, some years ago?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ said Belle, ‘I have heard Lady Baker +rave about her. She was a clergyman’s daughter at +Wykhamston. And I have heard other people say +that Lady Baker’s patronage was the ruin of her, +and that she left her home in some improper way, +and broke her poor old father’s heart.’</p> + +<p>This little speech sent a sharp pang through another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> +heart, the honest heart that loved the sinner +so fondly.</p> + +<p>‘You never saw Miss Davoren, I suppose?’</p> + +<p>‘Of course not,’ cried Belle. ‘It was before I was +out of the nursery.’</p> + +<p>‘But you were not blind when you were in the +nursery; you might have seen her.’</p> + +<p>‘How could I? I didn’t go to Lady Baker’s +parties before I was out, and papa doesn’t know many +Wykhamston people.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, then you never saw her. Was she pretty?’</p> + +<p>‘Perfectly lovely, according to Lady Baker; but +all her geese are swans.’</p> + +<p>‘She must be a very enthusiastic person, this +Lady Baker. Do you think you could contrive to introduce +me to her?—to-day, for instance. I can +row you down to Mardenholme by one o’clock.’</p> + +<p>‘It would be so dreadfully early to call,’ said Jessie, +‘and then, you see, Thursday is her day. But +she’s always extremely kind, and pretends to be glad +to see us.’</p> + +<p>‘Why pretends? She may be really glad.’</p> + +<p>‘O, she can’t possibly be glad to see half the +county. There must be some make-believe about it. +However, she gives herself up to that kind of thing, +and I suppose she likes it. What do you think,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> +Belle? Would it look very strange if we called with +Geoffrey?’</p> + +<p>‘We might risk it,’ said Belle, anxious to indulge +the prodigal. ‘She’s almost sure to be somewhere +about the garden if she’s at home. She spends half +her life in the garden at Mardenholme.’</p> + +<p>‘Then we’ll find her, and approach her without +ceremony,’ replied Geoffrey, sending the boat swiftly +through the clear water. ‘Depend upon it, <em>I</em> shall +make myself at home.’</p> + +<p>‘We’re not afraid of that,’ answered Belle, who +was much more disturbed by the idea that this free-and-easy +young man might forget the homage due to +a county magnate such as Lady Baker—a personage +who in a manner made the rain or fine weather in this +part of Hampshire. A summer which her ladyship +did not spend at Mardenholme was regarded as a bad +and profitless season. People almost wondered that +the harvest was not backward, that the clover and +vetches came up pretty much the same as usual.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br> +<span class="fs70">LADY BAKER.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was hardly one o’clock when they beheld the terraced +gardens of Mardenholme; gardens that were +worth a day’s journey to see; a thoroughly Italian +picture, set in a thoroughly English landscape; marble +balustrades surmounting banks of flowers; tall +spire-shaped conifers ranged at intervals, tier above +tier; marble steps and marble basins, in every direction; +and below this show-garden, sloping down to +the river, a lawn of softest verdure, bordered by vast +shrubberies, that to the stranger seemed pathless, +yet where a fallen leaf could hardly have been found, +so exquisite was the order of the grounds.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey tied his boat to the lower branch of a +mighty willow which dipped its green tresses in the +stream, leaped out and landed his cousins as coolly +as if he had arrived at an hotel. No mortal was to +be seen for the first moment, but Jessie’s sharp eyes +beheld a white shirt-sleeve gleaming athwart a group +of magnolias.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> + +<p>‘There’s a gardener over there,’ she said: ‘we’d +better ask him if Lady Baker is in the grounds.’</p> + +<p>They made for the gardener, who, with the slow +and philosophic air of a man whose wages are not dependent +on the amount of his labour, was decapitating +daisies that had been impertinent enough to lift their +vulgar heads in this patrician domain. This hireling +informed them that he had seen her ladyship somewheres +about not ten minutes agone. She was in the +Chaney temple, perhaps, and he volunteered to show +them the way.</p> + +<p>‘You needn’t trouble yourself,’ said Jessie. ‘I +know the way.’</p> + +<p>‘What does he mean by the Chaney temple?’ +asked Geoffrey, as they departed.</p> + +<p>‘It is a garden-house Lady Baker has had sent +over from China,’ answered Belle. ‘I know she’s +fond of sitting there.’</p> + +<p>They entered a darksome alley in the shrubbery, +which wound along the river-bank some little way, +opening into a kind of wilderness; a very tame +wilderness, inhabited by water-fowl of various tribes, +which stretched out their necks and screamed vindictively +at the intruders. Here on the brink of the +river was the garden-house, an edifice of bamboo and +lattice-work, adorned with bells, very much open to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> +all the winds of heaven, but a pleasant shelter on a +sultry day in August. When the breeze shook them, +the numerous bells rang ever so faintly, and the +sound woke echoes on the farther bank of the stream.</p> + +<p>Lady Baker was reclining in a bamboo-chair, +reading, with a young lady and gentleman, and a +Japanese pug in attendance upon her.</p> + +<p>‘Dear Lady Baker,’ cried Belle, anxious to make +the best of her unceremonious approach, ‘I hope you +won’t think it very dreadful of us to come into the +gardens this way like burglars; but my cousin Geoffrey +was so anxious to be presented to you, that he +insisted on rowing us here this morning.’</p> + +<p>‘I do think it extremely dreadful,’ replied the +lady with a pleasant laugh. ‘And so this is the +cousin of whom I have heard so much. Welcome +to Mardenholme, Mr. Hossack. We ought to have +known each other long before this, since we are such +near neighbours.’</p> + +<p>‘I have the honour to possess a small estate not +far from your ladyship’s,’ answered Geoffrey; ‘but, +being hitherto unacquainted with the chief attraction +of the neighbourhood in your person, I have ignorantly +given a lease of my place to a retired sugar-broker.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s a pity, for I think we should have been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> +good neighbours. Mr. Hossack, Mrs. Wimple; Mr. +Wimple, Mr. Hossack,’ murmured Lady Baker in a +parenthesis; at which introduction the young lady +and the young gentleman, newly married, and indifferent +to the external world, honoured Geoffrey +with distant bows, and immediately withdrew to a +trellised balcony overhanging the river, to gaze upon +that limpid stream, or, in Geoffrey’s modern vocabulary, +‘to spoon.’ ‘You are a wonderful traveller, +I understand,’ continued her ladyship.</p> + +<p>‘Hardly, in the modern sense of the word,’ said +Geoffrey, with becoming modesty. ‘I have hunted +the bighorn on the Rocky Mountains, and shot grouse +in Norway; but I have neither discovered the source +of a river, nor found an unknown waterfall; in short, +as a traveller, I am a very insignificant individual. +But as a rule I keep moving, locomotion being about +the only employment open to a man to whom Providence +has denied either talent or ambition.’</p> + +<p>‘You are at any rate more modest than the +generality of lions, Mr. Hossack,’ Lady Baker replied +graciously.</p> + +<p>She was a little woman, sallow and thin, with a +face which in any one less than the mistress of Mardenholme +would have been insignificant. But she +had fine eyes and teeth, and dressed with the exquisite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> +taste of a woman who studied the fitness of +things and not the fashion-book. She had a manner +that was at once stately and caressing, and could +confer a favour with the air of a princess of the +blood royal. She had spent all her life in society, +and, except when she slept, knew not what it was +to be alone. She could have had but scanty leisure +for reading, yet she knew, or seemed to know, everything +that society knew. Her detractors declared +that she never read anything but the newspapers, +and thus, by a zealous study of the <cite>Times</cite> and the +critical journals, kept herself far in advance of those +stupid people who wade through books. She skimmed +the cream of other people’s knowledge, shrugged her +shoulders in mild depreciation of books she had never +read, and wore the newest shades of opinion as she +wore the newest colours. For the rest, she was of +an uncertain age, had been in society for about a +quarter of a century, and looked five-and-thirty. Her +light-brown hair, which she wore with almost classic +simplicity, as yet revealed no tell-tale streak of silver. +Perhaps, like Mr. Mivers in <em>Kenelm Chillingly</em>, Lady +Baker had begun her wig early.</p> + +<p>Sir Horatio Veering Baker, the husband of this +distinguished personage, was rather an appanage of +her state than an entity. She produced him on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> +ceremonial occasions, just as her butler produced the +parcel-gilt tankards and gigantic rosewater salvers on +the buffet; and at other times he retired, like the +moon on those dark nights when earth knows not +her gentle splendour. He was a mild-faced old man, +who devoted his days to various ologies, in which no +one but himself and his old servant seemed to take +the faintest interest—and the servant only pretended. +He inhabited, for the most part, a distant wing of +the mansion, where he had a vast area of glass cases +for the display of those specimens which illustrated +his ologies, and represented the labour of his life. +Sometimes, but not always, he appeared at the bottom +of his dinner table; and when, among her ladyship’s +guests, a scientific man perchance appeared, +Sir Horatio did him homage, and carried him off +after dinner for an inspection of the specimens. +Lady Baker was amiably tolerant of her husband’s +hobbies. She received him with unvarying graciousness +when he hobbled into her drawing-room in his +dress-coat and antique tie, looking hardly less antediluvian +than the petrified jawbone of a megatherium, +which was one of the gems in his collection; and she +was politely solicitous for his well-being when he pronounced +himself ‘a little fagged,’ and preferred to +dine in his study.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p> + +<p>Geoffrey soon found himself on the friendliest +terms with the mistress of Mardenholme. Lady +Baker liked good-looking young men who had no +unpleasant consciousness of their good looks, and +liked the modern easy manner of youth, provided +the ease never degenerated into insolence. She took +Geoffrey under her wing immediately, walked nearly +a mile with him under the midday sun, protected by +a huge, white silk umbrella, to show him the lions of +Mardenholme; that profound hypocrite, Mr. Hossack, +affecting an ardent admiration of ferneries and flower +beds, in the hope that this perambulatory exhibition +might presently procure him the opportunity for which +his soul languished.</p> + +<p>‘Let me once find myself alone with this nice +old party,’ he said to himself, ‘and I won’t let the +chance slip. She shall tell me all she knows about +the villain who wronged Janet Davoren.’</p> + +<p>To his infinite vexation, however, his cousins, +who worshipped the mistress of Mardenholme, followed +close upon her footsteps throughout the exposition, +went into raptures with every novelty among +the ferny tribes, and made themselves altogether a +nuisance. Geoffrey was beginning to struggle with +dreary yawns when the Mardenholme luncheon gong +relieved the situation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> + +<p>‘And now that I’ve shown you my latest acquisition, +let us go to luncheon,’ said Lady Baker, who +was never happier than when feeding a new acquaintance. +In fact, she liked her friends very much as +she liked her orchids and ferns—for the sake of their +novelty.</p> + +<p>Nobody ever refused an invitation from Lady +Baker. It was almost the same thing as a royal +command. Jessie and Belle murmured something +about ‘papa,’ and the voice of duty which called +them back to Hillersdon. But Lady Baker waived +the objection with that regal air of hers, which implied +that any one else’s inconvenience was a question +of smallest moment when her pleasure was at +stake.</p> + +<p>‘I should be positively unhappy if you went +away,’ she said; ‘I have only that Mr. and Mrs. +Wimple, whom you just now saw in the garden +house. This is their first visit since their honeymoon, +and their exhibition of mutual affection is +almost unendurable. But as it is a match of my +own making I am obliged to tolerate the infliction. +They are my only visitors until to-morrow. So if +you don’t stop, I shall be bored to death between +this and dinner. I actually caught that absurd child, +Florence Wimple, in the very act of spelling “<span class="allsmcap">YOU<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> +DARLING</span>” in the deaf-and-dumb alphabet to that +simpleton of a husband of hers across the breakfast +table this morning.’</p> + +<p>Moved by this melancholy picture, Jessie and +Belle consented to remain. Geoffrey had meant to +stay from the outset. Indeed, he had landed on the +greensward of Mardenholme determined to attain his +object before he left.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br> +<span class="fs70">LADY BAKER TELLS THE STORY OF THE PAST.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> luncheon party was gay enough, in spite of Mr. +and Mrs. Wimple’s infatuation for each other, which +rendered them, as it were, non-existing for the rest +of the party. They gazed upon each other with rapt +admiring eyes, and handed each other creams and +jellies, and smiled at each other upon the smallest +provocation. But to-day Lady Baker suffered them to +amuse themselves after their own fashion, and gave +all her attention to Geoffrey. If he was not distinguished +in the realms of art, he was at least an agreeable +young man, who knew how to flatter a lady of +fashion on the wrong side of forty without indulging +in that florid colouring which awakens doubts of the +flatterer’s good faith. He improved his opportunities +at luncheon to such good purpose, that when that +meal was over, and the devoted Mr. Wimple had been +carried off by his wife and the other two ladies to play +croquet, Lady Baker volunteered to show Geoffrey the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> +Mardenholme picture-gallery—a very fair collection +of modern art, which had been acquired by her ladyship’s +father, a great Manchester man; for it was +commerce in soft goods which had created the wealth +wherewith this lady had endowed Sir Horatio Veering +Baker, and whence had arisen all the splendours of +Mardenholme. This was the very thing Geoffrey desired, +and for which he had been scheming, with the +<em>finesse</em> of a Jesuit, during the hospitable meal. He +had affected an enthusiast’s love of art, declaring how, +from his earliest youth, he had languished to behold +the treasures of the Mardenholme gallery.</p> + +<p>Lady Baker was delighted.</p> + +<p>‘My father lived all his later life among artists,’ +she said. ‘He made his fortune in commerce, as I +daresay you have heard; but in heart he was an artist. +I myself have painted a little.’ (What had +Lady Baker not done a little?) ‘But music is my +grand passion. The pictures were almost all bought +off the easel—several of them inspired by my father’s +suggestions. He was full of imagination. Come, +Mr. Hossack, while those foolish people play croquet +we will take a stroll in the gallery.’</p> + +<p>She led the way through the wide marble-paved +hall, whence ascended a staircase of marble, like that +noble one in the Duke of Buccleuch’s palace at Dalkeith,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> +and thence to the gallery, a spacious apartment +lighted from the roof. It was here Lady Baker gave +her concerts and musical kettledrums, to which half +the county came to sip black coffee and eat ices and +stare at the pictures, while the lady’s latest discovery +in the world of harmony charmed or excruciated their +ears, as the case might be.</p> + +<p>To-day this apartment looked delightfully cool and +quiet after the sunlit brightness of the other rooms. +A striped canvas blind was drawn over the glass roof, +gentle zephyrs floated in through invisible apertures, +and a tender half-light prevailed which was pleasant +for tired eyes, if not the best possible light for seeing +pictures.</p> + +<p>‘I’ll have the blinds drawn up,’ said Lady Baker, +‘and you shall see my gems. There is an Etty yonder +that I would not part with if a good fairy offered me +five additional years of life in exchange for it.’</p> + +<p>‘With so long a lease of life still in hand, five +years more or less can seem of no consequence,’ said +Geoffrey gallantly; ‘but I think an octogenarian would +accept even a smaller bid for the picture.’</p> + +<p>‘Flatterer!’ exclaimed Lady Baker. ‘If you wish +to see pictures, you must be good enough to ring that +bell, in order that we may get a little more light.’</p> + +<p>‘A moment, dear Lady Baker,’ pleaded Geoffrey;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> +‘this half-light is delightful, and my eyes are like a +cat’s. I can see best in a demi-obscurity like this. +Yes, the Etty is charming. What modelling, what +chiaroscuro, what delicious colouring!’</p> + +<p>‘You are looking at a Frost,’ said Lady Baker, +with offended dignity.</p> + +<p>‘A thousand pardons. I recognise the delicacy +of his outlines, the purity of his colour. But forgive +me, Lady Baker, when I tell you that my devotion to +art is secondary to my desire to be alone with you!’</p> + +<p>Lady Baker looked at him with a startled expression. +Was it possible that this young Oxonian had +been seized with a sudden and desperate passion for +a woman old enough to be his mother? Young men +are so foolish; and Lady Baker was so accustomed +to hear herself talked of as a divinity, that she could +hardly suppose herself inferior in attractiveness to +Cleopatra or Ninon de l’Enclos.</p> + +<p>‘What do you mean, Mr. Hossack?’</p> + +<p>‘Only that, presuming on your ladyship’s well-known +nobility of soul and goodness of heart, I am +about to appeal to both. Women of fashion have +been called fickle, but I cannot think <em>you</em> deserve that +reproach.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not a woman of fashion,’ answered Lady +Baker, still very much in the dark; ‘I have lived for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> +art—art the all-sufficing, the eternal—not for the +pretty frivolities which make up the sum of a London +season. If I have lived in the midst of a crowd, +it is because I have sought intellect and genius wherever +they were to be found. I have striven to surround +myself with great souls. If sometimes I have +discovered only the empty husk where I had hoped to +find the precious kernel, it is not my fault.’</p> + +<p>‘Would that the world could boast of more such +women!’ exclaimed Geoffrey, feeling that he had +cleared an avenue to the subject he wanted to arrive +at. ‘Amongst your protégées of years gone by, Lady +Baker, there was one in whose fate I am profoundly +interested. She is the sister of my most valued friend. +I speak of Janet Davoren.’</p> + +<p>Lady Baker started, and a cloud came over her +face, as if that name had been suggestive of painful +recollections.</p> + +<p>‘O, Mr. Hossack, why do you mention that unfortunate +girl’s name? I have been so miserable +about her—have even felt myself to blame for her +flight, and all the trouble it brought on that good old +man her father. He never would confess that she +had run away from home; he spoke of her always in +the same words: “She is staying with friends in +London;” but every one knew there was some sad<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> +mystery connected with her disappearance, and I was +only too well able to guess the nature of that mystery. +But you speak of her as if you knew her—as if you +could enlighten me as to her present position. If it +is in your power to do that, I shall be beyond measure +grateful to you; you will take a load from my +mind.’</p> + +<p>‘I may be able to do that by and by,’ answered +Geoffrey; ‘at present I can say very little, except +that the lady lives, and that her brother is my friend. +From you, Lady Baker, I venture to ask all the information +you can give me as to those circumstances +which led to Miss Davoren’s disappearance from +Wykhamston.’</p> + +<p>Lady Baker sighed and paused before she responded +to this inquiry.</p> + +<p>‘All I can tell you amounts to but little,’ she +said; ‘and even that little is, for the greater part, +conjecture or mere guess-work. But what I can tell +shall be freely told, and if I can be of any service to +that poor girl, either now or in the future, she may +rely on my friendship; and, whatever the circumstances +of her flight, she shall have my compassion.’</p> + +<p>‘Those circumstances reflect no shame upon her, +Lady Baker,’ answered Geoffrey with warmth. ‘She +was a victim, but not a sinner.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p> + +<p>‘I am most thankful to hear that. And now sit +down, Mr. Hossack, and you shall hear my story. +I think I can guess the nature of your interest in +this lady, in spite of your reserve; and if I can help +you towards any good result, I shall be delighted to +do so. There are few girls I ever met more worthy +of admiration, and, I believe, of esteem, than Janet +Davoren.’</p> + +<p>They sat down side by side in a recess at the end +of the gallery; and here Lady Baker began her story.</p> + +<p>‘I first met Miss Davoren,’ she said, ‘at the Castle. +The Marchioness had taken her up on account of her +fine voice; although Lady Guildford had no more +soul for music than a potato; but, like the rest of +the world, she likes to have attractive people about +her; and so she had taken up Miss Davoren. The +dear girl was as beautiful as she was gifted.’</p> + +<p>‘She is so still!’ cried Geoffrey with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>‘Ah, I thought I was right!’ said Lady Baker; +at which Geoffrey blushed like a girl. ‘Yes, she was +positively beautiful; and if she had sat like a statue +to be looked at and admired, she would have been an +attraction; but her talent and beauty together made +her almost divine. My heart was drawn to her at +once. I called at Wykhamston vicarage next day, +and invited Mr. Davoren and his daughter to my next<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +dinner-party; and then I asked Janet to spend a long +day with me alone—not a creature to be allowed to +disturb us—for, as I told her, I wanted really to +know her. We spent that day together in my boudoir, +giving ourselves up to the delight of music and intellectual +conversation. I found Janet all soul; full +of imagination and poetry, romantic, enthusiastic, a +poet’s ideal heroine. I made her sing Mozart’s +Masses to me until my soul was steeped in melody. +In a word, we discovered that there was perfect sympathy +between us, and I did not rest till I had persuaded +Mr. Davoren to let his daughter come to stay +with me. He was averse from this. He talked of +the disparity in our modes of life, feared that the +luxury and gaiety of Mardenholme would make the +girl’s home seem poor and dull by comparison; but I +overruled his objections, appealed to the mother’s +pride in her child, hinted at the great things which +might come of Janet’s introduction to society, and +had my own way. Fatal persistence! How often +have I looked back to that day and regretted my +selfish pertinacity! But I really did think I might +be the means of getting the dear girl a good husband.’</p> + +<p>‘And you succeeded in uniting her to a villain,’ +said Geoffrey bitterly; then remembering himself he +added hastily, ‘Pray pardon my impertinence, Lady<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> +Baker, but this is a subject upon which I feel +strongly.’</p> + +<p>‘You foolish young man!’ exclaimed Lady Baker +in her grand way, that air of calm superiority with +which she had gone through the world, the proud +serenity of mind which accompanies the possession +of unlimited means. ‘Do you think if I had not +read your secret at the very first that I should take +the trouble to tell you all this? Well, the dear girl +came to stay with me. I was charmed with her. +Sir Horatio even liked her, although he rarely takes +notice of any one unconnected with ologies. He +showed her his specimens, recommended her to study +geology—which he said would open her mind—and +made himself remarkably pleasant whenever he found +her with me.’</p> + +<p>Lady Baker paused, sighed thoughtfully, and then +took up the thread of her recollections.</p> + +<p>‘How happy we were! I should weary you if I +described our intercourse. We were like girls together, +for Janet’s society made me younger. I +felt I had discovered in this girl a mind equal to my +own, and I was not too proud to place myself on a +level with her. I had very few people with me when +she first came, and we lived our own lives in perfect +freedom, wandering about the grounds—it was in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> +early summer—staying up till long after midnight +listening to that dear girl’s singing, and thoroughly +enjoying ourselves. One afternoon I drove Janet in +my pony carriage to Hillsleigh, where I daresay you +know there is a fine old Gothic church, and a still +finer organ.’</p> + +<p>‘I can guess what is coming,’ said Geoffrey, +frowning.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, it was at Hillsleigh we first met the man +whose baneful influence destroyed that poor child’s +life; and O, Mr. Hossack, I blame myself for this +business. If it had not been for my folly, he could +never have possessed himself of Janet’s mind as he +did. I saw the evil when it was too late to undo +what I had done.’</p> + +<p>‘Pray go on,’ said Geoffrey eagerly; ‘I want to +know who and what that man was.’</p> + +<p>‘A mystery,’ answered Lady Baker. ‘And unhappily +it was the mystery which surrounded him +that made him most attractive to a romantic girl. +Please let me tell the story my own way. How well +I remember that June afternoon, the soft warm air, +the birds singing in the old churchyard! We wandered +about among the tombstones for a little while, +reading the epitaphs, and, I am afraid, sometimes +laughing at them, until all at once Janet caught<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> +hold of my arm and cried “Hark!” her face lighted +up with rapture. Through the open windows of the +church there came such a burst of melody, the opening +of the <em>Agnus Dei</em> in Mozart’s Twelfth, played by +a master-hand. “O,” whispered Janet, with a gasp of +delight, “isn’t that lovely?”’</p> + +<p>‘It was that scoundrel!’ cried Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>‘“I told you the Hillsleigh organ was worth +hearing,” said I. “Yes,” said Janet, “but you did +not tell me that the organist was one of the finest +players in England. I’m sure that man must be.” +“Why, my dear,” said I, “when I was last here the +man played the usual droning voluntaries. This +must be a new organist. Let’s go in and see him.” +“No,” said Janet, stopping me, “let us stay here +till he has done playing. He may leave off if we go +in.” So we sat down upon one of the crumbling old +tombstones and listened to our hearts’ content. The +man played through a great part of the Mass, and +then strayed off into something else; wild strange +music, which might or might not be sacred, but +which sounded to me like a musical version of the +great Pandemonium scene in <em>Paradise Lost</em>. Altogether +this lasted nearly an hour, and then we heard +the church door open and saw the player come out.’</p> + +<p>‘Pray describe him.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> + +<p>‘He was tall and thin. I should think about +five-and-thirty, with a face that was at once handsome +and peculiar; a narrow oval face with a low +forehead, an aquiline nose, a complexion pale to +sallowness—like ivory that has yellowed with age—and +the blackest eyes I ever saw.’</p> + +<p>‘And black hair that grew downward into a peak +in the centre of the forehead,’ cried Geoffrey breathlessly.</p> + +<p>‘What, you know him, then?’ exclaimed Lady +Baker.</p> + +<p>‘I believe I met with him in the backwoods of +America; your description both of the man and of +his style of music precisely fits the man I am thinking +of. That peculiarity about the form of the hair +upon the forehead seems too much for a coincidence. +I wonder what became of that man?’ he added, thinking +aloud.</p> + +<p>‘Let me finish my story, and then I will show +you Mr. Vandeleur’s photograph,’ said Lady Baker.</p> + +<p>‘You have a photograph of him?’ cried Geoffrey; +‘how lucky!’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; and my possession of that portrait arises +from the merest accident. I had a couple of photographers +about the place at the time of Mr. Vandeleur’s +visits, photographing the gardens and ferneries for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> +me, and one afternoon I took it into my head to have +my guests photographed. We had been drinking tea +in the river-garden, and I sent for the men and told +them to arrange us in a group for a photograph. +They pulled us about and moved and fidgeted us till +we were all half worn out; but they ultimately produced +half-a-dozen very fair groups, in a modern +Watteau style, and Janet and Mr. Vandeleur are +striking figures in all the groups. But this is anticipating +events. I’ll show you the photos by and by.’</p> + +<p>‘I await your ladyship’s pleasure,’ said Geoffrey, +‘and am calm as a statue of Patience; but I would +bet even money that this Vandeleur is the self-same +scoundrel Lucius Davoren and I fell in with in +America.’</p> + +<p>‘Extraordinary coincidences hardly surprise me. +My life has been made up of them,’ said Lady Baker. +‘Well, Mr. Hossack, enchanted with his playing, I +was foolish enough to introduce myself to this stranger, +whom I found a man of the world, and, as I believed, +a gentleman. He was on a walking tour through +the south-west of England, he told us, and having +heard of the Hillsleigh church and the Hillsleigh +organ, had come out of his way to spend a day or +two in the quiet village to which the church belongs. +His manners were conciliating and agreeable. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> +asked him to breakfast at Mardenholme on the following +day, promising to show him my gardens and +to let him hear some fine music. He came, heard +Janet play and sing after breakfast, and, at my +request, stayed all day. I daresay you would think +me a very foolish woman if I were to attempt to +describe the influence this man soon began to exercise +over me. I knew nothing of him except what he +chose to tell, and that was rather hinted than told. +But he contrived to make me believe that he was the +son of a man of position and of large wealth; that +his passion for music, and his somewhat Bohemian +tendencies, had made a breach between him and his +father; and that he was determined to live in freedom +and independence upon a small income which he had +inherited from his mother rather than sacrifice his +inclinations to the prejudices of a tyrannical old man +who wanted his son to make a figure in the House of +Commons.’</p> + +<p>‘You made no attempt to discover who and what +the man really was?’</p> + +<p>‘No. It seemed painful to him to speak of his +father; and I respected his reserve. At the risk of +being thought very foolish, I must confess that I was +fascinated by the air of romance, and even mystery, +which surrounded him; perhaps also somewhat fascinated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> +by the man himself, whose very eccentricities +were attractive. He was so different from other +people; followed in no way the conventional model +by which most men shape themselves; took so little +trouble to make himself agreeable. Again, he entered +my house only as a passing stranger. His genius, +and not the importance and respectability of his connections, +gave him the right of admission to my +circle. If I tried to lure a butterfly into my drawing-room +for the sake of its brilliant colouring, I should +hardly trouble myself about the butterfly’s parentage +or antecedents. So with Mr. Vandeleur. I accepted +him for what he was—an amateur musician of exceptional +powers. I daresay, if he had been a professional +artist, I should have taken more pains to find out who +he was.’</p> + +<p>‘I daresay,’ retorted Geoffrey bitterly, ‘if he had +confessed to getting his living by his talents, you +would have been doubtful as to the safety of your +plate. But a fine gentleman, strolling through the +country for his own pleasure, is a different order of +being.’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Hossack, I fear you are a democrat! That +dreadful Oxford is the cradle of advanced opinions. +However,’ continued Lady Baker, ‘Mr. Vandeleur +took up his quarters at our village inn, and spent the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> +greater part of his time in this house. I take some +credit to myself, being by nature sadly impulsive, for +not having asked him to stay here altogether. For +my own part, I had no doubt as to his respectability. +Vandeleur was a good name. True, it might be assumed; +but then the man himself had a superior +air. I thought I could not be mistaken. Mardenholme +filled with visitors soon after Mr. Vandeleur’s +appearance among us. Every one seemed to like +him. His genius astounded and charmed the women. +The men liked his conversation, and admired, and +even envied, him for his billiard playing, which I +believe was <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">hors ligne</i>. “The time I have not given +to music I have given to billiards,” he said when +some one wondered at his skill. This must have +been exaggeration, however, for he had read enormously, +and could talk upon every possible subject.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey thoughtfully, ‘the description +tallies in every detail—allowing for the difference between +a man in the centre of civilisation, and the same +man run wild and savaged by semi-starvation. I know +this Vandeleur.’</p> + +<p>‘You know where he is, and what he is doing?’ +asked Lady Baker eagerly.</p> + +<p>‘No. At a random guess I should think it probable +that his skeleton is peacefully mouldering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> +under the pine-trees somewhere between the Athabasca +and the Pacific—unless he was as lucky as my +party in falling across better furnished travellers.’</p> + +<p>Geoffrey had entertained her ladyship with a +slight sketch of his American adventures during +luncheon, so she understood this allusion.</p> + +<p>‘You must tell me all about your meeting with +him by and by,’ she said. ‘I have very little more +to say. Those two, Janet and Mr. Vandeleur, were +brought very much together by their common genius. +He accompanied her songs, taught her new forms of +expression, showed her the mechanics of her art; +and her improvement under this tuition, even in a +little less than three weeks, was marvellous. They +sang together, played concertante duets for violin +and piano, and sometimes spent hours together alone +in this room, preparing some new surprise for the +evening. You will say that I ought to have considered +the danger of such companionship for a +romantic inexperienced girl. I should have done +so, perhaps, had I not believed in this Mr. Vandeleur, +and had there not been lurking in my mind +a dim idea that a marriage between him and Janet +would be the most natural thing in the world. True, +that according to his own showing his resources were +small in the present; yet there could be no doubt, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> +thought, that he would ultimately be reconciled to +his father, and restored to his proper position. But +remember, Mr. Hossack, this was only a vague notion, +an idea of something that might happen in the remote +future, when we should have become a great deal better +acquainted with Mr. Vandeleur and his surroundings. +Of present danger I had not a thought.’</p> + +<p>‘Strange blindness,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But then +Fortune is blind, and in this instance you were +Fortune.’</p> + +<p>‘Bear in mind,’ replied Lady Baker, ‘that this +man was full fifteen years Janet’s senior, that she +was immensely admired by men who were younger, +and, in the ordinary sense of the word, far more +attractive. Why should I think this man would +exercise so fatal an influence over her? But towards +the end of her visit my eyes were opened. +I came into this room one morning and found Janet +in tears by yonder piano, while Mr. Vandeleur bent +over her, speaking in a low earnest voice. Both +started guiltily at sight of me. This, and numerous +other trifling indications, told me that there was +mischief at work; and when Mr. Davoren wrote to +me a few days afterwards, urging his daughter’s return, +I was only too glad to let her go, believing that +the end of her visit would be the end of all danger.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> +When she was gone, I considered it my duty, as her +friend, to ascertain the real state of the case. I told +Mr. Vandeleur my suspicions, and assured him of +my sympathy and my interest if he were, as I believed, +anxious to win Janet for his wife. But to my +utter astonishment and indignation he repudiated +the idea; declared his profound esteem and admiration +for Miss Davoren, and talked of “fetters” the +nature of which he did not condescend to explain. +“Yet I found you talking to that young lady in a +manner which had moved her to tears,” I said doubtfully. +“My dear madam, I had been telling her the +troubles of my youth,” he answered with perfect self-possession, +“and that gentle heart was moved to +pity.” “A gentle heart, indeed,” I replied; “who +would not hate the scoundrel who could wound it?” +I was by no means satisfied with this conversation, +and from that moment lowered my opinion of Mr. +Vandeleur. He may have perceived the change in +my feelings; in any case, he speedily announced his +intention of travelling farther westward, thanked me +for my friendly reception, and bade me good-bye. +Only a few weeks after that I heard of Janet Davoren’s +disappearance. You can imagine, perhaps, +what I suffered, blaming my own blindness, my foolish +neglect, as the primary cause of her ruin.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p> + +<p>‘There is a fate in these things,’ said Geoffrey +gloomily.</p> + +<p>‘I called upon Mr. Davoren, hinted at my fears, +and entreated him to be candid with me. But he +evaded my questions with a proud reserve, which I +could but admire, and kept the secret of his daughter’s +disgrace, even though it was breaking his heart. +Thus repulsed, what could I do? And the claims +upon my time are so incessant. Life is such a whirligig, +Mr. Hossack. If I had had more leisure for +thinking, I should have been perfectly miserable +about that poor girl.’</p> + +<p>‘You never obtained any clue to her fate?’</p> + +<p>‘No. Yet at one moment the thread seemed almost +in my hand, had I been but in time to follow +it. Three years after that fatal summer, a cousin of +Sir Horatio’s, a young lieutenant in the navy, who +had been with us at the time of Miss Davoren’s visit, +came here for the shooting. “What do you think, +Lady Baker?” he drawled out at dinner the first day +in his stupid haw-haw manner, “I met that fellow +Vandeleur last Christmas, at Milford, in Dorsetshire. +I was down there to look up my old uncle Timberly—you +remember old Timberly, Sir Horatio, the man +from whom I’m supposed to have expectations; revolting +old fellow, who has gout in his stomach twice<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> +a year and never seems any the worse for it. Well, +Lady Baker, I found a fellow I knew down at Milford, +an ensign in the regiment quartered there, and +he was dooced civil, and asked me to dine with him +on their guest night, and there, large as life, I beheld +our friend Vandeleur. He seemed uncommonly popular +in the mess, but he wasn’t overpleased to see me; +and my friend Lucas told me afterwards that in his +opinion the man was no better than an adventurer, +and the colonel was a fool to encourage him. He was +always winning everybody’s money, and never seemed +to lose any of his own; altogether there was something +queer about him. There was an uncommonly +pretty woman with him—his wife, I suppose—but +she never went anywhere, or visited anybody, and she +looked very unhappy, Lucas told me. I came back to +London next day, and I had a letter from Lucas a +week afterwards to say that there’d been an awful +burst-up at Milford; that Vandeleur had been caught +in the act of cheating at whist—the stakes high, and +so on—and had been morally, if not physically, kicked +out of the mess-room; after which he had bolted, +leaving the poor little wife and no end of debts behind +him.”’</p> + +<p>‘Did you act upon this information, Lady Baker?’ +asked Geoffrey.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> + +<p>‘I went to Milford next day, and with some difficulty +found the house in which the Vandeleurs had +lodged; but Mrs. Vandeleur had left the town within +the last few weeks with her little girl, and no one +could tell me what had become of her. She was very +good, very honourable, very unhappy, the landlady +told me; had lived in the humblest way, and supported +herself by teaching music after her husband +left her. I made the woman describe her to me, and +the description exactly fitted Janet.’</p> + +<p>‘You have not heard a Mrs. Bertram, a singer +who appeared at a good many concerts in London +last winter?’</p> + +<p>‘No. I spent last winter in Paris. Do you mean +to tell me that this Mrs. Bertram is Janet Davoren +under an assumed name?’</p> + +<p>‘I hardly feel myself at liberty to tell you even as +much as that without permission from the lady herself. +But since you have been so very good to me, +Lady Baker, I cannot be churlish enough to affect +secrecy in anything that concerns myself alone. You +have guessed rightly. I am attached to this lady, +and my dearest hope is that I may win her for my +wife; but to do this I must discover the fate of her +infamous husband, since she refuses to repudiate a +tie which I have strong reason to believe is illegal.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> +And now, Lady Baker, pray show me those photographs, +and let me see if the man who ruined Janet +Davoren’s bright young life is really the man I met +in the American backwoods.’</p> + +<p>‘Come to my room,’ said Lady Baker, ‘and you +shall see them.’</p> + +<p>She led the way to a charming apartment on the +upper story, and at one end of the house, spacious, +luxurious, with windows commanding every angle of +view—bow-windows overhanging the river on one +side, an oriel commanding the distant hills on another, +long French windows opening upon a broad +balcony on the third. Here were scattered those periodicals +with which Lady Baker fortified her mind, +and supplied herself with the latest varieties in +opinion; here were divers davenports and writing-tables +at which Lady Baker penned those delightful +epistles which were doubtless destined to form part +of the light literature of the next generation, printed +on thickest paper, and sumptuously bound, and +adorned with portraits of her ladyship after different +painters, and at various stages of her distinguished +career.</p> + +<p>Here, on a massive stand, were numerous portfolios +of photographs, one of which was labelled ‘Personal +Friends.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p> + +<p>‘You will find the groups in that, Mr. Hossack,’ +she said, and looked over Geoffrey’s shoulder while he +went slowly through the photographs.</p> + +<p>They came presently to a garden scene, a group +of young men and women against a background of +sunlit lawn and river; light rustic chairs scattered +about, a framework of summer foliage, a tea table on +one side, a Blenheim spaniel and a Maltese terrier in +the foreground.</p> + +<p>Janet’s tall figure and noble face appeared conspicuously +among figures less perfect, faces more +commonplace, and by her side stood the man whom +Geoffrey Hossack had seen in the flesh, wild, unkempt, +haggard, famished, savage, amidst the awful +solitude of the pine-forest.</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that is the man.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br> +<span class="fs70">LUCIUS MAKES A CONFESSION.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was nearly six o’clock when Geoffrey and his cousins +left Mardenholme. On descending from Lady +Baker’s apartments in quest of Belle and Jessie, Mr. +Hossack had found those two damsels wandering +among the shrubberies in the forlornest manner, +vainly striving to stifle frequent yawns, so unentertaining +had been the society of the devoted Mr. and +Mrs. Wimple, ‘who scarcely did anything but whisper +and titter to each other all the time we were with +them,’ Belle said afterwards.</p> + +<p>‘I thought you were playing croquet,’ said Geoffrey, +when he found this straggling party in a grove +of arbutus and magnolia.</p> + +<p>‘We <em>have</em> been playing croquet,’ answered Jessie, +with some asperity; ‘but one can’t play croquet for +ever. There’s nothing in Dante’s infernal regions +more dreadful than that would be. We played as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> +long as we could; Mr. and Mrs. Wimple were tired +ever so long before we finished.’</p> + +<p>‘No, indeed,’ exclaimed the Wimples simultaneously.</p> + +<p>‘What have you been doing all this time, Geoffrey?’ +asked Belle.</p> + +<p>‘Lady Baker has been so kind as to show me her +pictures.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, of course; but you needn’t have been hours +looking at them. We must get back directly, or we +shall be late for dinner. Ah, there is Lady Baker,’ +cried Belle, as her ladyship appeared on the terrace +before the drawing-room windows. ‘Come and say +good-bye, Jessie, and get the boat ready, Geoff. You’ll +have to row us back in an hour. Nothing vexes papa +so much as any one being late for dinner. I don’t +think he would wait more than ten minutes for an +archbishop.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll row like old boots,’ answered Geoffrey; +whereupon the young ladies ran off to take an affectionate +leave of Lady Baker, while their cousin sauntered +down to the weeping willow to whose lowest +branch he had moored the wherry. In five minutes +they had embarked, and the oars were dipping in the +smooth water.</p> + +<p>They were at Hillersdon in time to dress, somewhat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> +hurriedly, for the all-important eight-o’clock +dinner, which went off pleasantly enough. All that +evening cousin Geoffrey made himself particularly +agreeable—listened to Belle’s breakneck fantasias +and Jessie’s newest ballads with every appearance of +rapture; played chess with Belle, and bézique with +Jessie, and allowed himself to be beaten by both.</p> + +<p>‘What a delightful evening we have had!’ said +Belle, as she wished him good-night. ‘Why don’t +you come to us oftener, Geoffrey?’</p> + +<p>‘I mean to come very often in future,’ replied the +impostor, hardly knowing what he said.</p> + +<p>At breakfast next morning there was no sign of +Geoffrey; but just as Belle had seated herself before +the urn, the butler appeared with a letter.</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Geoffrey left this for you, ma’am,’ said the +domestic, ‘when he went away.’</p> + +<p>‘Went away! My cousin, Mr. Hossack, gone!’ +cried Belle, aghast, while Jessie rushed to her sister’s +side, and strove to possess herself of the letter.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, ma’am. Mr. Geoffrey left by the first train; +Dawson drove him over in the dog-cart. The letter +would explain, Mr. Geoffrey said.’</p> + +<p>‘Belle, read the letter, for goodness’ sake!’ cried +Jessie impatiently; ‘and don’t sit staring like a figure +in a hairdresser’s window.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> + +<p>The butler lingered to give a finishing touch to +the well-furnished sideboard, and to hear the contents +of Geoffrey’s letter.</p> + +<p>It was brief, and, in the opinion of the sisters, +unsatisfactory—the style spasmodic, as of one accustomed +to communicate his ideas by electric telegraph, +rather than in the more ornate form of a letter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘Dearest Belle,—Most unfortunate. Have received +telegram summoning me to town. Most particular +business. Must go. Regret much. Thought I was +in for no end of fun down here. Hope to return +shortly. Make my excuses to my uncle, and be lenient +yourself towards your affectionate cousin</p> + +<p class="right"> +‘<span class="smcap">Geoff</span>.’<br> +</p> +</div> +<br> + +<p>‘Was there ever anything so annoying?’ cried +Belle, ‘and after Lady Baker’s politeness to him +yesterday! Particular business! What can he have to +do with business?’</p> + +<p>‘I daresay it’s horse-racing or something dreadful,’ +said Jessie. ‘I saw a great change in him. He +has such a wild look sometimes, and hardly ever +seems to know what one says to him.’</p> + +<p>‘Jessie,’ exclaimed Belle with solemnity, ‘I +shouldn’t be surprised if Geoffrey were going to be +married.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> + +<p>‘O, Belle,’ cried Jessie with a gasp, ‘you don’t +think he’d be mean enough for that—to go and get +engaged, and never say a word to us.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know,’ answered her sister gloomily. ‘Men +are capable of any amount of meanness in that way.’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Geoffrey Hossack went up to London as fast as +the South-Western Railway would take him thither, +and straightway upon his arrival transferred himself +to a hansom, bidding the driver convey him at full +speed to the Shadrack-road.</p> + +<p>He reached that melancholy district before noon, +and found the shabby-genteel villa, with its fast-decaying +stucco front, its rusty iron railings, in which +his friend Lucius Davoren had begun his professional +career. But, early as it was, Lucius had gone +forth more than two hours.</p> + +<p>‘I must see him,’ said Geoffrey to the feeble little +charwoman, whose spirits were fluttered by the appearance +of this rampant stranger, his fiery impatience +visible in his aspect. ‘Have you any idea +where I can find him?’</p> + +<p>‘Lor, no, sir; he goes from place to place—in +and out, and up and down. It wouldn’t be the least +bit of good tryin’ to foller him. You might wait if +you liked, on the chanc’t. He do sometimes come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> +home betwigst one and two to take a mossel of bread-and-cheese +and a glass of ale, if he’s going to make +a extry long afternoon. But his general way is to +come home to a tea-dinner betwigst five and six.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll wait till two,’ said Geoffrey, ‘and if he’s not +home by that time, I’ll leave a letter for him.’</p> + +<p>So Mr. Hossack dismissed the cab, and went into +his friend’s small parlour—such a dreary sitting-room +as it seemed to eyes accustomed only to brightness: +furniture so sordid; walls so narrow; ceiling +darkened by the smoke of gas that had burned late +into the long winter nights. Geoffrey looked round +with a shudder.</p> + +<p>‘And Lucius really lives here,’ he said to himself, +‘and is contented to work on, happy in the idea +that he is a benefactor to his species—watching the +measles of infancy, administering to the asthmas of +old age. Thank God there are such men in the +world,—and thank God I am not one of them!’</p> + +<p>He looked round the room in quest of that refuge +of shallow minds, the day’s paper; but newspaper +there was none—only that poor little collection of +books on the rickety chiffonier: well-thumbed +volumes, wherewith Lucius had so often solaced his +loneliness.</p> + +<p>‘Shakespeare, Euripides, Montaigne, <em>Tristram<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> +Shandy</em>,’ muttered Geoffrey, running over the titles +contemptuously. ‘Musty old buffers! Come out, old +Shandy. I suppose you’re about the liveliest of the lot.’</p> + +<p>He tried to settle himself on the feeble old sofa, +too short and too narrow for muscular young Oxford; +stretched his legs this way and that; read a few +pages; smiled at a line here and there; yawned a +good deal, and then threw the book aside with an +exclamation of impatience. Those exuberant energies +asked not repose; he wanted to be up and doing. +His mind was full of his interview with Lady Baker, +full of anxious longing thoughts about the woman he +loved.</p> + +<p>‘What became of that man we met in the forest?’ +he asked of the unresponsive atmosphere. ‘If I +could but track him to his miserable grave, and get +a certificate of his death, what a happy fellow I should +be.’</p> + +<p>He paced the little room, looked out of the window +at the enlivening traffic of the Shadrack-road; +huge wagons laden with petroleum casks, timber, +iron, cotton bales, grinding slowly along the macadam; +an organ droning drearily on the other side of +the way; a costermonger crying whelks and hot eels, +as appropriate refreshment in the sultry August +noontide; upon everything that faded, burnt-up aspect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> +which pervades London at the end of summer; +a universal staleness, an odour of doubtful fish and +rotten fruit.</p> + +<p>After the space of an hour and a half, which to +Geoffrey’s weariness had seemed interminable, a light +step sounded on the little stone-paved approach; a +latchkey clicked in the door, and Lucius came into +the parlour.</p> + +<p>There was surprise unbounded on the surgeon’s +side.</p> + +<p>‘Why, Geoff, I thought you were in Norway!’ he +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>‘I changed my mind about Norway,’ answered +the other somewhat sheepishly. ‘How could I be +such a selfish scoundrel as to go and enjoy myself +shooting and fishing and so on, while she is lonely? +No, Lucius, I feel somehow that it is my destiny to +win her, and that it will be my own fault—<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">de mon +tort</i>, as the lawyers say—if I lose my chance. So +when I got as far as Hull I turned tail, and came +back to town, where I found a letter from my cousin +Belle Hossack offering me the very opportunity I +wanted.’</p> + +<p>‘Your cousin Belle! the very opportunity! What +do you mean? What could your cousin Belle have +to do with my sister?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> + +<p>‘An introduction to Lady Baker. Don’t you see, +Lucius? From Lady Baker I might find out all +about that villain who called himself Vandeleur. +Now, for heaven’s sake, old fellow, be calm and hear +what I have to tell you. I’ve travelled up from +Hampshire post haste on purpose to tell you all by +word of mouth. I might have written, but I wanted +to talk the matter over with you. You may be able +to throw some light upon this business.’</p> + +<p>‘Upon what business?’ asked Lucius, mystified +by this hurried and disjointed address.</p> + +<p>‘You may be able to tell me what became of that +wild fellow who came in upon us in our log-hut out +yonder—whether he is alive or dead. Why, good +heavens, Lucius, you’ve turned as white as a sheet of +paper! What’s the matter?’</p> + +<p>‘I’m tired,’ said the surgeon, dropping slowly into +a chair by the table, and shading his face with his +hand. ‘And your wild talk is enough to bewilder +any man; especially one who has just come in from +a harassing round amongst sickness and poverty. +What do you mean? You speak one minute of my +sister and Lady Baker, and in the next of that man +we met yonder. What link can there be between +subjects so wide apart?’</p> + +<p>‘A closer link than you could ever guess. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> +villain who married your sister and that man +yonder—’</p> + +<p>‘Were one and the same!’ cried Lucius, almost +with a shriek. ‘I suspected it; I suspected it out +yonder in the forest, as I sat and watched that man’s +face in the firelight. I have suspected it since then +many a time; have dreamt it oftener than I can +count; for half my dreams are haunted by the hateful +shadow of that man. Was I right? For God’s sake +speak out, Geoffrey. Is that the man?’</p> + +<p>‘It is.’</p> + +<p>‘You know it?’</p> + +<p>‘I have had indisputable proof of it. Lady +Baker showed me a photograph of the man who stole +your sister from her home, and the face in that +photograph is the face of the man we let into our +hut in the backwoods.’</p> + +<p>‘Mysterious are Thy ways,’ cried Lucius, ‘and Thy +paths past finding out. Many a time have I fought +against this idea. It seemed of all things the most +improbable; too wild, too strange for belief. I dared +not allow myself to think it. It was he, then. My +hatred of him was a natural instinct; my abhorrence +hardly needed the proof of his infamy. From +the first moment in which our eyes met my soul +cried aloud, “There is thy natural enemy.”’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> + +<p>‘It is your turn to talk wildly now, Lucius,’ said +Geoffrey, surprised by the other’s passion, ‘but you +have not answered my question. While I lay delirious +in the log-hut, not knowing anything that was +going on round me, did nothing happen to throw a +light upon the fate of the guide and that man Matchi, +as we called him? They set out to try and find the +track; did they never return?’</p> + +<p>‘The guide never returned,’ answered Lucius, +looking downward with a gloomy countenance, in +deep thought. ‘Now, I’ll ask you a question, Geoffrey. +In all your talk with our German friend, +Schanck, while <em>I</em> was ill and unconscious, did he tell +you nothing, hint nothing, about that man?’</p> + +<p>‘Nothing,’ replied the other unhesitatingly. ‘He +was as close as the grave. But had he anything to +tell?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, if he had chosen to betray. He might +have told you that I, your friend—I, who had watched +by your bed through those long dreary nights, Death +staring me in the face as I watched—that I, whom +you would have trusted in the direst extremity—was +an assassin.’</p> + +<p>‘Lucius,’ cried Geoffrey, starting up with a look +of horror, ‘are you mad?’</p> + +<p>‘No, Geoff. I am reasonable enough now,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> +Heaven knows; whatever I might have been in that +fatal time yonder. You want the truth, and you +shall have it, though it will sicken you as it sickens +me to think of it. I have kept the hideous secret +from you; not because I had any fear of the consequences +of my act—not because that I am not ready +to defend the deed boldly before my fellow men—but +because I thought the horrid story might part +us. We have been fast friends for so many years, +Geoff, and I could not bear to think your liking +might be turned to loathing.’</p> + +<p>Tears, the agonising drops which intensest pain +wrings from manhood, were in his eyes. He covered +his face with his clasped hands; as if he would have +shut out the very light which had witnessed that +horror he shuddered to recall.</p> + +<p>‘Lucius,’ exclaimed Geoffrey, at once anxious and +bewildered, ‘all this is madness! You have been +overworking your brain.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me tell my story,’ said the other. ‘It will +lighten my burden to share it—even if the revelation +makes you hate me.’</p> + +<p>‘Even on your own showing I would not believe +you guilty of any baseness,’ answered Geoffrey. ‘I +would sooner think your mind distraught than that +I had been mistaken in your character.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> + +<p>‘It was no deliberate baseness,’ said Lucius +quietly. He had in some measure recovered his composure +since that burst of passionate grief. ‘I did +what at the moment appeared to me only an act of +justice. I took a life for a life.’</p> + +<p>‘You, Lucius!’ cried the other, his eyes opening +wide with horror. ‘You took the life of a man—yonder—in +America?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, Geoffrey. I killed the man who blighted +my sister’s life.’</p> + +<p>‘Good God! He is dead then—this scoundrel—and +by your hand.’</p> + +<p>‘He is. And if ever man deserved to die by the +act of his fellow man that man most fully merited his +fate. But though in that awful hour, when the deed +of horror which I had discovered was burnt into my +brain, I took his life deliberately and advisedly, the +memory of the act has been a torment to me ever +since. But let me tell you the secret of that miserable +time. It is not a long story, and I will tell it in +as few words as possible.’</p> + +<p>Briefly, but with an unflinching truthfulness, he +told of the night scene in the forest; the ruffian’s attempt +to enter the hut; and the bullet which struck +him down as he burst open the window.</p> + +<p>‘You lay there, Geoffrey, unconscious; sleeping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> +that blessed sleep which Gods sends to those whose +feet have trodden the border-land betwixt life and +death. Even to awaken you roughly might have been +to peril your chance of recovery. The firing of the +gun might have done it. But my first thought was +that he, the assassin and traitor who had slaughtered +the faithful companion of our dangers and privation—that +he, brutal and merciless as any savage in the +worst island of the Pacific—should not be suffered to +approach you in your helplessness. I had warned +him that if he attempted to cross our threshold I +would shoot him down with as little compunction as +if he had been a mad dog. I kept my word.’</p> + +<p>‘But are you certain your bullet was fatal?’</p> + +<p>‘Of what followed the firing of that shot I know +nothing; but I have never doubted its result. Even +if the wound were not immediately fatal the man must +have speedily perished. The last I saw was the loosening +clutch of his lean hand as he dropped from the +window; the last I heard was a howl of pain. My +brain, which had been kept on the rack for many a +dreary night of sleeplessness and fear, gave way all at +once, and I fell to the ground like a log. I have +every reason to believe that what I suffered at that +moment was an apoplectic seizure, which might have +been fatal, but for Schanck’s promptitude in bleeding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> +me. After the shock came brain fever, from which, +as you know, I was slow to recover. When my senses +did return, I seemed to enter upon a new world. +Thought and memory came back by degrees, and the +vision of that scene in the forest shaped itself slowly +out of the confusion of my brain until it became the +vivid picture which has haunted me ever since.’</p> + +<p>‘Had you met the man who betrayed your sister, +would you have killed him?’ asked Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>‘In fair fight, yes.’</p> + +<p>‘He who rules the destinies of us all decreed that +you should meet him unawares. You were the instrument +of God’s vengeance upon a villain.’</p> + +<p>‘“Vengeance is mine,”’ repeated Lucius thoughtfully. +‘Often, when reproaching myself for that rash +act, I have almost deemed the deed a kind of blasphemy. +What right had <em>I</em> to forestall God’s day of +reckoning? For every crime there is an appointed +punishment. The assassin we hang to-day might +pay a still heavier price for his sin were we to leave +him in the hands of God, or might be permitted to +repent and atone.’</p> + +<p>‘Lucius,’ said Geoffrey, stretching out his hand +to his friend, ‘in my eyes you stand clear of all guilt. +Was it not chiefly for my defence you fired that shot? +and for my own part I can assure you that cold-blooded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> +scoundrel would have had a short shrift had I been +his executioner. So let us dismiss all thought of him, +with the memory of the last murderer who swung at +Newgate. One fact remains paramount—a fact that +for me changes earth to Paradise; your sister is +free.’</p> + +<p>Lucius started, and for the first time a look of absolute +fear came into his face.</p> + +<p>‘What!’ he exclaimed. ‘You will tell her that her +husband fell by my hand? You forget, Geoffrey, that +my confession must be sacred. If I did not pledge +you to secrecy, it was because I had so firm a faith in +your honour that I needed no promise of your silence.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me tell her only of that man’s death.’</p> + +<p>‘She will hardly be satisfied with a statement unsupported +by proof,’ answered Lucius doubtfully.</p> + +<p>‘What, will she doubt my honour?’</p> + +<p>‘Love is apt to be desperate. The lover has a +code of his own.’</p> + +<p>‘Not if he is an honest man,’ cried Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>‘But Janet has been once deceived, and will be +slow to trust where she loves. Put her to the test. +Tell her that you know this man is dead, and if she +will believe you and if she will be your wife, there is +no one, not even yourself, who will be gladder than I. +God knows it is a grief for me to think of her lonely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span> +position, her lifelong penance for the error of her +youth. I have entreated her to share my home, +humble as it is, but she refuses. She is proud of her +independence, and though I know she loves me, she +prefers to live aloof from me, with no other society +than her child’s.’</p> + +<p>They talked long, Geoffrey full of mingled hope +and fear. He left his friend late in the afternoon, intending +to go down to Stillmington by the mail train, +to try his fortunes once more. Lucius had told him +he was beloved; was not that sufficient ground for +hope?</p> + +<p>‘She will not be too exacting,’ he said to himself. +‘She will not ask me for chapter and verse, for the +doctor’s certificate, the undertaker’s bill. If I say to +her, “Upon my honour your husband is dead,” she +will surely believe me.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> + +<p class="center no-indent bold">Book the Third.</p> + +<hr class="r5"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_Ia">CHAPTER I.<br> +<span class="fs70">A CHANGE CAME O’ER THE SPIRIT OF MY DREAM.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">That</span> calm delight which Lucius Davoren had hitherto +felt in the society of his betrothed, and his happy +expectation of a prosperous future to be shared with +her, were now clouded over with new doubts and fears. +His mind had been weighed down by the burden of a +dreadful secret, from the moment of that discovery +which had showed him that the man he had killed and +the father of the girl who loved him were one and +the same. Those calm clear eyes which looked at him +so tenderly sometimes wounded him as keenly as the +bitterest reproach. Had she but known the fatal +truth—she who had always set the memory of her +father above her affection for himself—could he doubt +the result of that knowledge? Could he doubt that +she would have turned from him with abhorrence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> +that she would have shrunk with loathing from the +lightest touch of his blood-stained hand?</p> + +<p>Vain would have been all argument, all attempt +to justify his act, with the daughter who clung with +a romantic fondness to her lost father’s image.</p> + +<p>‘You killed him.’ She would have summed up +all arguments in those three words. ‘You killed +him. If he was wicked, you gave him no time for +repentance; you cut him off in the midst of his sin. +Who made you his judge: who made you his executioner? +He was a sinner like yourself, and you thrust +yourself between God and His infinite mercy. You +did more than slay his body; you robbed him of redemption +for his sin.’</p> + +<p>He could imagine that this girl, clinging with unreasonable +love to that dead sinner’s memory, would +argue somewhat in this wise; and he felt himself +powerless to reply. These thoughts weighed him +down, and haunted him even in the company of his +beloved. Yet, strange to say, Lucille did not remark +the difference in her lover, and it remained for Lucius +to perceive a change in her. His own preoccupation +had rendered him less observant than usual, and he +was slow to mark this alteration in Lucille’s manner, +but the time came when he awakened to the fact. +There was a change, indefinable, indescribable, but a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> +change which he felt vaguely, and which seemed to +grow stronger day by day. The thought filled him +with a sudden horror. Did she suspect? Had some +circumstance, unnoticed by him, led the way to the +discovery he most dreaded, to the revelation of that +secret he hoped to hide from her for ever? Surely +no. Her hand did not shrink from his, the kiss he +pressed upon that pure young brow evoked no shudder. +Whatever the trouble was that had wrought +this change in her, paled the fair cheek and saddened +the sweet eyes, the perplexity or the sorrow was in +herself, and had no reference to him.</p> + +<p>‘Lucille,’ he said one evening, a few days after his +interview with Geoffrey Hossack, as they paced the +garden together in the dusk, ‘it seems to me that we +are not quite so happy as we used to be. We do not +talk so hopefully of the future; we have not such +pleasant thoughts and fancies as we once had. Very +often when I am speaking to you, I see your eyes +fixed with a strange far-off look; as if you were thinking +of something quite remote from the subject of our +talk. Is there anything that troubles you, dear? +Are you uneasy about your grandfather?’</p> + +<p>‘He does not seem so well as he did three weeks +ago. He does not care about coming down-stairs now; +the old weakness seems to have returned. And his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> +appetite has fallen off again. I wish you would be +a little more candid, Lucius,’ she said, looking at +him earnestly. ‘You used to say he was improving +steadily, and that you had great hopes of making him +quite himself again before very long; now you hardly +say anything, except to give me directions about +diet.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you wish me to speak quite plainly, Lucille,’ +asked Lucius seriously; ‘even if what I have to say +should increase your anxiety?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, yes; pray treat me like a woman, and not +like a child. Remember what my life has been—how +full of care and sorrow. I am not like a girl +who has lived only in the sunshine. Tell me the +plain truth, Lucius, however painful. You think +my grandfather worse?’</p> + +<p>‘I do, Lucille, very much worse than I thought +him three weeks ago. And what is more, I am +obliged to confess myself puzzled by his present +condition. I can find no cause for this backward +progress, and yet I am watching the symptoms very +closely. I have this case so deeply at heart, that I +do not believe any one could do more with it than +I. But if I do not see an improvement before many +days are over, I shall seek advice from wider experience +than my own. I will bring one of the greatest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> +men in London to see your grandfather. A consultation +may be unnecessary or useless, but it will be +for our mutual satisfaction.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Lucille, ‘I have the strongest +faith in your skill; but, as you say, it might be +better to have farther advice. Poor grandpapa! It +makes me wretched to see him suffer—to see him so +weak and weary and restless, if not in absolute pain, +and to be able to do so little for him.’</p> + +<p>‘You do all that love and watchfulness can do, +dearest. By the way, you spoke of diet just now. +That is a thing about which you cannot be too careful. +We have to restore exhausted nature, to renovate +a constitution almost worn out by hard usage. +I should like to know all about the preparation of +the broths and jellies you give your grandfather. Are +they made by you, or by Mrs. Wincher?’</p> + +<p>‘Wincher makes the broth and beef-tea in an +earthenware jar in the oven; I make the jellies +with my own hands.’</p> + +<p>‘Are you quite sure of Wincher’s cleanliness and +care?’</p> + +<p>‘Quite. I see her getting the jar ready every +morning when I am in the kitchen attending to +other little things. I am not afraid of working in +the kitchen, you know, Lucius.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> + +<p>‘I know that you are the most domestic and skilful +among women, and that you will make a model +wife, darling,’ he answered tenderly.</p> + +<p>‘For a poor man, perhaps,’ she answered, with +the smile that had been rare of late, ‘not for a rich +one. I should not know how to spend money, or to +give dinner-parties, or to dress fashionably.’</p> + +<p>‘That kind of knowledge would come with the +occasion. When I am a famous doctor you shall be +a lady of fashion. But to return to the diet question. +You are assured that there is perfect cleanliness in +the preparation of your grandfather’s food—no neglected +copper saucepans used, for instance?’</p> + +<p>‘There is not such a thing as a copper saucepan +in the house. What made you ask the question?’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Sivewright has complained lately of occasional +attacks of nausea, and I am unable to account +for the symptom. That is what makes me anxious +about the preparation of his food.’</p> + +<p>‘Would it be any satisfaction to you if I were to +prepare everything myself?’</p> + +<p>‘A very great satisfaction.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I will do it, Lucius. Wincher may feel +a little offended, but I will try and reconcile her to +my interference. It was a great privilege to be allowed +to make the jellies.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> + +<p>‘Never mind if she is vexed, darling; a few sweet +words from you will soon smooth her ruffled feathers. +I shall be glad to know that you prepare everything +for the invalid. And I would not do it in the kitchen, +where Wincher might interfere. Have a fire in the +little dressing-room next your grandfather’s room, +and have your saucepans and beef-tea and so on up +there. By that means you will be able to give him +what he wants at any moment, without delay.’</p> + +<p>‘I will do so, Lucius. But I fear you think my +grandfather in danger.’</p> + +<p>‘Not exactly in danger, darling. But he is very +ill, and I have been thinking it might be better for +you to have a nurse. I don’t say that he requires +any one to sit up at night with him. He is not ill +enough for that. I am only afraid that the care he +requires may be too much for you.’</p> + +<p>‘It is not too much for me, Lucius,’ answered +the girl eagerly. ‘I would not have a stranger about +him for worlds. The sight of a sick nurse would +kill him.’</p> + +<p>‘That is a foolish prejudice, Lucille.’</p> + +<p>‘It may be; and when you find I nurse him +badly, or neglect him, you may bring a stranger. +Till then I claim the right to wait upon him, with +Jacob Wincher’s assistance. He has been my grandfather’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> +valet—giving the little help his master would +ever accept—for the last twenty years.’</p> + +<p>‘And you have perfect confidence in Jacob Wincher?’</p> + +<p>‘Confidence!’ exclaimed Lucille, with a wondering +look. ‘I have known him all my life, and seen +his devotion to my grandfather. What reason could +I have to doubt him?’</p> + +<p>‘Little apparent reason, I admit,’ answered Lucius +thoughtfully. ‘Yet it is sometimes from those +we least suspect we suffer the deepest wrongs. These +Winchers may believe your grandfather to be very +rich; they may suppose that he has left them a good +deal of money; and might—mind, I am only suggesting +a remote contingency—they <em>might</em> desire to +shorten his life. O, my dearest,’ he cried, pained by +Lucille’s whitening face, ‘remember I do not for a +moment say that this is likely; but—as I told you a +few moments ago—there are symptoms in the case +that puzzle me, and we cannot be too careful.’</p> + +<p>Lucille leaned upon him, trembling like a leaf, +with her white face turned towards him, a look of +unspeakable horror in her eyes.</p> + +<p>‘You don’t mean—’ she faltered; ‘you cannot +mean that you suspect, that you are afraid of my +grandfather being poisoned?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> + +<p>‘Lucille,’ he said tenderly, sustaining the almost-fainting +girl, ‘the truth is always best. You shall +know all I can tell you. There are diseases which +baffle even experience; there are symptoms which +may mean one thing or another, may indicate such +and such a state, or be the effect of a condition +exactly opposite; there are symptoms which may +arise alike from natural causes or from a slow and +subtle poison. This is why so many a victim has +been done to death under the very eye of his medical +attendant, and only when too late the hideous truth +has dawned upon the doctor’s mind, and he has +asked himself with bitter self-reproach, “Why did +I not make this discovery sooner?”’</p> + +<p>‘Whom could you suspect?’ cried Lucille. ‘I +am confident as to the fidelity of Mr. and Mrs. +Wincher. They have had it in their power to rob +my grandfather at any moment, if gain could have +tempted them to injure him. Why, after all these +years of faithful servitude, should they attempt to +murder him?’</p> + +<p>This was said in a low tremulous voice, terror +still holding possession of the girl’s distracted mind.</p> + +<p>‘The thought is as horrible as it appears impossible,’ +said Lucius, whose apprehensions had as +yet assumed only the vaguest form. He had never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> +meant to betray this shadowy fear, which had arisen +only within the last twenty-four hours; but he had +been led on to say more than he intended.</p> + +<p>‘Let us speak no more of it, dearest,’ he said +soothingly. ‘You attach too much importance to +my words. I have only suggested care; I have only +told you a well-known fact, namely, that the symptoms +of slow poisoning and of natural disease are sometimes +exactly alike.’</p> + +<p>‘You have filled me with fear and horror!’ cried +Lucille, shuddering.</p> + +<p>‘Let me bring a nurse into the house,’ pleaded +Lucius, angry with himself for his imprudence. ‘Her +presence would at least give you courage and confidence.’</p> + +<p>‘No; I will not have my grandfather frightened +to death. He shall take nothing but what I prepare +for him; no one shall go near him but I, or without +my being present.’</p> + +<p>‘By the way,’ said Lucius thoughtfully, ‘you +remember that noise I heard the evening we went up +to the loft together?’</p> + +<p>‘I remember your fancy about a noise,’ Lucille +answered carelessly.</p> + +<p>‘My fancy, then, if you like. I suppose nothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> +has ever happened since to throw a light upon that +fancy of mine?’</p> + +<p>‘Nothing.’</p> + +<p>‘You are quite sure that no stranger could obtain +admission to those up-stairs rooms, or to any part of +this house?’</p> + +<p>‘Quite sure.’</p> + +<p>‘In that case we may rest assured that all is safe, +and you need think no more of anything I have +said.’</p> + +<p>He tried with every art he knew to soothe away +the fears which his imprudent words had occasioned, +but could not altogether succeed in tranquillising +her, though he brought the Amati violin into requisition, +and played some of his sweetest symphonies—melodies +which, to quote Mrs. Wincher, ‘might have +drawed tears out of a deal board.’</p> + +<p>Nothing could dispel the cloud which he had +raised; and he left Cedar House full of trouble and +self-reproach, beyond measure angry with himself for +his folly.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IIa">CHAPTER II.<br> +<span class="fs70">LUCIUS IS PUZZLED.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">When</span> Lucius made his early visit—now always the +first duty of every day—to Cedar House on the following +morning, he found that Lucille had already +acted upon his advice. The dressing-room—a slip of +a room communicating with Mr. Sivewright’s spacious +chamber—had been furnished in a rough-and-ready +manner with a chair and table, an old cabinet, brought +down from the loft, to hold cups and glasses, medicine +bottles, and other oddments; a little row of saucepans, +neatly arranged in a cupboard by the small +fireplace; and a narrow little iron bedstead in a +corner of the room.</p> + +<p>‘I shall sleep here at night,’ said Lucille, as +Lucius surveyed her preparations, ‘and if I keep that +door ajar, I can hear every sound in the next room.’</p> + +<p>‘My darling, it will never do for you to be on the +watch at night,’ he answered anxiously. ‘You will +wear yourself out in a very short time. Anxiety by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> +day and wakefulness by night will soon tell their +tale.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me have my own way, Lucius,’ she pleaded. +‘You say yourself that my grandfather wants no +attendance at night. He told me only this morning +that he sleeps pretty well, and rarely wakes till the +morning. But it will be a satisfaction to me if I feel +that I am close at hand, ready to wake at his call. +I am a very light sleeper.’</p> + +<p>‘Was Mrs. Wincher angry at your taking the +work out of her hands?’</p> + +<p>‘She seemed vexed, just at first; but I gave her +a kiss, and talked her over. “You’ll fag yourself to +death, Miss Lucille,” she said; “but do as you +please. It’ll leave me free for my cleaning.” You +know, Lucius, what a passion she has for muddling +about with a pail and a scrubbing-brush, and turning +out odd corners. The cleaning never seems to make +any difference in the look of that huge kitchen; but +if it pleases her one cannot complain. O, Lucius,’ +she went on, in an anxious whisper, ‘I was awake +all the night thinking of your dreadful words. I +trust in God you may find my grandfather better +this morning.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope so, dearest; but, believe me, you attach +far too much importance to my foolish words last<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> +night. If you can trust the Winchers there can be +no possible ground for fear. What enemy could +approach your grandfather here?’</p> + +<p>‘Enemy!’ repeated Lucille, as if struck by the +word. ‘What enemies could he have—a poor harmless +old man?’</p> + +<p>Lucius went into Mr. Sivewright’s room. He +found his patient still suffering from that strange depression +of spirits which had weighed him down +lately; still complaining of the symptoms which had +perplexed Lucius since his return from Stillmington.</p> + +<p>‘There are strange noises in the house,’ said the +old man querulously, when the usual questions had +been asked and answered. ‘I heard them again +last night—stealthy footsteps creeping along the +passage—doors opening and shutting—cautious, muffled +steps, that had a secret guilty sound.’</p> + +<p>‘All movement in a house has that stealthy sound +in the small hours,’ said Lucius, sorely perplexed +himself, yet anxious to reassure his patient. ‘Your +housekeeper or her husband may have been up later +than usual, and may have crept quietly up to bed.’</p> + +<p>‘I tell you this was in the middle of the night,’ +answered Mr. Sivewright impatiently. ‘The Winchers +are as methodical in their habits as the old +clock in the hall. I asked Jacob this morning if he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> +had been astir after midnight, and he told me he had +not.’</p> + +<p>‘The fact is, my dear sir, you are nervous,’ said +Lucius in a soothing tone. ‘You lie awake and +fancy sounds which have no existence, or at any rate +do not exist within the house.’</p> + +<p>‘I tell you this sound awoke me,’ replied the +other still more impatiently. ‘I was sleeping tolerably +when the sound of that hateful footstep startled +me into perfect wakefulness. There was a nameless +horror to my mind in that stealthy tread. It sounded +like the step of an assassin.’</p> + +<p>‘Come, Mr. Sivewright,’ said Lucius in that +practical tone which does much to tranquillise a +nervous patient, ‘if this is, as I firmly believe it to +be, a mere delusion of your senses, it will be easiest +dispelled by investigation. Let us face the unknown +foe, and make a speedy end of him. Suffer me to +keep watch to-night in this room, unknown to all in +the house except yourself, and I will answer for it +the ghost shall be laid.’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ answered Mr. Sivewright doggedly. ‘I am +not so childish or so weak-minded as to ask another +man to corroborate the evidence of my own senses. +I tell you, Davoren, the thing is. If I believed in +ghosts the matter would trouble me little enough.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +All the phantoms that were ever supposed to make +night hideous might range these passages, and glide +up and down yonder staircase at their pleasure. But +I do not believe in the supernatural; and the sounds +that I have heard are distinctly human.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me hear them too.’</p> + +<p>‘No, I tell you,’ answered the patient with +smothered anger; ‘I will have no one to play the +spy upon my slumber. If this is the delusion of an +enfeebled brain, I have sense enough left to find out +the falsehood for myself. Besides, the intruder, if +there be one, cannot do me any harm. Yonder door +is securely locked every night.’</p> + +<p>‘Can you trust the lock?’</p> + +<p>‘Do you think I should have put a bad one to a +room that contains such treasures? No, the lock is +one I chose myself, and would baffle a practised +burglar. There is the same kind of lock on yonder +door, communicating with the dressing-room. I turn +the key in both with my own hand every night after +Wincher has left me. I am still strong enough to +move about the room, though I feel my strength +lessening day by day. God pity me when I lie helpless +on yonder bed, as I must do soon.’</p> + +<p>‘Nay, my dear sir, let us hope for a favourable +change ere long.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span></p> + +<p>‘I have almost left off hoping,’ answered the old +man wearily. ‘All the drugs in your surgery will +not cure me. I am tired of trying first this medicine +and then that. For some time, indeed, I believed +that you understood my case; that your medicines +were of some good to me. Within the last three +weeks they have seemed only to aggravate my disorder.’</p> + +<p>Lucius took up a medicine bottle from the little +table by the bed half absently. It was empty.</p> + +<p>‘When did you take your last dose?’ he asked.</p> + +<p>‘Half-an-hour ago.’</p> + +<p>‘I will try to find you a new tonic; something +that shall not produce the nausea you have complained +of lately. I cannot understand how this +mixture should have had such an effect; but it is +just possible you may have an antipathy to quinine. +I will give you a medicine without any quinine.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Sivewright gave an impatient sigh, expressive +of non-belief in the whole faculty of medicine.</p> + +<p>‘Do what you please with me,’ he said. ‘If you +do not succeed in lengthening my life, I suppose I +may depend upon your not shortening it. And as +you charge me nothing for your services, I have no +right to complain if their value corresponds with the +rate of your recompense.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> + +<p>‘I am sorry to see you have lost confidence in me, +sir,’ said Lucius, somewhat wounded, yet willing to +forgive a sick man’s petulance.</p> + +<p>‘I have not lost confidence in you individually. +It is the science of medicine which I disbelieve in. +Here am I, after four months’ patient observance of +your regimen, eating, drinking, sleeping, ay, almost +thinking according to your advice, and yet I am no +better at the end of it all, but feel myself growing +daily worse. If all your endeavours to patch up a +broken constitution have resulted only in failure, +why do you not tell me so without farther parley? +I told you at the beginning that I was stoic enough +to receive my death-warrant without a pang.’</p> + +<p>‘And I tell you again, as I told you then, that I +have no sentence of death to pronounce. I confess +that your symptoms during the last three weeks have +somewhat puzzled me. If they continue to do so, I +shall ask your permission to consult a medical man +of wider experience than my own.’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ answered the old man captiously, ‘I will +see no strangers. I will be experimentalised upon +by no new hand. If you can’t cure me, put me down +as incurable. And now you had better go to your +other patients; I have kept you later than usual. +You will come back in the evening, I suppose?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> + +<p>‘Most certainly.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well, then, devote your evening to me, for +once in a way, instead of to Lucille. You will have +plenty of her society by and by, when she is your +wife. I want to talk seriously with you. The time +has come when there must be no more concealment +between you and me. There are secrets which a man +may do wisely to keep through life, but which it is +fatal to carry to the grave. Give me your hand, +Lucius,’ he said, stretching out his wasted fingers to +meet the strong grasp of the surgeon; ‘we have not +known each other long, yet as much as I can trust +anybody I trust you; as much as I can love anybody—since +my son turned my milk of human kindness +to gall—I love you. Come back to me this evening, +and I will prove to you that this is no idle protestation.’</p> + +<p>The thin hand trembled in Lucius Davoren’s +grasp. There was more emotion in these words of +Homer Sivewright’s than Lucius had supposed the +old man capable of feeling.</p> + +<p>‘Whatever service you may require of me, whatever +trust you may confide in me,’ said the surgeon +with warmth, ‘be assured that the service shall be +faithfully performed, the trust held sacred.’ And +thus they parted.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IIIa">CHAPTER III.<br> +<span class="fs70">HOMER SIVEWRIGHT’S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was nearly dusk that evening when Lucius returned +to Cedar House. His daily round had +occupied more time than usual, and however full +his mind might be of that strange old man, or of +the woman he loved, he did not shorten a visit or +neglect the smallest detail of his duty. The lamp +was lighted in Mr. Sivewright’s room, though it +was not yet dark outside—only the sultry dusk of +a late summer day. The day had been oppressive, +and the Shadrack district had a prostrate air in its +parched dustiness, like a camel in the desert panting +for distant waterpools. The low leaden sky had +threatened a storm since noon, and the denizens of +the Shadrack-road, more especially the feminine +population, had been so fluttered and disturbed by +the expectation of the coming tempest as to be unable, +in their own language, ‘to set to anything,’ +all day long. Work at the washtub had progressed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> +slowly, wringing had hung on hand, and the very +mangles of Shadrack had turned listlessly under the +influence of the weather. It was the cholera season, +too—a period which set in as regularly in this district +as the gambling season or the water-drinking +season at Homburg or Baden, or the bathing season +at Ostend or Biarritz. Stone-fruit was selling cheaply +on the hawkers’ barrows, cucumbers were at a discount, +vegetable marrows met with no inquiry, conger +eel and mackerel were unpopular, and even salmon +was not a stranger to the barrows. All the wealth +of the vanishing summer—luxuries which a few short +weeks ago had been counted amongst the delicacies +of the season, and paid for accordingly—had drifted +this way on the strong tide of time, and lay as it +were at the feet of the Shadrackites. Upon which +the Shadrackites, looking askant at the costermongers’ +barrows, remarked that cholera was about.</p> + +<p>Mr. Davoren found his patient seated before a +writing-table, which he had never until now seen +opened. It was that kind of writing-table which is +called a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bonheur du jour</i>, a small table provided with +numerous drawers; an ebony table, inlaid with brass +and tortoiseshell, with brass mounts; a table which, +according to Mr. Sivewright, had been made by no +lesser hands than those of Francis Boule. The lamp<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> +stood on this table, all the drawers were open and +brimming over with papers, and before it, wrapped +in his ancient dressing-gown of faded damask, sat +the old man.</p> + +<p>‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Lucius, about to +withdraw, for he knew that his patient had strange +secret ways about his papers. ‘You are not ready +for me, perhaps. I’ll go down and talk to Lucille +for a few minutes.’</p> + +<p>‘Do nothing of the kind; I am quite ready for +you. These papers have much to do with what I am +going to say. Come in, and lock the door. I have +locked the other door myself. I want to be secure +from the possibility of interruption. And now sit +down by my side.’</p> + +<p>Lucius obeyed without a word.</p> + +<p>‘Now,’ said Mr. Sivewright, with the old keen +look and sharp tone, the natural energy in the man +dominating even the prostration of sickness, ‘give +me a straight answer to a straight question. You +have had the run of this house for a long time; have +seen everything, have had time to form your judgment: +which do you think me now—a poor man or +a miser?’</p> + +<p>‘You will not be offended by my candour?’ inquired +Lucius.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></p> + +<p>‘Certainly not. Have I not enjoined you to be +candid?’</p> + +<p>‘Then,’ replied the other, with a grave smile, ‘I +admit that, in spite of your protestations of poverty, +I have thought you rich. Until a short time ago, +indeed, I was inclined to believe your statement; I +really thought that you had sunk all your money in +the purchase of these things,’ with that half-contemptuous +glance at the art-treasures which Mr. +Sivewright had before observed; ‘but when you +spoke the other day of a possible intruder in this +house with so much alarm, I told myself that if you +had nothing to lose—or nothing more portable than +yonder mummy or this desk—you could hardly +cherish the suspicion of foul play.’</p> + +<p>‘Fairly reasoned. Then you thought, because I +was alarmed by the idea of a secret visitant prowling +about my house in the dead of the night, that I must +needs have some secret hoard, some hidden treasure +for whose safety I feared?’</p> + +<p>‘That was almost my thought.’</p> + +<p>‘There you were wrong; but only so far were you +wrong,’ answered Mr. Sivewright, with unwonted +energy. ‘I am not such a baby as to hoard my +guineas in an old muniment chest, for the babyish +pleasure of gloating over my treasure in the stillness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> +of the night—letting the golden coins run like glittering +yellow water through my fingers; counting +and recounting; stacking the gold into little piles, +twenties, fifties, hundreds. No. I am a miser—granted; +but I am not a fool. There is nothing in +this house but the objects which you have seen; but +those are worth a fortune. This very table at which +I am now sitting, and which to your uneducated eye +doubtless seems a trumpery gimcrack thing, was sold +at Christie’s three years ago for a hundred and twenty +pounds, and will sell a year hence for half as much +again. The value of money is diminishing year by +year; the number of wealthy buyers is increasing +year by year; and these treasures and relics of the +past—specimens of manufactures that have perished, +of arts that are forgotten, the handiwork of genius +which has left no inheritors—these cannot multiply. +The capital these represent is large, and whenever +they are put up to auction in Christie and Manson’s +sale-rooms, that capital will be quadrupled. I do not +speak at random, Davoren; I know my trade. After +the apprenticeship of a lifetime I can venture to +speak boldly. I have spent something like ten thousand +pounds upon the treasures of this house, and I +consider that ten thousand of sunk capital to represent +between forty and fifty thousand in the future.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> + +<p>Lucius looked at the speaker mute with astonishment. +Was this utter madness? The hallucination +of a mind which had become distorted by constant +dwelling upon one subject? The wild dream of an +art fanatic? Homer Sivewright’s calm and serious +air—the business-like manner of his statement—forbade +the idea. He might deceive himself as to +the value of his possessions; but there was no madness +here.</p> + +<p>‘You do not believe me,’ said Mr. Sivewright, +taking the surgeon’s wondering silence as the indication +of his incredulity. ‘You think I am a doting +old fool; that I must be stark mad when I tell you +that I, who have lived as poorly as an anchorite, have +been content to sink ten thousand pounds—representing +at five per cent five hundred a year—in the purchase +of things which, to your untutored judgment, +may perhaps appear so much second-hand trumpery.’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ answered Lucius slowly, like a man awakening +from a dream; ‘I can appreciate the value and +the beauty of many among your treasures. But ten +thousand pounds—the sum seems prodigious.’</p> + +<p>‘A mere bagatelle compared with the sums that +have been sunk in the same kind of property. But I +have never bought unless I could buy a bargain. I +am an old hand—cautious as a fox. I have not disputed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> +the possession of a Sèvres tea-cup or a Dresden +snuff-box with wealthy amateurs. I have waited my +chance, and bought gems which the common herd +were too ignorant to appreciate. I have picked up +my treasures in odd nooks and corners; have travelled +half over Europe in quest of spoil. Thus my +ten thousand pounds represent thirty thousand of +another man’s money.’</p> + +<p>‘And you have given up your declining years to +constant labour; you have racked your brains with +never-ending calculations; and you have lived, as +you say, like an anchorite—for what result? Only to +amass this heap of things—as useless for any of +the practical needs of life as they are artistically +beautiful. You have pinched and scraped and toiled—shortened +your own life, and robbed your grandchild +of every joy that makes youth worth having. Good +heavens,’ exclaimed Lucius, indignant at the thought +of that joyless existence to which this old man had +condemned Lucille, ‘was there ever such folly! Nay, +it is worse than folly, it is a crime—a sin against yourself, +whom you have robbed of natural rest, and all +the comforts to which men look forward as the solace +of age—a still greater sin against that unselfish girl +whose life you have filled with care and trouble.’</p> + +<p>This reproach struck home. The old man sighed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> +heavily, his head drooped upon his breast, and he +covered his face with his thin hand.</p> + +<p>‘Why have you made this insensate use of your +money?’ exclaimed Lucius. ‘What madness possessed +you?’</p> + +<p>‘The madness men call revenge,’ cried Mr. Sivewright, +uncovering his face and lifting his head +proudly. ‘Listen, Lucius Davoren, and when you +have heard my story, call me a madman if you will. +You will at least perceive that there has been a fixed +purpose in all I did. When my false ungrateful son—whom +I had loved with all the weak indulgent +affection of the solitary man who concentrates all his +store of feeling upon one object, his only child—when +my wicked son left me, he left me impoverished +by his theft, and, as he doubtless believed, ruined +for life. He shook the dust of my house from his +feet, and went out into the world, never intending to +recross my threshold. I had nothing more that could +tempt him. My stock had been diminishing daily +under his dishonest hands; the sacrifice I had made +to secure the new premises shrunk it to a vanishing +point. Thus he left me, to all intents and purposes +a beggar. It was the old story of the squeezed +orange. He had no compunction in flinging away +the rind.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> + +<p>‘He used you hardly,’ said Lucius, ‘like a villain +as he was.’</p> + +<p>‘On the night after he left me, I sat alone by my +miserable hearth, in that room which had never witnessed +one hour of domestic peace! I sat alone, and +brooded over my wrongs. Then it seemed to me +almost as if that very devil who came to Dr. Faustus +in his study came and stood behind my chair, and +whispered in my ear. “Come,” said the fiend, “love +is worn out, but there is one thing left you still—revenge. +Grow rich, and this base son, who leaves +you to perish like a maimed lion in his den, will +come back and fawn upon you for your money. Grow +rich again; show him what might have been his +reward had he behaved decently to you. Let him lie +at your door and starve, and beg as Dives begged for +a drop of water, and be refused. Then it will be +your turn to laugh, as he no doubt is now laughing +at you.”’</p> + +<p>‘A strange suggestion, and worthy to come from +the spirit of evil,’ said Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘I cared not if it came straight from Lucifer,’ +answered the other passionately. ‘From that hour +I lived only to make money. I had lived for little +else before, you will say, perhaps; but I worked +harder now. Fortune seemed to favour me, just as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> +the Fates seem now and then to favour the desperate +gamester. I made some lucky sales with the +shrunken remnant of my stock. I found gems in +queer out-of-the-way places; for at this time I was +endowed with an almost superhuman activity, and +travelled many miles every day. I roamed the Continent, +and brought home wonders of art. I acquired +a reputation for finding objects of rarest merit, and +celebrated collectors paid me my price without a murmur. +So I worked on, until the expiry of my lease +found me with a large stock and some thousands in +hand. Then the idea suddenly occurred to me that +my best chance of dying a rich man—or of doubling, +tripling, or quadrupling my capital before I died—was +to let my stock lie fallow. I surrendered my +premises rather than pay the enormous rent which +the landlord demanded for them. I might have +sold my stock, and retired with a comfortable income; +but I determined to keep it, and die worth +fifty thousand pounds. I found this old house—roomy +and secluded; I brought my wealth here. +There are cases of rare old china stowed away in some +of the rooms which you have not even seen. Since +I came here, I went on buying, so long as my funds +would admit; and since the exhaustion of my capital, +I have done a good deal of business in the way of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> +barter—weeding out objects of lesser value from my +collection, and making many a good bargain with +dealers who only half know their trade. Thus even +after my funds were gone I managed to enrich my +collection.’</p> + +<p>‘And now, I conclude,’ said Lucius, ‘that your +chief pleasure is the idea of giving your name to a +museum—of leaving behind you a memorial which +shall survive for generations to come?’</p> + +<p>‘I have no such thought,’ answered the other. +‘My talk of leaving these things to the nation was +but an idle threat. No, Lucius, my dream and my +hope from the time of my son’s desertion have been +the realisation of a large fortune—you understand, a +fortune—a fortune to be left away from that base boy—a +fortune which he should hear of, whose full extent +should be known to him; wealth that he should +hunger for, while he lay in the gutter. I have made +the fortune, Lucius, and I leave it all to you. That +is my revenge.’</p> + +<p>‘To <em>me</em>!’ cried Lucius, aghast.</p> + +<p>‘To you. But mind, not a sixpence, not a halfpenny, +to that man, should he come whining to you; +not a crust of bread to ward off the pangs of starvation.’</p> + +<p>‘You have left everything to me,’ said Lucius,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> +with undiminished surprise, ‘to me! You pass over +your granddaughter, your own flesh and blood, to +make me your heir!’</p> + +<p>‘What does it matter whether it goes to you or +Lucille?’ asked Mr. Sivewright impatiently. ‘You +love her?’</p> + +<p>‘With all the strength of my heart.’</p> + +<p>‘And she is to be your wife. She will have the +full benefit of all I leave you. Were it left to her—settled +upon her ever so tightly, for her sole use and +benefit, and so on, as the lawyers have it—you would +have the advantage all the same. She would surrender +all her rights to you. But she would do something +worse than that. She has a foolish sentimental +idea about that infamous father of hers; she +would let him share the money. That is why I bequeath +everything to you.’</p> + +<p>‘The precaution is needless, sir,’ replied Lucius +gravely. ‘I have reason to know that your son no +longer lives to trouble you or his daughter.’</p> + +<p>‘You have reason to know!’ cried the old man +angrily. ‘What do you know about my son? And +why have you withheld your knowledge from me until +this moment?’</p> + +<p>‘Because it is only within the last few weeks that +I have discovered your son’s identity with a man I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> +met in America, and I did not care to disturb you +by any allusion to an agitating subject.’</p> + +<p>‘Who was this man?’</p> + +<p>‘You will not speak of this to Lucille? She +knows nothing—she must know nothing of—of her +father’s death,’ said Lucius, with painful eagerness.</p> + +<p>He had spoken rashly, and found himself, as it +were, caught in the meshes of his own ill-advised +admission.</p> + +<p>‘She shall know nothing, if you insist upon it. +For God’s sake, don’t trifle with me. Is my son +dead?’</p> + +<p>He asked the question with as agonising an +anxiety as if the son he had long ago renounced +were at this moment the idol of his heart.</p> + +<p>‘I have good reason to believe that he is dead.’</p> + +<p>‘That is no answer. Give me details, particulars—time, +place, the manner of his death.’</p> + +<p>‘I—I can only tell you what I know,’ answered +Lucius, pale to the lips. ‘There was a portrait +amongst the lumber in your loft—the portrait of a +young man with dark hair and eyes.’</p> + +<p>‘There was but one portrait there,’ answered the +old man quickly—‘my son’s.’</p> + +<p>‘That picture resembles a man I once met in +America, who, I afterwards heard, was shot.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> + +<p>‘How? by whom?’</p> + +<p>‘That I cannot tell you. You must accept the +evidence for what it is worth.’</p> + +<p>‘I reject it as worthless. What, you see a picture +among the lumber in the loft which reminds +you of a face you saw in America—the face of some +man who may or may not have been killed in some +gold-diggers’ fray, I suppose—and you jump at the +conclusion that my son is dead; that the order of +nature has been reversed, and the green tree has +fallen before the disabled trunk! You tell me, on no +better evidence than this, that my dream of revenge +has been vain; that my ungrateful son will never +hear, with all the pangs of baffled avarice, of his dead +father’s wealth—of wealth that might have been his +had he been simply honest.’</p> + +<p>‘Say that I am mistaken, then,’ replied Lucius, +infinitely relieved by the old man’s incredulity. How +could he have answered if Mr. Sivewright had questioned +him closely? He was not schooled in falsehood. +The horrible truth might have been wrung +from him in spite of himself. ‘Say that your son +still lives,’ he went on. ‘I accept your trust, and +thank you for your confidence in me. I shall receive +your wealth, and may it be long ere it falls to my +hands—rather as a trustee than an inheritor—for to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> +my mind it will always belong to Lucille, and not to +me.’</p> + +<p>‘And you swear that my wicked son shall never +profit by my hard-earned gains?’</p> + +<p>‘I swear it,’ said Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘Then I am satisfied. My will is straight and +simple, and leaves all to you without reserve. It has +been duly witnessed, and lies in this inner drawer.’ +He lifted the flap of the table, and showed Lucius a +concealed drawer at the back. ‘You will remember?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ answered the surgeon, ‘but I trust in God +that it may be long ere that document is needed.’</p> + +<p>‘That is a polite speech common to heirs,’ answered +Mr. Sivewright, with a touch of bitterness. +‘But you have been very good to me,’ he added in a +softer tone; ‘and I like you. Nay, could I believe in +the existence of friendship, I should be induced to +think that you return my liking.’</p> + +<p>‘I do, sir, with all my heart,’ returned Lucius. +‘Your eccentricities kept us asunder for some time; +but since you have treated me with confidence—since +you have bared your heart to me, with its heavy burden +of past wrongs and sorrows—you have drawn me +very near to you. I deplore the mistaken principle +which has guided your later life; but I cannot but +acknowledge the magnitude of the wrong which inspired<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> +that dream of revenge. Yet, while I accept +the trust which you are generous enough to confide +in me, I regret that I should profit by your anger +against another. If I did not think your son was +dead—that all hope of earthly atonement for his +wrong-doing is over—I should refuse to subscribe to +the conditions of your bequest.’</p> + +<p>‘Say no more about his death,’ exclaimed the old +man, ‘or you will make me angry. Now one more +word about business. If, immediately after my death, +you want money, sell my collection at once. You will +find a catalogue, and detached instructions as to the +manner of the sale, in this desk. If, on the other +hand, you can afford to wait for your fortune—if you +want the present value of those things to double itself—wait +twenty years, and sell them before your +eldest child comes of age. In that case, you will have +a fortune large enough to make your sons great merchants—to +dower half-a-dozen daughters.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall not be too eager to turn your treasures +into money, believe me, sir,’ answered Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘Good,’ said Mr. Sivewright. ‘I bought those +things to sell again—speculated in them as a broker +speculates in shares. Yet it gives me a sharp pang +to think of their being scattered. They represent all +the experience of my life, my youthful worship of art,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> +the knowledge of my later years. I have looked at +them, and handled them, till they seem to me like +sentient things.’</p> + +<p>‘Even Pharaoh yonder,’ said Lucius with a smile, +anxious to turn the current of his patient’s thoughts, +which had been dwelling too long upon painful +themes, ‘though he seems scarcely a lively object to +adorn a bedchamber.’</p> + +<p>‘Pharaoh was a bargain,’ answered Mr. Sivewright, +‘or I shouldn’t have bought him. The manufacture +of mummies is one of the extinct arts, and +the article must rise in market value with the lapse +of years. New towns spring up; provincial museums +multiply—each must have its mummy.’</p> + +<p>‘Come, Mr. Sivewright, you have been talking +rather more than is good for an invalid. May I unlock +those doors, and ring for your supper?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, if you forbid further talk, but I have something +more, another matter, and one of some importance, +to discuss with you.’</p> + +<p>‘Let that stand over till to-morrow. You have +fatigued and excited yourself too much already. I +will be with you at the same time to-morrow evening, +if you like.’</p> + +<p>‘Do, there is something I am anxious to speak +about; not quite so important as the subject of our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> +conversation to-night, but yet something that ought +to be spoken of. Come to-morrow evening at the +same time. Yes, you are right, I have tired myself +already.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Sivewright flung himself back in his chair +exhausted. Lucius reproached himself for having +suffered his patient to talk so much, and upon so agitating +a topic. He stayed while the old man sipped +a cup of beef-tea, which he finished with a painful +effort; Lucille standing by, and looking on anxiously +all the while. She had brought the little supper-tray +from the adjoining room with her own hands.</p> + +<p>‘Do try to eat it, dear grandpapa,’ she said, as +Mr. Sivewright trifled with his spoon, and looked +despondently at the half-filled cup. ‘I made it +myself, on purpose that it should be good and +strong.’</p> + +<p>‘It is good enough, child, if you could give me +the inclination to eat,’ answered the old man, pushing +away the cup with a sigh; ‘and now good-night +to you both. I am tired, and shall go to bed at +once.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t lock the dressing-room door to-night, grandpapa,’ +said Lucille. ‘I am going to sleep there in +future, so that I may be close at hand if you should +want anything in the night.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p> + +<p>‘I never want anything in the night,’ answered +Mr. Sivewright impatiently. ‘You may just as well +sleep in your own room.’</p> + +<p>‘But I like to be near you, grandpapa, and Lucius +says you ought to take a little beef-tea very +early in the morning. Please leave the door unlocked.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well; but, in that case, mind you lock the +outer door.’</p> + +<p>‘I will be careful to do so, grandpapa.’</p> + +<p>‘Be sure of that. This change of rooms is a foolish +fancy: but I am too feeble to dispute the point. +Good-night.’</p> + +<p>He dismissed them both with a wave of his hand—the +grandchild who represented the sum-total of his +kindred, and the man to whom he had bequeathed +his fortune.</p> + +<p>Lucille and Lucius went down-stairs together, but +both were curiously silent.</p> + +<p>The surgeon’s mind was full of that strange conversation +with Homer Sivewright; the girl had a preoccupied +air.</p> + +<p>In the dimly-lighted hall she paused, by the open +door of the sitting-room, where Mrs. Wincher had +just put down the little tray with her young mistress’s +meagre supper.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>‘Will you come into the parlour for a little while, +Lucius?’ she asked, as her lover lingered on the +threshold with an undecided air. Something unfamiliar +in the tone of her voice jarred upon his +ear.</p> + +<p>‘You ask the question almost as if you wished me +to say no, Lucille,’ he said.</p> + +<p>‘I am rather tired,’ she answered faintly, ‘and I +am sure you must be tired too, you have been so long +up-stairs with grandpapa. It has struck ten.’</p> + +<p>‘That sounds like my dismissal,’ said Lucius, +scrutinising the pale face, in which there was a troubled +expression that he had never seen there until of +late; ‘so I will say good-night, though I had something +to tell you, had you been inclined to listen.’</p> + +<p>‘Tell me all to-morrow, Lucius.’</p> + +<p>‘It shall be to-morrow then, dearest. Good-night.’</p> + +<p>And thus with one tender kiss he left her.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IVa">CHAPTER IV.<br> +<span class="fs70">WHAT LUCIUS SAW BETWIXT MIDNIGHT AND MORNING.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> sky was starless above the Shadrack-road, and +the air hardly less oppressive than it had been in the +sultry noontide. That low sky seemed to shut in +the Shadrack district like an iron roof, and the Shadrackites +lounging against their doorposts, or conversing +at street corners, or congregating in small clusters +outside public-houses, bemoaned themselves that the +storm had not yet come.</p> + +<p>Lucius left Cedar House heavy-hearted, in spite +of the knowledge that he, who yesterday knew not of +a creature in this universe likely to leave him a five-pound +note, was to-night heir to a handsome fortune. +The thought of Mr. Sivewright’s generosity in no manner +elated him. Had his mind been free to contemplate +this fact he would, no doubt, have rejoiced in the +new sense of security which such a prospect must +have inspired; he would have rejoiced not alone for +himself, but for the sake of the woman who was to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> +his wife. Through the thick tangle of his troubled +thoughts no gleam of light could penetrate. He saw +himself the centre of perplexities. It seemed almost +as if the avenging shade of the man he had slain were +hunting him down—tempting him to entangle himself +by some foolish confession, urging him to some +folly that must bring about his own destruction. He +thought of Orestes pursued by the Eumenides—tortured +by the burden of a crime which, at the hour of +its commission, he had deemed an act of justice.</p> + +<p>Instead of turning homewards as usual, he paused +for a minute or so outside the iron gate, and then took +the opposite direction, setting his face towards the +distant country. It was only a fancy, perhaps, but it +seemed to him that the atmosphere was a shade less +oppressive when he turned his back upon Shadrack +Basin and the steam factories which encompassed it. +No rain came to cool the fever-parched city, nor had +the first low note of the impending storm sounded in +distant thunder. Yet that coming storm was no less +a certainty.</p> + +<p>There was a strange bewilderment in the surgeon’s +mind. That promise of wealth, ease, security, a more +speedily-won renown, all the benefits which go hand-in-hand +with the possession of ample means, had excited +his brain, although it had not elated his spirits.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> +He saw all the scheme of his future altered. No +longer need he toil in this wretched district. He +might at once establish himself amongst the most famous +of his fellow workers; make known his new theories, +his discoveries in the vast world of medical science; +do good on a scale infinitely larger than that afforded +by his present surroundings. It was not that he +wanted to turn his back upon the suffering poor. His +brightest hopes, his fondest dreams, were of the good +he was to do for these. He only desired that his +light might not be for ever hidden under a bushel. +Strong in the belief that he could serve the whole +race of man, he languished to shake off those fetters, +forged by necessity, which kept him chained to this +obscure corner of the earth.</p> + +<p>With the thought of his improved prospects, and +all the hopes that went along with that thought, +there mingled that ever-brooding care about the past. +He had perceived a curious change in Lucille’s manner +to-night. Could she have discovered anything? +How anxious she had been to get rid of him! She +had not seemed exactly cold or unkind, but her manner +had been hurried, excited; as if her mind were +occupied with some all-absorbing thought in which +he had no part.</p> + +<p>‘If, by some fatal chance, she had discovered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> +the true story of her father’s fate,’ he told himself, +‘she would hardly have concealed her knowledge; +she would have surely told me the truth at once, +and dismissed me for ever. I cannot imagine her +acting in any double or underhanded manner. Yet +to-night it seemed as if she had something to hide +from me.’</p> + +<p>This fancy troubled him; and in spite of his +endeavours to dismiss the suspicion as groundless, +the thought recurred to him every now and then. +He walked far along the Shadrack-road, farther than +he had penetrated for many a day; walked on, meditative, +and hardly conscious where he went, until he +came to a region of deserted building-ground, upon +which a few skeleton houses lifted their roofless walls +to the blank sky, as if demanding of the gods wherefore +the speculative builder—long since stranded on +the reefy shore of the bankruptcy court—came not to +finish them.</p> + +<p>This arid plain, which had erst been pleasant +meadow-land, and where the shorn remnant of a +once-beauteous hawthorn hedge still languished here +and there under a cloud of lime dust, was the nearest +approach to a rustic landscape within reach of the +Shadrackites. Its beauty did not tempt the pedestrian.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<p>Lucius halted at sight of the skeleton houses, +and having in some measure walked down his excitement, +turned back. He did not, however, take +exactly the same way by which he had come. The +prospect of the Shadrack-road, in all its dreary +length, may have appalled him, or it may have been +mere vagrant fancy which led him to return by a +long narrow street, straggling and poverty-stricken, +yet boasting here and there some good old red-brick +mansion, which had once been the country seat of +a prosperous City merchant, but which now, shorn +of its garden, and defaced by neglect and decay, +was let off in divers tenements to the struggling +poor.</p> + +<p>This street, with all its byways, was familiar to +Lucius, who had plenty of patients in those squalid +houses, down those narrow side streets, courts, and +alleys. He knew every turn of the place, and wandered +on to-night, not troubling himself which way +he went, so long as he kept in a general manner the +homeward direction. It had struck twelve when he +emerged from a darksome alley on to the wharf +which formed one side of the narrow creek whereon +Mr. Sivewright’s garden abutted.</p> + +<p>There were the dingy barges moored side by side +upon the stagnant water; and there above them, dark<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> +against the sky, loomed the outline of the house that +sheltered all Lucius Davoren most fondly loved. He +had wandered to this spot almost unawares.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘I arise from dreams of thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent3">And a spirit in my feet</div> + <div class="verse indent1">Has led me—who knows how?</div> + <div class="verse indent3">To thy chamber-window, sweet!’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">murmured the lover, as he looked up at those blank +windows.</p> + +<p>There was a faint light in one, the little dressing-room +next Mr. Sivewright’s bedchamber, the room +now occupied by Lucille. Yes, and there was one +more light—the yellow flame of a candle in one of +the upper windows, a window in that topmost story, +which Lucille had declared to be utterly uninhabited.</p> + +<p>The sight struck Lucius with a vague suspicion—a +feeling almost of alarm.</p> + +<p>How should there be a light up yonder in one of +those unoccupied rooms? Could it be Jacob Wincher, +prowling about after midnight, to inspect the +treasures of which he was guardian. It was just +possible there might be some part of the bric-à-brac +merchant’s collection in one of those upper rooms. +Yet Lucille had declared that they were quite empty—and +his own inspection through the keyholes had +revealed nothing worth speaking of within. And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> +again, how foreign to Jacob Wincher’s orderly habits +to be roaming about with a candle at such an hour!</p> + +<p>The gleam of that solitary candle amidst all those +dark upper windows mystified Lucius beyond measure.</p> + +<p>‘If it is old Wincher who has carried the light +up yonder, it will move presently,’ thought Lucius; +‘he would not stay there long at such a late hour. +I’ll wait and see the end of the business.’</p> + +<p>The first note of the storm sounded as he made +this resolve, a rumble of distant thunder, and then +came the heavy patter of big rain-drops, shedding +coolness upon the thunder-charged air. There was +an open shed close at hand, and Lucius withdrew to +its shelter without losing sight of the dark old house +opposite, with its two lighted windows.</p> + +<p>The water and the barges lay between him and +Cedar House, the wharf—used at this time as a repository +for spelter—being built upon a narrow creek, +or inlet from the river.</p> + +<p>He stood and watched for nearly half an hour, +while the rain came down heavily and the lightning +flashed across his face every now and then; but still +the light burnt steadily. What could Wincher or +anybody else be doing in yonder room at such an +hour? Or could it be Homer Sivewright himself, +roaming the house like an unquiet spirit?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> + +<p>‘No,’ Lucius thought, ‘he has not strength +enough to mount those steep stairs without help. It +cannot be Sivewright.’</p> + +<p>Did the circumstance—trivial enough in itself, +perhaps, but painfully perplexing to that anxious +watcher—mean any harm? That was the question. +Did it denote any peril to Lucille? Ought he to go +round to the front of the house, and try to arouse the +sleeping household, in order to warn them of some +unknown danger? That seemed a desperate thing +to do, when the circumstance, after all, might be of +no moment. It was most likely Jacob Wincher. +He might have eccentricities that Lucius had never +heard of; and to sit up late into the night was perhaps +one of his failings.</p> + +<p>Yet that mysterious light, taken in conjunction +with Mr. Sivewright’s fancy about strange footsteps +in the dead of the night, was not a fact to be dismissed +carelessly.</p> + +<p>‘If there were any way of getting into the house +without ringing people up and frightening my patient, +I would get in somehow, and find the solution of this +enigma,’ thought Lucius; ‘but I daresay the doors +and windows at the back are firmly fastened.’</p> + +<p>A distant clock chimed the quarter before one, +while Lucius was standing irresolute under the spelter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> +shed. While the third slow chime was still vibrating +in the silent night, the blue glare of a lightning-flash +showed that eager watcher a figure upon +one of the barges.</p> + +<p>Until this moment he had believed them utterly +empty, save of their cargo; nor did this figure belong +to either of those darksome vessels. It was the +figure of a man, tall and lithe, who moved quickly +along, bending his body as he crept from one barge +to the other, as if shrinking from the pelting rain—a +stealthy figure, upon which Lucius at once concentrated +his attention.</p> + +<p>He had not long to remain in doubt. The man +lifted his head presently, and looked up towards the +lighted window; then, with the agility of some wild +animal, sprang from the barge to the garden-wall. +There Lucius lost him in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Presently there came a long whistle—long but +not loud; then a light appeared in the lower part of +the house—a light from an open door, evidently. +Lucius saw the light appear and vanish, and heard +the closing of a heavy door.</p> + +<p>Some one had admitted that man to the house, +but who was that some one? There was foul play of +some kind; but what the nature of the mystery was +a question he could not answer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> + +<p>What should he do? Go round to the front gate, +ring, and alarm the household? By that means only +could he solve the mystery, and prove to Lucille that +these Winchers, whose fidelity she believed in, were +deceiving her. Yet to do that might be to imperil +his patient, in whose weak state any violent shock +might be well-nigh fatal.</p> + +<p>Reflection convinced him that whatever mischief +was at work in that house was of a subtle character. +It could only mean plunder; for after all, to suppose +that it involved any evil design against Homer Sivewright’s +life seemed too improbable a notion to be +entertained for a moment. The plot, whatever its +nature, must mean plunder, and these Winchers, +the trusted servants, in whom long service seemed +a pledge of honesty, must be the moving spirits of +the treason. What more likely than that Jacob +Wincher, who knew the value of his master’s treasures, +was gradually plundering the collection of its +richest gems, and that this stealthy intruder, who +entered the house thus secretly under cover of night, +was his accomplice, employed to carry away and dispose +of the booty?</p> + +<p>Arguing thus, Lucius decided that it would be a +foolish thing to disturb the evildoers in the midst of +their work. His wiser course would be to lie in wait,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> +watch the house till daybreak, and surprise the accomplice +in the act of carrying off the plunder. As +the man had gone in, so he must surely come out +before morning. If, owing to the darkness of the +night, he should escape the watcher’s keen gaze on +this occasion, Lucius determined that he would set +one of the minions of Mr. Otranto, the private detective, +to watch to-morrow night.</p> + +<p>Lucius waited patiently, though those hours in +the dead of the night went by with leaden pace, and +every limb of the watcher became a burden to him +from very weariness. He seated himself upon an +empty cask in an angle of the shed, leaned his back +against the wall, and waited; never relaxing his watch +upon those quiet barges and the low garden-wall beyond +them, never ceasing to listen intently for the +least sound from that direction. The storm abated, +heaven’s floodgates were closed again; the lightning +faded to fainter flashes and then ceased altogether; +a distant rumble of thunder, like the sound of a door +shutting after the exit of a disagreeable visitor, marked +the end of the tempest. Peace descended once more +upon earth, and coolness; a pleasant air crept along +the narrow creek; even the odour of the damp earth +was sweet after the heat and dryness of yesterday.</p> + +<p>Morning came, and the aching of Lucius Davoren’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> +bones increased, but there was no sign from the +barges or the garden-wall. The watcher was thoroughly +wearied. His eyes had been striving to pierce +the darkness, his ears had been strained to listen for +the lightest sound during four long hours. At five +o’clock he departed, not wishing to be surprised by +early labourers coming his way, or by the traffic of +the wharf, which might begin he knew not how soon. +He went away, vexed and disquieted; thinking that +it was just possible the man might have escaped him +after all in the darkness.</p> + +<p>‘I shouldn’t have seen him in the first instance +without the aid of that lightning-flash,’ he said to +himself; ‘I may very easily have missed him afterwards. +I’ll go home and get two or three hours’ +sleep if I can, and then go straight to Cedar House +and try to solve this mystery.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br> +<span class="fs70">LUCIUS AT FAULT.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">At</span> nine o’clock Lucius stood before the tall iron gate +waiting for admittance to Mr. Sivewright’s dwelling. +In spite of his weariness, he had slept but little in +the interval. The fever of his brain was not to be +beguiled into slumber. He could only go over the +same ground again and again, trying to convince +himself that the mystery of that secret entrance to +Cedar House was a very simple matter and would be +made clear after a little trouble.</p> + +<p>He scrutinised Mrs. Wincher keenly, as she unlocked +the gate and conducted him across the forecourt; +but nothing in the aspect of Mr. Wincher’s +good lady indicated agitation or emotion of any kind +whatsoever. If this woman were involved in some +nightly act of wrong-doing against her master, she +was evidently hardened in iniquity. Her face, not +altogether free from the traces of a blacklead brush, +with which she may perchance have brushed aside an +importunate fly, was placidity itself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p> + +<p>‘You’re more than usual early this morning, Dr. +Davory,’ she said with her friendly air; ‘you did +ought to give yourself a little more rest.’</p> + +<p>‘I couldn’t rest this morning, Mrs. Wincher,’ +answered Lucius thoughtfully; ‘I was too anxious.’</p> + +<p>‘Not about the old gentleman, I hope?’</p> + +<p>‘Well, partly on his account, and partly upon +other grounds. I have an idea that this house is not +quite so safe as it might be.’</p> + +<p>‘Lord bless you, sir, not safe, when I bolts every +blessed door, and puts up every blessed bar, just as +if it was chock full of state prisoners! And what is +there for any one to steal except the bricklebrack, +and nobody in these parts would know the vally o’ +that. I’m sure I’ve lived among it five-and-twenty +year myself, and can’t see no use in it, nor no beauty +in it neither. Depend upon it, nobody would ever +come arter bricklebrack.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know, Mrs. Wincher,’ answered Lucius; +‘people will come after anything, as long as it’s worth +money.’</p> + +<p>‘Let ’em come, then,’ exclaimed the matron contemptuously; +‘I give ’em leave to get into this house +after dark if they can.’</p> + +<p>‘How if some one were to be obliging, though, +and let them in?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>‘Who is there to do that, unless it was me or my +good gentleman,’ cried Mrs. Wincher, blushing indignantly +through the blacklead, ‘and I suppose you’re +not going to suspect us, Dr. Davory, after five-and-twenty +years’ faithful service? Let any one in, indeed, +to make away with the bricklebrack! Why, +my good gentleman would fret hisself to fiddle-strings +if he was to crack a tea-cup.’</p> + +<p>Indignation lent shrillness to the voice of Mrs. +Wincher, and this conversation, which took place in +the hall, made itself audible in the parlour. The +door was opened quickly, and Lucille appeared on the +threshold, very pale, and with that troubled look in +her face which Lucius had seen at parting with her +the night before.</p> + +<p>‘What is the matter?’ she asked anxiously, +‘what are you talking so loud about, Wincher?’ She +took Lucius’s offered hand absently, hardly looking at +him, and evidently disturbed by some apprehension of +evil.</p> + +<p>‘Nothink pertiklar, Miss Lucille,’ replied Mrs. +Wincher, tossing her head; ‘only I’m not a stone, +and when people throws out their insinuventions at +me I feels it. As if me or my good gentleman was +capable of making away with the bricklebrack.’</p> + +<p>‘What do you mean, Wincher?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> + +<p>‘Ask him,’ said Mrs. Wincher, pointing to Lucius; +‘I suppose he knows what he means hisself, +but I’m sure I don’t;’ with which remark the matron +withdrew to the back premises to resume her blacklead +brush.</p> + +<p>‘What have you been saying to offend Mrs. Wincher, +Lucius?’ asked Lucille.</p> + +<p>‘Not much, dearest, but if you’ll listen to me for +a few minutes I’ll endeavour to explain.’</p> + +<p>He followed her into the parlour and shut the +door.</p> + +<p>‘Why, Lucille,’ he said, drawing her towards the +window, and looking at the pale thoughtful face, ‘how +ill you look!’</p> + +<p>‘I am anxious about my grandfather,’ she said +hurriedly. ‘Never mind my looks, Lucius; only +contrive to cure him, and I daresay I shall soon be +quite well again.’</p> + +<p>‘But you have no right to be anxious, Lucille,’ +he answered; ‘can you not trust me? Do you not +believe that I shall do all that care and skill can do, +and that, if at any moment I see reason to doubt my +own power to deal with this case, I shall call in some +famous doctor to aid me?’</p> + +<p>‘I believe you will do all that is wise and right; +but still I cannot help feeling anxious. Do not take<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> +any notice of me. I pray Heaven that all may come +right in time.’</p> + +<p>She said this with a weary air, as if almost worn +out with care. It seemed cruel to trouble her at +such a time, and yet Lucius could not refrain from +some endeavour to solve the mystery of that scene +last night.</p> + +<p>‘Lucille,’ he began seriously, ‘you must promise +not to be angry with me, nor to be alarmed by anything +I may say.’</p> + +<p>‘I can’t promise that,’ she said, with a shade of +impatience; not quite the old sweetness that had +charmed and won him; ‘you are full of strange fancies +and terrors. What was that you were saying to Mrs. +Wincher just now?’</p> + +<p>‘I was only hinting at a suspicion that has become +almost a certainty. There is something wrong +going on in this house, Lucille.’</p> + +<p>She started, and the pale face grew a shade paler.</p> + +<p>‘What do you mean? What can be wrong?’</p> + +<p>‘There is foul play of some kind, a design against +the property contained in this house. No doubt the +report of its value has spread by this time; the house +is known to be almost unoccupied. What more likely +than that some one should attempt to plunder your +grandfather’s possessions? What more easy, above<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> +all, if any one inside the house turned traitor and +opened the door, in the dead of the night, to the intruder?’</p> + +<p>‘Lucius!’</p> + +<p>The name broke from her lips almost in a scream, +and it seemed as if Lucille would have dropped to the +ground but for her lover’s supporting arm.</p> + +<p>‘Lucille, is it worthy of you to be so terrorstricken? +If there is danger to be met, can we not +meet it together? Only trust me, darling, and all +your fears will vanish. Believe me, I am strong +enough to face any peril, if I have but your confidence. +Accident has put me in possession of a +secret connected with this house. Heaven knows +what might have happened but for that providential +discovery. But knowledge is power, and once aware +of the danger, I shall find out how to cope with it.’</p> + +<p>‘A discovery!’ she repeated with the same terrorstricken +look. ‘What discovery?’</p> + +<p>‘First, that the people you trust, these Winchers, +whose fidelity has stood the test of five-and-twenty-years’ +service, are improving their first opportunity +to cheat. They are taking advantage of your grandfather’s +helplessness. A man was admitted into this +house secretly at one o’clock this morning.’</p> + +<p>‘What folly!’ cried Lucille with a faint laugh.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> +‘What could have put such a delusion into your +head? A man admitted to this house at one o’clock +this morning! Even if such a thing could have happened, +which of course is impossible, who could have +informed you of the fact?’</p> + +<p>‘My own eyes, which saw him clamber from the +barges to the garden-wall, saw the gleam of a candle +as a door was opened to admit him, saw a light burning +in one of the upper windows—evidently a signal.’</p> + +<p>‘<em>You</em> saw?’ cried Lucille with widely-opened eyes. +‘How could you see? What could have taken you +to the back of this house in the middle of the night?’</p> + +<p>‘Accident,’ answered Lucius, ‘or say rather Providence. +I was out of spirits when I left you last +night—your own manner, so unlike its usual kindness, +disturbed me, and I had other agitating thoughts. +I walked a long way down the Shadrack-road, and +then returned by a back way, which brought me to +the spelter-wharf opposite the garden. There the +light in the upper story attracted my attention. I +had heard from you that those upper rooms were +never occupied. I waited, watched, and saw what I +have just described.’</p> + +<p>‘I would sooner believe it a delusion of your +senses than the Winchers could be capable of treachery,’ +said Lucille.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> + +<p>‘Do not talk any more about my senses deceiving +me,’ replied Lucius decisively. ‘You told me +I was the fool of my own senses when I saw some +one open the door of one of the upper rooms, and +then hurriedly shut it. Now I am certain that I +was not deceived—there was some one hidden in +that room. Remember, Lucille, I say again there +is no cause for fear. But there is foul play of some +kind, and it is our business to fathom it. We are +not children, to leave ourselves at the mercy of any +scoundrel who chooses to plunder or assail us. I +shall bring a policeman to watch in this house to-night, +and set another to watch the outside.’</p> + +<p>The slender figure which his arm had until now +sustained slipped suddenly from his hold, and Lucille +sank unconscious to the ground.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br> +<span class="fs70">THE PLUNDER OF THE MUNIMENT CHEST.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> sight of the girl he fondly loved lying senseless +at his feet, with a white face and closed eyelids, filled +Lucius Davoren with unspeakable agony and remorse. +How little had he calculated the effect of his words +upon this too-sensitive nature! To him the danger +involved in the plot which he suspected was but a +small thing—a difficulty to be met and grappled with. +That was all. But to this inexperienced girl the +thought of a midnight intruder, of a stranger’s secret +entrance into the house, with the connivance of its +treacherous inmates, was doubtless appalling.</p> + +<p>Could he despise his betrothed for her want of +courage? No! His first thought was professional. +This sudden fainting fit was no doubt the evidence +of weakened health. Days of patient attendance upon +the invalid, nights rendered sleepless by anxiety, had +done their work. Lucille’s strength had given way—that +change in her appearance and manner which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> +had so much disturbed him was but one of the indications +of broken health. And he, who loved her +better than life itself, felt himself guilty of cruel +neglect in not having ere this discovered the truth. +That gentle self-sacrificing spirit was stronger than +the fragile frame which was its earthly temple.</p> + +<p>He lifted her from the ground, placed her in Mr. +Sivewright’s easy-chair by the open window, and then +rang the bell loudly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher came, but entered the room with +head flung back, and a lofty air, which might have +become Queen Eleanor in the presence of Fair Rosamond. +At sight of her unconscious mistress, however, +Mrs. Wincher gave a piteous scream, and flew +to her side.</p> + +<p>‘Whatever have you been and gone and said to +this poor dear,’ she exclaimed indignantly, flinging a +scornful glance at Lucius, ‘to make her faint dead +off like that? I suppose you’ve been accusing <em>her</em> +of robbing her grandfather. I’m sure it wouldn’t +surprise me if you had.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be angry, Mrs. Wincher,’ said Lucius; +‘but bring me some cold water directly, and a little +brandy.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher, alarmed for the safety of her mistress, +flew to fetch these restoratives, but obeyed Mr.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> +Davoren as it were, under protest, in his professional +capacity.</p> + +<p>A little care restored Lucille to consciousness, +but even after she had recovered from her swoon, +she seemed strangely shaken, and looked at her +lover with an expression full of vague fear.</p> + +<p>He began to reproach her, with infinite tenderness, +for her neglect of her own health.</p> + +<p>‘You have been doing too much, darling,’ he +said, kissing the pale forehead that rested on his +shoulder, ‘and I have been guilty of shameful neglect +in allowing you to endanger your health. And +now, dear, you must obey orders. You must go +straight up to your room and let Wincher help you +to bed, and lie there quietly all day long, and be +fed with beef-tea and good old port until the colour +comes back to those poor pale cheeks.’</p> + +<p>Lucille persistently refused compliance with these +injunctions.</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, indeed, Lucius, there is nothing the +matter with me,’ she said earnestly.</p> + +<p>‘Nothing the matter when you fainted just now—a +sure sign of extreme weakness—especially in one +not accustomed to fainting?’</p> + +<p>‘O, that was nothing. You frightened me so +with your suggestions of danger.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p> + +<p>‘Do not be afraid any longer, dearest; there is +no danger that can assail you, except the danger of +your ruining your health by refusing to be guided by +my advice. You want rest, and ought to endeavour +to get several hours’ good sleep.’</p> + +<p>‘It wouldn’t be the least use for me to try to go +to sleep before night,’ she said; ‘my mind is much +too active for that. I’ll obey you in anything else +you like, Lucius, but don’t ask me to lie down in my +room to-day. I should worry myself into a fever.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well,’ replied Lucius, with a sigh; ‘I won’t +insist upon anything you object to. You can rest in +this room. If I find your grandfather no better this +morning I shall bring in a nurse.’</p> + +<p>‘O, please don’t.’</p> + +<p>‘Nonsense, Lucille. I am not going to allow your +life to be sacrificed to your mistaken notion of duty. +Some one must nurse Mr. Sivewright, and that some +one must not be you.’</p> + +<p>‘Let it be Mrs. Wincher, then.’</p> + +<p>‘No; I have not too high an opinion of these +faithful Winchers. I shall bring in a woman upon +whom I can rely.’</p> + +<p>Lucille looked at him with that strange scared +expression he had seen so often of late, and then said +with some bitterness:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> + +<p>‘It seems to me that you are master in this +house, Lucius, so I suppose you must do as you +please.’</p> + +<p>‘I only constitute myself master here when I see +peril,’ he replied calmly; ‘and now, Lucille, try to +obey me in some small measure at least. Let Mrs. +Wincher bring a sofa of some kind to this room, and +lie down and try to sleep. I will send you a tonic as +soon as I get home. Good-bye.’</p> + +<p>He bent down to kiss her as she sat in the armchair, +where he had placed her, too weak to rise.</p> + +<p>‘Shall you come here again this evening?’ she +asked.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; your grandfather wants to talk to me +about something, and I daresay I shall be an hour or +so with him in the evening. After that I shall have +something to tell you, Lucille, if you are well enough +to hear it. Something pleasant.’</p> + +<p>‘You are not going to frighten me any more, I +hope,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘No, darling, I will never again frighten you.’</p> + +<p>‘I daresay you despise me for my cowardice.’</p> + +<p>‘Despise you, Lucille? No, I only regard this +nervous terror as a sign of weakened health. I am +very sure it is not natural to you to be wanting in +courage.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> + +<p>‘No,’ she answered, with a faint sigh, ‘it is not +natural to me.’</p> + +<p>She turned her face away from him, and tears fell +slowly from the sad eyes, as she faltered a faint good-bye +in response to his tender leave-taking.</p> + +<p>‘O, merciful God,’ she ejaculated, when the door +had closed behind her lover, ‘Thou who knowest the +weight of my burden, help me to bear it patiently.’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Lucius found no improvement in his patient—retrogression +rather. But this might be fairly accounted +for by Mr. Sivewright’s excitement of the +night before.</p> + +<p>‘I did very wrong to let you talk so much,’ said +Lucius; ‘you are more feverish than usual this morning.’</p> + +<p>‘I am altogether worse,’ answered the old man +fretfully.</p> + +<p>Then came a detailed account of his aches and +pains. There were symptoms that puzzled the surgeon, +despite his wide experience, and much wider +study.</p> + +<p>‘Let me bring a physician to see you this afternoon,’ +said Lucius; ‘there is something in this case +which I hardly feel myself strong enough to cope +with.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p> + +<p>‘No,’ answered the patient doggedly; ‘I told you +I would have no stranger come to stare at me. Cure +me if you can, and if you can’t, leave it alone. I +have little faith in medicine. I contrived to live sixty-five +years without it, and the experience I have had +of it in the sixty-sixth year has not been calculated to +strengthen my belief in its efficacy.’</p> + +<p>‘Did you finish that last bottle of medicine?’</p> + +<p>‘No, there is a dose left.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I’ll take the bottle home with me,’ said +Lucius, selecting the bottle from among two or three +empty phials on the mantelshelf, ‘and make another +change in your medicine.’</p> + +<p>‘It seems to me that you chop and change a good +deal,’ said the patient testily. ‘But why take that +bottle? You must know what you gave me.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not quite clear about it,’ answered Lucius, +after a moment’s hesitation; ‘I may as well put the +bottle in my pocket.’</p> + +<p>‘Do as you like. But don’t forget that I want an +hour’s talk with you this evening.’</p> + +<p>‘You had better defer that till you are stronger.</p> + +<p>‘That time may never come. No, I will defer nothing. +What I have to say to you is of no small +importance. It concerns your own interests, and I +recommend you to hear it to-night.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> + +<p>‘I cannot consent to discuss any subject which +may agitate you as you were agitated last night,’ said +Lucius firmly.</p> + +<p>‘This other subject will not agitate me. I can +promise that.’</p> + +<p>‘On that condition I will hear whatever you may +have to say.’</p> + +<p>‘Good. You will find it to your own advantage +to obey me. Be with me at the same hour as you +were last night.’</p> + +<p>‘I will. But as you are a trifle weaker to-day +than you were yesterday, I should recommend you +not to get up, except for an hour in the middle of +the day, while your bed is being made.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well.’</p> + +<p>Lucius left him, and in the corridor found himself +face to face with Mrs. Wincher.</p> + +<p>‘She has been listening, I daresay,’ he thought, +having made up his mind that these Winchers were +of the scorpion breed, and their long years of fidelity +only a sham. ‘After all, dishonesty is only a matter +of opportunity, and the domestic traitor must bide +his time to betray.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher’s manner and bearing were curiously +changed since Lucius had last seen her. She +no longer flung her head aloft; she no longer regarded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> +him with looks of scorn. Her present air +was that of extreme meekness; he thought he beheld +traces of shame and contrition in her visage.</p> + +<p>‘How do you find master this morning, sir?’ she +asked.</p> + +<p>‘Worse,’ Lucius answered shortly.</p> + +<p>‘Dear, dear! that’s bad! And I’m sure it isn’t +for want of care. I’m sure the beef-tea that I gave +him used to be a jelly—that firm as you could cut +it with a knife—though Miss Lucille did take the +making of it out of my hands.’</p> + +<p>‘Miss Sivewright is naturally anxious about her +grandfather,’ answered Lucius coldly, ‘and I am +very anxious too.’</p> + +<p>He was about to pass Mrs. Wincher, without +farther parley, when she stopped him.</p> + +<p>‘O, if you please, Dr. Davory,’ she said meekly, +‘would you be kind enough to let my good gentleman +have a few words with you? The fact is, he’s +got somethink on his mind, and he’d feel more comfortable +if he ast your advice. I didn’t know nothink +about it till five minutes ago, though I could see at +breakfast-time as he was low-spirited and had no +happetite for his resher; but I thought that was +along of master being so bad. Howsumdever, five +minutes ago he ups and tells me all about it, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> +says he, “If I tell Dr. Davory, I shall feel more +comfortable like,” he says. So I says I’d ast you +to have a few words with him.’</p> + +<p>‘Where is he?’ asked Lucius, his suspicions increased +by this singular application.</p> + +<p>‘In the room where the bricklebrack is kep’,’ +answered Mrs. Wincher. ‘He’s been dustin’ as +usual, and he said he’d take the liberty to wait there +for you.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well; I’ll go and hear what he has to +say.’</p> + +<p>Lucius went down-stairs to the large room with +its multifarious contents—the room which held the +chief part of Mr. Sivewright’s collection.</p> + +<p>Here he found Mr. Wincher, moving about feebly +with a dusting brush in his hand.</p> + +<p>‘Well, Mr. Wincher, what’s the matter with you +this morning?’ asked Lucius. ‘Do you want to consult +me professionally?’</p> + +<p>‘No, sir. It isn’t anything that way,’ answered +the old man, who was somewhat his wife’s superior +in education, but infinitely less able to hold his own +conversationally, such intellectual powers as he may +have originally possessed having run to seed during +his long dull life, and the only remaining brightness +being that feeble glimmer which still illumined the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> +regions of art. He would swear to an old master’s +handling—could tell a Memling from a Van Eyck—or +an Ostade from a Jan Steen—knew every mark to +be found on old china or delf, from the earliest specimens +of Rouen ware to the latest marvels of Sèvres, +from the clumsiest example of Battersea to the richest +purple and gilding of Worcester. But beyond the +realms of art the flame of Jacob Wincher’s intellect +was dim as a farthing rushlight.</p> + +<p>‘I’ve had a shock this morning, sir,’ he said.</p> + +<p>‘Some kind of fit, do you mean?’ asked Lucius. +‘You said you didn’t want to consult me professionally.’</p> + +<p>‘No more I do, sir. The shock I’m talking +about wasn’t bodily, but mental. I’ve made a dreadful +discovery, Mr. Davoren. This house has been +robbed.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m not surprised to hear it,’ said Lucius sternly.</p> + +<p>He thought he saw which way matters were drifting. +This old man was cunning enough to be the +first to give the alarm. Lucius’s incautious remarks +to Mrs. Wincher had put her husband upon his guard, +and he was now going to play the comedy of innocence.</p> + +<p>‘Not surprised to hear it, sir?’ he echoed, staring +aghast at Lucius.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> + +<p>‘No, Mr. Wincher. And I am sure that no one +knows more about it than you do.’</p> + +<p>‘Lord save us, sir! what do you mean?’</p> + +<p>‘Let me hear your story, sir,’ answered Lucius, +‘and then I’ll tell you what I mean.’</p> + +<p>‘But for Heaven’s sake, Mr. Davoren, tell me you +don’t suspect me of any hand in the robbery!’ cried +the old man piteously—‘I, that have lived five-and-twenty +years with Mr. Sivewright, and had the care +of everything that belonged to him all that time!’</p> + +<p>‘A man may wait five-and-twenty years for a good +opportunity,’ said Lucius coolly. ‘Don’t trouble +yourself to be tragical, Mr. Wincher, but say what +you have to say, and be quick about it. I tell you +again that I am in no manner surprised to hear this +house has been robbed. It was no doubt robbed last +night, and perhaps many nights before. But I tell you +frankly, that I intend to take measures to prevent +this house being robbed again; even if those measures +should include putting you and your good lady +upon the outside of it.’</p> + +<p>‘Lord have mercy upon us!’ cried Jacob Wincher, +wringing his hands. ‘You are a great deal too hard +upon me, sir. You’ll be sorry for it when you find +out how unjust you’ve been.’</p> + +<p>‘I promise to be sorry,’ answered Lucius, ‘when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> +I <em>do</em> make that discovery. Now, Mr. Wincher, be +explicit, if you please.’</p> + +<p>But Jacob Wincher declared that he was all of a +tremble, and had to sit down upon an ancient choirstall, +and wipe the perspiration from his forehead +before he was able to proceed.</p> + +<p>Lucius waited patiently for the old man to recover +his self-possession, but in no manner relaxed the severity +of his countenance. In all this agitation, in +this pretended desire to confide in him, he saw only +a clever piece of acting.</p> + +<p>‘Well, Mr. Wincher,’ he said, as the old servant +mopped his forehead with a blue cotton handkerchief, +‘how about this robbery?’</p> + +<p>‘I’m coming to it, sir. But you’ve given me +such a turn with what you said just now. God knows +how cruel and how uncalled for those words of yours +were.’</p> + +<p>‘Pray proceed, Mr. Wincher.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, sir, you must know there’s a deal of property +about this place, perhaps a good deal more than +you’ve ever seen, though our old master seemed to +take to you from the first, and has been more confidential +with you than he ever was with any one else. +Now there’s a good deal of the property that isn’t +portable, and there’s some that is—china, for instance;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> +little bits of tea-cups and saucers that are worth +more than you’d be willing to believe; and silver—’</p> + +<p>‘Silver!’ exclaimed Lucius, astonished.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir. You didn’t know of that, perhaps. +Among the things master collected after he retired +from business—and he was always collecting something, +as long as he could get about among the brokers, +and in all the courts and alleys in London—there was +a good bit of old silver. Five Queen Anne teapots; +three Oliver Cromwell tankards, not very much to look +at unless you were up to that sort of thing, but worth +their weight in gold, Mr. Sivewright used to say to +me. “I wish I was rich enough to do more in old +silver,” he has said many a time. “There’s nothing +like it. Collectors are waking up to the value of it, +and before many years are over old silver will be almost +as precious as diamonds.” He picked up a good +many nice little bits first and last, through rummaging +about among old chaps that dealt in second-hand +stuff of that sort, and didn’t trouble to ask any awkward +questions of the people that brought ’em the +goods; picked up things that would have gone into +the melting-pot very likely, if his eye hadn’t been +quick enough to see their value. One day he’d bring +home a set of spindle-legged saltcellars; another +time a battered old rosewater dish. Once he bought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> +a “monstrance” which had been used upon some cathedral +altar, once upon a time—solid gold set with +rubies and emeralds. “The fool that I bought it +from took it for ormolu,” he said.’</p> + +<p>‘And these are the things that are gone, I suppose,’ +said Lucius, somewhat puzzled by the old man’s loquacity. +Why should Wincher inform him of the existence +of these things if he were an accomplice of +the thief? Yet this seeming candour was doubtless +a part of the traitor’s scheme.</p> + +<p>‘Every one of ’em, sir. There’s been a clean +sweep made of ’em. But how any thief could find +out where they were kept is more than I can fathom. +It’s too much for my poor old brains.’</p> + +<p>‘The thief was well informed, depend upon it, Mr. +Wincher,’ answered Lucius. ‘And pray, whereabouts +did you keep this old silver?’</p> + +<p>‘Would you like to see, sir?’</p> + +<p>‘I should.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll show you the place, then.’</p> + +<p>Jacob Wincher led the way to the extreme end +of the repository, where behind a tall screen of old +oak panelling there was a massive muniment chest +furnished with a lock which seemed calculated to +defy the whole race of burglars and pick-locks.</p> + +<p>The old servant took a key from his pocket—a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> +small key, for the lock was of modern make—unlocked +and opened the chest. There was nothing +in it except an old damask curtain.</p> + +<p>‘The silver was rolled up in that curtain,’ said +Jacob Wincher, taking up the curtain and shaking +it vigorously, as if with some faint hope that the +Queen Anne teapots would fall out of its folds, like +the rabbits or live pigeons in a conjurer’s trick. +‘The iron safe was a landlord’s fixture in Bond-street, +and we were obliged to leave it behind us, so +this chest was the safest place I could find to put +the silver in; in fact, master told me to put it there.’</p> + +<p>‘I see,’ thought Lucius; ‘the old scoundrel is +telling me this story in advance of the time when +his master will inevitably ask for the silver. This +seeming candour is the depth of hypocrisy.’</p> + +<p>Jacob Wincher stood staring at the empty chest +in apathetic hopelessness, feebly rubbing his chin, +whereon some grizzled tufts lingered.</p> + +<p>‘Do you mean to tell me,’ said Lucius, ‘that this +chest was locked, and that you had the key of it in +your pocket, at the time of the robbery?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir. The chest has never been left unlocked +for five minutes since that silver has been +in my care; and I have never slept without this key +being under my pillow.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>‘And you would have me believe that a stranger +could hit upon the precise spot where the silver was +kept, amidst this inextricable tangle of property, open +the box without doing any damage to the lock, and +walk off with his booty without your knowing anything +of his entrance or exit?’</p> + +<p>‘It seems strange, doesn’t it, Mr. Davoren?’</p> + +<p>‘It seems more than strange, Mr. Wincher. It +seems—and it is—incredible.’</p> + +<p>‘And yet, sir, the thing has been done. The +question is, was it done by a stranger?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, Mr. Wincher, that is the question; and +it is a question which, to my mind, suggests only +one answer.’</p> + +<p>‘You mean that I am telling you lies, sir? that +it was my hand which stole those things?’ cried the +old man.</p> + +<p>‘To be plain with you, that is precisely my idea.’</p> + +<p>‘You are doing me a great wrong, sir. I have +served my master faithfully for so many years that +I ought to be above suspicion. I have not much +longer to remain in this world, and I would rather +die of want to-morrow than lengthen my days by a +dishonest action. However, if you choose to suspect +me, there is an end of the matter, and it is useless +for me to say any more.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> + +<p>There was a quiet dignity about the old man’s air +as he said this that impressed Lucius. Was it not +just possible that he had done wrong in jumping at +conclusions about these Winchers? The police, who +are apt to jump at conclusions, are just as apt to be +wrong. But if these people were not guilty, who +else could have opened the door to that midnight +intruder? There was no one else.</p> + +<p>‘Come, Mr. Wincher,’ he said, ‘I have good +reason for my suspicion. I saw a man admitted +into this house, by one of the back doors, between +one and two o’clock this morning. You, or your +wife, must have opened the door to that man.’</p> + +<p>‘As there is a heaven above us, sir, I never +stirred from my bed after half-past eleven o’clock +last night.’</p> + +<p>‘Your wife must have admitted him, then.’</p> + +<p>‘Impossible, sir!’</p> + +<p>‘I tell you I saw the man creep from the barges +to the garden; I saw the door opened,’ said Lucius; +and then went on to describe that midnight watch of +his minutely.</p> + +<p>The old man stared at him in sheer bewilderment.</p> + +<p>‘A stranger admitted!’ he repeated. ‘But by +whom? by whom?’</p> + +<p>‘Had I not seen the light as the door opened, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> +might have thought that the man opened the door +for himself,’ said Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘That would have been equally impossible. I +looked to all the fastenings myself the last thing. +The doors were locked and barred, and those old-fashioned +iron bars are no trifling defence.’</p> + +<p>Lucius, too, was bewildered. Could Mr. Sivewright +himself have disposed of this property? In +so eccentric a man nothing need be surprising. Could +he have crept down-stairs in the dead of the night to +admit some dealer, disposed of his property, dismissed +the man, and crept stealthily back to his bed? +No, that was too wild a fancy. Despite of his eccentricities, +Mr. Sivewright had plenty of common sense, +and such a proceeding as that would have been the +act of a madman.</p> + +<p>‘Supposing any stranger to have obtained admittance +to the house,’ said Lucius, after an interval of +perplexed thought, ‘how could he have opened that +chest without your key?’</p> + +<p>‘A stranger could not possibly have done it,’ said +Wincher, with a stress upon the word ‘stranger.’</p> + +<p>‘Who else, then?’</p> + +<p>‘There is one who could have opened that chest +easy enough, or any other lock in the place, supposing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> +him to be alive; but I make no doubt he’s dead +and gone ever so long ago.’</p> + +<p>‘Whom do you mean?’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Ferdinand, my master’s son.’</p> + +<p>Lucius gave a slight start at the sound of that +unwelcome name, of all sounds the most hateful to +his ear. ‘Then he—Ferdinand Sivewright—had a +duplicate key, I suppose?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, of most things about the place in Bond-street, +except the iron safe: he never could get at +that till he drugged his father, and stole the key out +of his pocket while he was asleep. But other things, +that were pretty easy to get at, he did get at, and +robbed his father up hill and down dale, as the saying +is. O, he was a thorough-paced scoundrel, +though I’m sorry to say it, as he was our young +missy’s father.’</p> + +<p>‘He had a duplicate key to that chest, you say?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes. He was that artful there was no being up +to him. We used to keep old china in that chest—Battersea +and Chelsea and Worcester and Derby—valuable +little bits of the English school, which fetch +higher prices than anything foreign nowadays. All +of a sudden, soon after he came to be partner with +his father—for the old man doated upon him, and +would have made any sacrifice to please him—I found<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> +out that the specimens in the muniment chest were +dwindling somehow. One day I missed a cup and +saucer, and another day a soup-basin and cover, +and so on. At first I thought I must be mistaken—my +own catalogue was wrong, perhaps—but +by and by I saw the things visibly melting, as you +may say, and I told my master. He told Mr. Ferdinand +about it; but bless your heart, Mr. Ferdinand +brings out the day-book with the sale of those very +goods entered as neatly as possible, some under one +date, and some under another. “I never remember +taking the money for those things, Ferdinand,” said +my master; but Mr. Ferdinand stood him out that +he’d had the money all correct, and master believed +him, or pretended to believe him, I hardly know +which. And so things went on. Sometimes it was +in small things, sometimes in large; but in every +way that a son could plunder his father, Ferdinand +Sivewright plundered my master. It was quite by +accident I found out about his having the duplicate +key. He came to the desk where I was writing one +day and asked me to give him change for a sovereign, +and in taking the money out of his waistcoat-pocket +in his quick impatient way he tumbles out a lot of +other things—a pencil-case, a penknife, and a key. +I knew that key at a glance; it’s a peculiar-looking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> +one, as you see. “That’s a curious little key, Mr. +Ferdinand,” said I, picking it up and looking at it +before he could stop me. “Yes,” he said, taking it +out of my hand before I’d had time to examine it very +closely, and putting it back in his pocket, “it’s a key +that belonged to my poor mother’s jewel-case. No +use to me; but I keep it for her sake.” Well, sir, I +told Mr. Sivewright about that key, but he only sighed +in that downhearted way which was common enough +with him in those days. He didn’t seem surprised, +and indeed I think he’d come to know his son’s ways +pretty well by this time. “Say nothing about it, +Wincher,” he said to me, “you may be mistaken after +all. In any case you needn’t keep anything valuable +in the chest in future. If my only son is a thief, we +won’t put temptation in his way.”’</p> + +<p>‘Hard upon the father,’ said Lucius. ‘But this +throws no light upon the disappearance of those things. +What do you consider their value?’</p> + +<p>‘As old silver the plate may be worth about forty +pounds, as specimens of art at least three hundred. +The monstrance is worth much more.’</p> + +<p>‘Humph, and I suppose a thief would be likely to +sell them immediately as old silver.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; unless he were a very artful dodger, and +knew where to find a good market for them, he’d be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> +likely to sell them without an hour’s delay to be +melted down.’</p> + +<p>‘When did you last see the things safe in that +chest?’ asked Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘About ten days ago. I haven’t much to do, you +see, sir, except grub about amongst the collection; +and I’m in the habit of looking over the things pretty +often, and comparing them with my catalogue, to see +that all’s right.’</p> + +<p>‘And you never missed anything before?’</p> + +<p>‘Never so much as a cracked tea-cup among what +I call the rubbishing lots. Heaven only knows how +that chest could have been emptied. Even if Ferdinand +Sivewright were in the land of the living, which +is hardly likely—for if he’d been alive he’d have come +and tried to get money out of his poor old father before +this—he couldn’t get into this house unless some +one let him in.’</p> + +<p>‘No, not unless some one let him in,’ repeated +Lucius thoughtfully. He had begun to think Jacob +Wincher was perhaps, after all, an honest man. But +to believe this was to make the mystery darker than +the darkest night. His ideas were all at sea, drifting +which way he knew not.</p> + +<p>‘Ferdinand Sivewright is dead,’ he said presently. +‘He will never trouble his father again.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span></p> + +<p>‘How do you know that, sir?’ asked Wincher +eagerly.</p> + +<p>‘Never mind how. I do know it, and that is +enough. Now, Wincher, there’s no use in talking of +this business any more, except in a practical manner. +If you’re as innocent of any hand in the robbery as +you pretend to be, you won’t shrink from inquiry.’</p> + +<p>‘I do not shrink from inquiry, sir. If I did I +shouldn’t have told you of the robbery.’</p> + +<p>‘That might be a profound artifice, since the disappearance +of these things must have been found out +sooner or later.’</p> + +<p>‘If I had been the thief I should have tried to +stave off the discovery as long as I could,’ answered +Jacob Wincher. ‘However, I don’t want to argue; +the truth is the truth, that is enough for me.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well, Mr. Wincher. What we have to do is +to try and recover these missing articles. Unless the +silver is melted down it ought to be easily traced. +And the monstrance would be still more easily traced, +I should think.’</p> + +<p>‘That would depend upon circumstances, sir. Depend +upon it, if the things were taken by a thief who +knows their value, and knows the best market for +them, he’ll send them abroad.’</p> + +<p>‘They may be traced even abroad. What we have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> +to do is to put the case at once into the best hands. +I shall go straight from here to a detective officer, +whom I’ve had some dealings with already, and get +his advice. Now, is there much more property amongst +the collection valuable enough to tempt a thief, and +sufficiently portable for him to carry away?’</p> + +<p>‘There is a great deal of china, small pieces, quite +as valuable as the silver—not, perhaps, quite so easy +to carry, but very nearly so.’</p> + +<p>‘Then we must have the inside of this house +guarded to-night.’</p> + +<p>‘I can sit up here all night and keep watch.’</p> + +<p>‘You would be no match for the thief, even if he +came alone, which we are not certain he would. No, +my dear Mr. Wincher, I will engage a properly qualified +watchman; but remember, not one word of this +to Miss Sivewright—or to your wife, who might be +tempted to tell her young mistress.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well, sir. I know how to hold my tongue. +I’d be the last to go and frighten missy. But how +about my old master? Is he to know?’</p> + +<p>‘Not on any account. In his present weak state +any violent agitation might be fatal, and we know that +collecting these things has been the ruling passion of +his life. To tell him that he is being robbed of these +things might be to give him his death-blow.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<p>‘Very well, sir. I’ll obey orders.’</p> + +<p>‘Good; and if I have wronged you, Mr. Wincher, +by a groundless suspicion, you must pardon me. +You will allow that appearances are somewhat against +you.’</p> + +<p>‘They are, sir, they are!’ answered the old man +despondently.</p> + +<p>‘However, time will show. I will send my watchman +in at dusk. You could let him in at the back +door, couldn’t you, without Miss Sivewright knowing +anything about it?’</p> + +<p>‘I could, sir. There’s a little door opening into +the brewhouse, which opens out of the boothouse, as +you may know.’</p> + +<p>‘No, indeed! I know there are a lot of outbuildings, +room enough to lodge a regiment; but I have +never taken any particular notice of them.’</p> + +<p>‘It’s a curious old place, Mr. Davoren, and goodness +knows what it could have been used for in days +gone by, unless it was for hiding folks away for no +good. Perhaps you’d like to see the door I mean.’</p> + +<p>‘I should,’ replied Lucius, ‘in order that I may +explain its situation to the policeman.’</p> + +<p>‘Come along with me then, sir, and I’ll show it +you.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.<br> +<span class="fs70">THE HIDDEN STAIRCASE.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Lucius</span> had a keen desire to explore those premises +at the back of Cedar House, with a vague notion that +his examination of them might throw some light +upon the mystery which now filled his mind.</p> + +<p>If these Winchers were indeed innocent, which +the old man’s manner and conduct inclined him to +believe they must be, who was the guilty one? In +that house—with the exception of its master, who in +his feebleness counted for nothing—there were but +three persons, Mr. and Mrs. Wincher and Lucille. +One of those three must have opened the door last +night; one of those three must have placed that +candle in the upper window—the candle which was +evidently meant for a signal.</p> + +<p>Lucille! Was reason deserting him? Was this +perplexity of mind verging upon madness, when <em>her</em> +name would suggest itself in connection with that +secret admittance of the stranger, and that theft<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span> +which was no doubt its direct consequence? Lucille, +that gentle and innocent girl! What had she +to do with the solution of this dark enigma?</p> + +<p>The mere thought of her in connection with this +nefarious business tortured him. Yet the idea, once +having occurred to him, was not easily to be dismissed.</p> + +<p>He remembered all the stories of secret crime +that he had heard and read of, some stories involving +creatures as seemingly innocent and as fair as +Lucille Sivewright. He recalled his own professional +experience, which had shown him much of +life’s darker side. He remembered with a shudder +the infinite hypocrisy, the hidden sins, of women in +all outward semblance as pure and womanly as the +girl he loved.</p> + +<p>What if Lucille inherited the fatal taint of her +father’s infamy? What if in this fair young girl +there lurked some hidden drops of that poison which +corrupted the parent’s soul? Could an evil tree +produce good fruit? Could grapes come of thistles? +The very Scripture was against his fond belief in +Lucille Sivewright’s goodness. Could such a father +give life to a pure and innocent child?</p> + +<p>This doubt, once having entered into his mind, +lingered there in spite of him. His heart was racked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> +by the odious thought, yet he could not dismiss it. +He followed Mr. Wincher to inspect the back part +of the house in a very absent-minded condition; but +the practical side of his character soon got the upper +hand as the investigation proceeded, and he was alert +to make any discovery that might be made from the +position of doors and windows.</p> + +<p>In his evening walks with Lucille in the barren +old garden he had always come out of the house by +a glass door opening out of a long-disused back parlour, +in which there were only a few wooden cases, +which might for aught Lucius knew be full or empty. +Jacob Wincher now led him into the kitchen, a spacious +chamber, with a barn-like roof open to the rafters, +showing the massive timbers with which the house +was built. From the kitchen they descended three +shallow steps into a vault-like scullery, out of which, +ghastly in their dark emptiness, opened various cellars. +Lucius peered into one of them, and saw +that a flight of steep stairs led down into a black +abyss.</p> + +<p>‘Bring a light,’ he said; ‘the man may be hiding +in one of these cellars. We’d better explore +them all. But first let us lock the doors, and cut +off his chances of escape.’</p> + +<p>He suited the action to the word, and locked the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> +door leading to the kitchen, and thence to the interior +of the house.</p> + +<p>‘Where do you and your wife sleep?’ he asked +Mr. Wincher.</p> + +<p>‘In a little room off the kitchen. It was built +for a storeroom, I believe, and there’s shelves all +round. My good lady keeps our Sunday clothes on +them, and our little bit of tea and sugar and such-like, +for we board ourselves.’</p> + +<p>‘One would think you must hear any one passing +through the kitchen at night, when the house is +quiet,’ said Lucius meditatively.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t feel so sure of that, sir. We’re pretty +hard sleepers both of us; we’re on the trot all day, +you see, and are very near worn out by the time we +get to bed.’</p> + +<p>‘Strange,’ said Lucius. ‘I should have thought +you must have heard footsteps in the next room to +that you sleep in.’</p> + +<p>Jacob Wincher made no farther attempt to justify +his hard sleeping, but led the way to the boothouse, +a small and darksome chamber, chiefly tenanted by +members of the beetle tribe, who apparently found +sufficient aliment in the loose plaster that fell from +the mildew-stained walls. Thence they proceeded to +the brewery, which was almost as large as the kitchen,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> +and boasted a huge copper, and a still huger chimney-shaft +open to the sky. There were three doors in this +place—one narrow and low, opening to an obscure +corner of the garden; a second belonging to a spacious +cupboard, which may have been used for wood +in days gone by; and the third a mysterious little +door in an angle.</p> + +<p>‘What does that belong to?’ asked Lucius, +pointing to this unknown door, after examining the +one leading to the garden, which was securely locked +and barred, and, according to Mr. Wincher’s account, +was very rarely unfastened. ‘That door yonder in +the corner,’ he asked again, as the old man hesitated. +‘Where does that lead?’</p> + +<p>‘I can’t say as I know very well,’ answered Jacob +Wincher dubiously. ‘There’s a kind of a staircase +leads up somewhere—to a loft, I suppose.’</p> + +<p>‘Why, man alive,’ cried Lucius, ‘do you mean +to tell me that you have lived all these years in this +house and that there is a staircase in it which leads +you don’t know where?’</p> + +<p>‘You can’t hardly call it a staircase, sir,’ answered +the other apologetically; ‘it’s very little more +than a ladder.’</p> + +<p>‘Ladder or staircase, you mean to say you don’t +know where it leads?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> + +<p>‘No, sir. I’m not particular strong in my legs, +and there’s a great deal more room than we want in +this house without poking into holes and corners; +so I never troubled about it.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, Mr. Wincher; now I am more curious +than you, and I propose that before examining the +cellars we find out where this staircase leads.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m agreeable, sir.’</p> + +<p>‘You talk about a loft; but the roof of this +brewhouse shows that there can be nothing above +it.’</p> + +<p>‘Very true, sir.’</p> + +<p>‘And the kitchen is built in the same way?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir. But there’s the boothouse. I took +it for granted that staircase led to a loft or a garret +over that.’</p> + +<p>‘Can you see nothing from outside?’</p> + +<p>‘Nothing, except the sloping roof.’</p> + +<p>Lucius opened the door in the angle, and beheld +a curious cramped little staircase, which, as Jacob +Wincher had told him, was verily little better than +a ladder. It was by no means an inviting staircase, +bearing upon it the dust and cobwebs of ages, and +leading to profound darkness. To the timid mind it +was eminently suggestive of vermin and noxious insects. +But Lucius, who was determined to discover<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> +the ins and outs of this curious old house, ascended +the feeble creaking steps boldly enough.</p> + +<p>The stairs were steep, but not many. On reaching +the topmost, Lucius found himself, not in a room +as he had expected, but in a passage so narrow that +his coatsleeves brushed against the wall on either +side. This passage was perfectly dark, and had a +damp mouldy odour. It was low, for he could touch +the roughly-plastered ceiling with his hand. He +went on, treading cautiously, lest he should come +to a gap in the rotten flooring, which might precipitate +him incontinently to the lowest depth of +some dark cellar. The passage was long; he stumbled +presently against a step, mounted three or four +stairs, and went on some few yards farther on the +higher level, and then found himself at the foot of +another staircase, which, unlike the one below, wound +upwards in spiral fashion, and demanded extreme +caution from the stranger who trod its precipitous +steps.</p> + +<p>This Lucius mounted slowly, feeling his way. +After the first step or two he saw a faint glimmer +of light, which seemed to creep in at some chink +above. This got stronger as he ascended, and presently +he perceived that it came from a crack in a +panelled wall. Another step brought him to a small<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> +chamber, not much larger than a roomy closet. He +felt the wall that faced him, and discovered bolts, +which seemed to fasten a door, or it might be a sliding +panel in the wall.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had he done this when he was startled +by a sound which was very familiar to him—Mr. +Sivewright’s sharp short cough.</p> + +<p>He drew back amazed. This secret staircase—or +if not exactly a secret staircase, at least one which +nobody had taken the trouble to explore—had led +him directly to Mr. Sivewright’s room.</p> + +<p>He waited for a few minutes, heard the old man +sigh as he turned wearily in his bed, heard the +crackle of a newspaper presently as he turned the +leaf, and convinced himself of the fact that this +closet communicated with Homer Sivewright’s room. +Whether its existence were known to Mr. Sivewright +or not was a question which he must settle for himself +as best he might.</p> + +<p>He went back as noiselessly as he had come, and +found Jacob Wincher waiting in the brewhouse, patiently +seated upon a three-legged stool.</p> + +<p>‘Well, sir, you didn’t find much, I suppose, to +compensate for having made such a figure of your +coat with plaster and cobwebs—only rubbish and +such-like, I suppose?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> + +<p>‘My good Mr. Wincher, I found positively nothing,’ +answered Lucius. ‘But I extended my knowledge +of the topography of this queer old house, and +in doing that recompensed myself for my trouble. +Yes,’ he added, glancing disconsolately at his coat, +‘the whitewash has not improved my appearance; +and the cost of a coat is still a matter of importance +to me. Now for the cellars. You are sure all means +of exit are cut off?’</p> + +<p>‘Quite sure, sir.’</p> + +<p>‘Then we may find our thief snugly stowed away +underground perhaps, with the booty upon him. +Come along.’</p> + +<p>They groped their way into the various cellars +by the light of a candle, and examined their emptiness. +Two out of the four had contained coals, but +were now disused. The small quantities of coal +which Mr. Sivewright afforded for his household +were accommodated in a roomy closet in the kitchen. +The remaining two had contained wine, and a regiment +of empty bottles still remained, the fragile +memorials of departed plenty. They found beetles +and spiders in profusion, and crossed the pathway +of a rat; but they discovered no trace of the +thief.</p> + +<p>This exploration and the previous conversation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> +with Jacob Wincher occupied nearly two hours. Lucius +left the house without again seeing Lucille. +He would have been unable to account for his occupation +during those two hours without giving her +fresh cause for alarm. But before going he contrived +to see Mrs. Wincher, and from that matron, now +perfectly placable, he received the pleasing intelligence +that Lucille was fast asleep on a sofa in the +parlour.</p> + +<p>‘I brought her in a ramshackle old sofy belonging +to the bricklebrack,’ said Mrs. Wincher; ‘Lewis +Katorse, my good gentleman calls it. And she laid +down when I persuaded her, and went off just like +a child that’s worn out with being on the trot all +day. But she does look so sad and worried-like +in her sleep, poor dear, it goes to my heart to see +her.’</p> + +<p>‘Sad and worried,’ thought Lucius; and he had +added to her anxieties by arousing her childish fears +of an unknown danger. And then at the very time +when she was broken down altogether by trouble and +grief, had taken it into his head to suspect her. He +hated himself for those shameful doubts which had +tortured him a little while before.</p> + +<p>‘Come what may,’ he said to himself, ‘let events +take what shape they will, I will never again suspect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> +her. Though I had forged the chain of evidence +link by link, and it led straight to her, I would +believe that facts were lies rather than think her +guilty.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<br> +<span class="fs70">MR. OTRANTO PRONOUNCES AN OPINION.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">From</span> Cedar House Lucius went straight to Mr. +Otranto’s office. It was still early, not yet noon, +and he would have time for his daily round after he +had settled this business, which was uppermost in +his mind.</p> + +<p>‘Well,’ he said, after a brief good-morning to the +detective, ‘any news from Rio?’</p> + +<p>‘Some, but not much,’ answered Mr. Otranto, +looking up from the desk, at which he had been +copying some document into a note-book. ‘The +mail’s just in. I was going to write you a letter in +the course of to-day or to-morrow. This Mr. Ferdinand +Sivewright seems to have been altogether a +bad lot—card-sharper, swindler, anything you like. +He soon made Rio too hot to hold him, and after +managing to rub on there about six months, went on +to Mexico. My agent hunted up any information +about him that was to be got in Mexico; but it’s a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> +long time ago, you see, since he was there. He +seems to have behaved pretty much the same in +Mexico as he did in Rio, and that’s about all my +agent could hear. The impression was that he had +left Mexico on the quiet—taken French leave, as +you may say—and come back to England; but he +couldn’t find out the name of the vessel he sailed in.’</p> + +<p>‘You needn’t take any farther trouble about +the matter, Mr. Otranto,’ said Lucius. ‘I believe +I have found the missing links in the man’s history. +My business to-day is of a different kind.’</p> + +<p>He went on to explain the state of affairs at +Cedar House. Mr. Otranto shook his head doubtfully.</p> + +<p>‘I think you ought to put this into the hands of +the regular police,’ he said; ‘my line is private inquiry. +This is rather out of my way.’</p> + +<p>‘But it isn’t out of your old way, Mr. Otranto, +when you belonged to the regular police. If I were +to go to the police-station they’d send a loud-talking +noisy man to examine the premises, and frighten +the invalid gentleman I’ve been telling you about. +I want the property recovered, if possible, and the +place closely watched; but I want the thing done +quietly, and I’d rather trust it in your hands than +make a police-case of it.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> + +<p>‘Very well, sir; I’ll do my best. I’ll send a +quiet hand round to Cedar House at nine o’clock to-night.’</p> + +<p>‘Good; but he must come in at the back. I’ll +have some one on the watch for him at nine. I’d +better write my directions as to the way he must +come. The young lady’s sitting-room is in the front +of the house; so he mustn’t come in that way, for +fear she should see him.’</p> + +<p>Lucius wrote his instructions for the detective. +He was to come from the barges to the garden, as +the thief had come, and he would see a door ajar, +and a light burning in one of the outbuildings. This +was the door by which he was to enter.</p> + +<p>‘And now, sir, for a description of the property,’ +said Mr. Otranto, ‘if you want me to trace it.’</p> + +<p>‘A description?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes to be sure. I can do nothing without that.’</p> + +<p>‘I never thought of that,’ replied Lucius, feeling +himself a poor creature when face to face with this +practical far-seeing detective; ‘you will want a description +of course. I only know that there are +Queen Anne teapots, Cromwell tankards—’</p> + +<p>‘Queen Anne be hanged!’ exclaimed the detective +contemptuously.</p> + +<p>‘Some curious old saltcellars, and a monstrance.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> + +<p>‘What in the name of wonder is that?’ cried the +detective. ‘I’ll tell you what it is, sir, I must have +a detailed description before I can move a peg. I +daresay the property is out of the country by this +time, if it isn’t in the melting-pot.’</p> + +<p>‘A thief who took the trouble to rob Mr. Sivewright +would most likely have some idea what he +was stealing,’ answered Lucius, ‘and would hardly +take rare old silver to the melting-pot. I’ll tell you +what I’ll do, Mr. Otranto; I’ll bring the old servant +round here this afternoon, and you shall have the +description from him. In cross-questioning him +about the robbery you might, perhaps, arrive at some +conclusion as to whether he had any hand in it.’</p> + +<p>‘I might, perhaps,’ retorted Mr. Otranto, with +ineffable contempt; ‘let me have half-a-dozen words +with the man and I’ll soon settle that question. I +never saw the man yet that was made of such opaque +stuff that I couldn’t see through him.’</p> + +<p>‘So much the better,’ said Lucius. ‘I want to find +out whether this old man is a consummate hypocrite +or an honest fellow. Shall you be at home at four +o’clock this afternoon?’</p> + +<p>‘I shall.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I’ll bring him to you at that hour.’</p> + +<p>Lucius went about his day’s work, and got<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> +through it by half-past three, when he took a hansom +cab, a rare extravagance for him, and drove to Cedar +House.</p> + +<p>He asked at once to see Mrs. Wincher’s good +gentleman, whereupon Jacob Wincher emerged from +his retreat briskly enough, and came to the garden-gate +where Lucius waited.</p> + +<p>‘You haven’t heard anything of the property?’ +he asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>‘No. But I want you to come along with me to +give a description of it.’</p> + +<p>‘To the police-station, sir?’ asked Wincher, without +any appearance of alarm or unwillingness.</p> + +<p>‘Never mind where. You’ll find out all about it +when you get there,’ answered Lucius, in whose +mind yet lurked suspicions as to the old servant’s +honesty.</p> + +<p>The cab bore them speedily to Mr. Otranto’s +office, and was there dismissed. Wincher entered +that cave of mystery as calmly as a lamb going to the +slaughter, or indeed much more calmly than the +generality of those gentle victims, which seem to +have some foreboding of the doom that awaits them +within.</p> + +<p>Mr. Otranto looked up from his desk, and contemplated +the old man with a critical glance, keen, swift,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> +searching, the glance of a connoisseur in that walk of +art; as if Mr. Wincher had been a picture, and he, +Mr. Otranto, were called upon to decide whether he +were an original or a fraudulent copy. After that +brief survey, the detective gave a somewhat contemptuous +sniff; and then proceeded to elicit a description +of the lost property, which Mr. Wincher +gave ramblingly, and in a feebly nervous manner. +To Lucius it seemed very much the manner of +guilt.</p> + +<p>Mr. Otranto asked a great many questions about +the robbery, some of which seemed to Lucius puerile +or even absurd. But he deferred to the superior wisdom +of the trained detective.</p> + +<p>In the course of this inquiry Mr. Otranto made +himself acquainted with the numerous ins and outs +of Cedar House.</p> + +<p>‘A house built especially for the accommodation +of burglars, one would suppose,’ he said; ‘there +must be hiding-places enough for half the cracksmen +in London. However, I think if there is any one +still on the premises—or if the visitor of last night +pays any farther visits—we shall catch them. I shall +put on two men to-night, Mr. Davoren, instead of +one—one to keep guard in the room that contains +the property, the other to watch the back premises.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> +This business will cost money, remember—but, by +Jove, we’ll succeed in trapping the scoundrel!’</p> + +<p>‘Your services shall be paid for,’ said Lucius, not +without a pang, remembering the tenpound-note he +had already given Mr. Otranto on account of the Rio +inquiry, and of which there remained no balance in +his favour—nay, there was more likely a balance +against him.</p> + +<p>‘You can go, Mr.—Mr. What’s-your-name,’ said +the detective carelessly; and Jacob Wincher, thus dismissed, +hobbled feebly forth to wend his way back to +Cedar House; so rare a visitant to this outer world +that the clamour of the City seemed to him like the +howling of fiends in Pandemonium.</p> + +<p>‘Well,’ said Lucius, directly the old servant had +departed, ‘what do you think of that man?’</p> + +<p>‘He isn’t up to it,’ answered Mr. Otranto contemptuously.</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t up to what?’</p> + +<p>‘To having act or part in that robbery. He isn’t +up to it,’ repeated the detective, snapping his fingers +with increasing contempt. ‘It isn’t in him. Lor +bless you, Mr. Davoren, I know ’em when I see ’em. +There’s a brightness about their eye, a firmness about +their mouth, a nerve about ’em altogether, that there’s +no mistaking.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> + +<p>‘About a thief, I suppose you mean?’ inquired +Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir. I know ’em fast enough when I see +’em. There’s the stamp of intellect upon ’em, sir—with +very few exceptions there’s talent in ’em to back +’em up through everything. You don’t catch <em>them</em> +stammering and stuttering like that poor old chap +just now. Not a bit of it. They’re as clear as crystal. +They’ve got their story ready, and they tell it +short and sharp and decisive, if they’re first-raters; +a little too wordy, perhaps, if they’re new to their +work.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Otranto dwelt on the talent of the criminal +classes with an evident satisfaction.</p> + +<p>‘As for that poor old chap,’ he said decisively, +‘there isn’t genius enough or pluck enough in him +even for the kinchin lay.’</p> + +<p>Lucius did not pause to inquire about this particular +branch of the art, whereof he was profoundly +ignorant.</p> + +<p>‘He might not have pluck enough to attempt the +robbery unaided,’ he said, still persisting in the idea +that Jacob Wincher must be guilty, ‘yet he might be +capable of opening the door to an accomplice.’</p> + +<p>‘He didn’t do it, sir,’ answered the detective decisively. +‘I’d have had it out of him if he had, before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> +you could have known what I was leading up to. I +laid every trap for him that could be laid, and if he +had done it he must have walked into one of ’em. I +should have caught him tripping, depend upon it. +But taking the question from a pischological point +of view,’ continued Mr. Otranto, who sometimes got +hold of a fine word, and gave his own version of it, +‘I tell you it isn’t in his composition to do such a +thing.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Lucius, somewhat dejectedly.</p> + +<p>He left Mr. Otranto’s office only in time to take +a hasty dinner at a city eating-house, where huge +rounds of boiled beef were dealt out to hungry customers +in a somewhat rough-and-ready fashion. He +had very little appetite for the ample and economical +repast, but ate a little nevertheless, being fully aware +of the evil effects of long fasting on an overworked +mind and body. This brief collation dispatched, he +went straight to Cedar House, to keep his appointment +with Mr. Sivewright.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.<br> +<span class="fs70">THE MYSTERY OF LUCILLE’S PARENTAGE.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Lucius</span> paused in the gray old hall, where twilight +came sooner than in any other part of the house. He +longed to see Lucille, to clasp the dear hand, to +hear the low gentle voice; for the excitement of those +few busy hours seemed to have lengthened the interval +since he had last seen her. Yet he shrank with +a strange nervous terror from the idea of meeting +her just yet, while his mind was still agitated, still +perplexed, by the mystery of last night. It was a +relief to him when Mrs. Wincher told him that +‘Missy’ was still lying down in the parlour.</p> + +<p>‘She’s been up and down stairs to give her +grandpa his beef-tea, and such-like, but has laid +down betwigst and betweens,’ said Mrs. Wincher. +‘She don’t seem to have strength to keep up, poor +child. I should think some steel-wine, now, or +as much quinine-powder as would lie on a sixpence, +would do her a world of good.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span></p> + +<p>‘We won’t dose her with nauseous medicines, +Mrs. Wincher,’ answered Lucius; ‘she wants rest, +and change of air and scene. If we could get her +away from this melancholy old house, now!’</p> + +<p>He was thinking what a relief it would be to him +to withdraw her from that abode of perplexity, where +danger, in some as-yet-intangible form, seemed to lurk +in every shadow. If he could send her down to his +sister at Stillmington! He was sure that Janet would +be kind to her, and that those two would love each +other. If he could but induce Lucille to go down +there for a little while!</p> + +<p>‘Well, Dr. Davory, the house is melancholic, I +will not deny,’ said Mrs. Wincher, with a philosophical +air. ‘My sperits are not what they was when +I came here. Bond-street was so gay; and if it was +but a back-kitchen I lived in, I could hear the rumbling +of carriage-wheels going all day very lively. Of +course this house is dull for a young person like +Missy; but as to gettin’ her away while her grandpa’s +ill, it’s more nor you, nor all the king’s hosses and all +the king’s men, would do, Dr. Davory.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid you’re right,’ replied Lucius, with a +sigh.</p> + +<p>He went up to Mr. Sivewright’s room, and found +his patient waiting for him, and in a somewhat restless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> +and anxious condition. The blinds were drawn, +and the heavy old-fashioned shutters half-closed, excluding +every ray of the afternoon sunlight. This +had been Lucille’s careful work, while the old man +slept.</p> + +<p>‘Open those shutters and draw up the blinds!’ +exclaimed Mr. Sivewright impatiently. ‘I don’t want +the darkness of the grave before my time.’</p> + +<p>‘I thought you were never coming!’ he added +presently, with an aggrieved air, as Lucius admitted +the sunshine.</p> + +<p>‘And yet I am an hour earlier than I was yesterday.’</p> + +<p>‘The day has seemed longer than yesterday. +Every day is longer than the last,’ complained the +old man; ‘my snatches of sleep are shorter, my limbs +more weary; the burden of life grows heavier as I +near the end of my journey.’</p> + +<p>‘Nay, sir,’ remonstrated Lucius, in a cheery tone, +‘there is no need for such despondent talk as that. +You are ill, and suffer the weariness of a prolonged +illness, but you are in no immediate danger.’</p> + +<p>‘No immediate danger!’ repeated the patient +contemptuously. ‘You will not admit that I am in +immediate danger till you hear the death-rattle in +my throat. I feel that I am on my death-bed, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span> +desire to do all that a dying man should do to square +his account with the world he is about to leave.’</p> + +<p>‘And I hope, sir, you have some thought about +that better world to which you are going,’ answered +Lucius seriously.</p> + +<p>Homer Sivewright sighed, and was silent for some +moments ere he replied to this remark.</p> + +<p>‘Let me settle my affairs in this world first,’ he +said, ‘and then you may try to enlighten me about +the next if you can. I have found this life so hard +that it is scarcely strange if I have little hope in the +life that is to come after it. But you can preach to +me about that by and by. I want to talk to you +about the girl who is to be your wife.’</p> + +<p>‘There is no subject so near to my heart.’</p> + +<p>‘I suppose not,’ answered Mr. Sivewright, groping +with a slow feeble hand under his pillow, from +beneath which he presently produced a key. ‘Take +this key and open yonder desk, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bonheur du jour</i>, +and look in the third drawer on the left side.’</p> + +<p>Lucius obeyed.</p> + +<p>‘What do you see there?’</p> + +<p>‘A packet of letters tied with green ferret, and a +miniature in a morocco-case,’ answered Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘Good! Now, those letters and that miniature +contain the whole mystery of Lucille’s birth. I have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> +tried many times to read the riddle, but in vain. +Your sharper wits may perchance find the solution +of the problem.’</p> + +<p>‘You mean as regards the identity of Lucille’s +mother?’ asked Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘I mean as regards the identity of her father and +her mother,’ answered the old man. ‘There have +been times when I have doubted whether Lucille is +a Sivewright at all—whether the girl I have called +my grandchild is the daughter of my son Ferdinand.’</p> + +<p>Lucius Davoren’s heart gave a great leap. Good +heavens, what a relief if it were thus—if this girl +whom he so fondly loved were free from the taint +of that villain’s blood! For some moments he was +dumb. The thought of this possible release overcame +him utterly. God grant that this were but +true—that the man he had slain bore no kindred +to the woman who was to be his wife!</p> + +<p>He opened the morocco-case, and looked at it +with eager eyes, as if in the lifeless images it contained +he might find the clue to the mystery.</p> + +<p>The case was double, and contained two miniatures: +one of a man with a weak but patrician face, +the nose an elongated aquiline, the lips thin, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> +chin feeble, the forehead high and pale, the eyes a +light blue; the countenance of some last scion of a +worn-out race; not without an expression of nobility, +but utterly without force of character. The second +miniature was a woman’s face—pensive, tender, +lovable; a face with soft black eyes, a thoughtful +mouth, a low broad forehead, in which there +were ample indications of intellect. The olive complexion, +the darkness of the lustrous eyes, gave a +foreign look to this countenance. The original +might have been either French or Italian, Lucius +thought, but she could hardly have been an Englishwoman.</p> + +<p>‘What reason have you to doubt Lucille’s parentage?’ +he asked the old man, after a prolonged examination +of those two miniatures.</p> + +<p>‘My only reasons are contained in that packet of +letters,’ answered Mr. Sivewright. ‘Those letters are +the broken links in a chain which you may be able +to piece together. I have puzzled over them many +a time, as I told you just now, but have been able +to make nothing of them.’</p> + +<p>‘Am I to read them?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, read them aloud to me; I may be able to +furnish you with an occasional commentary on the +text.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span></p> + +<p>‘First, tell me how they came into your possession.’</p> + +<p>‘That is easily done. When my son left Bond-street +for the last time, after plundering my iron +safe, he did not burden himself with luggage. He +left all his worldly goods behind him, in the shape +of a dilapidated leathern portmanteau full of old +clothes. Amongst these I found that packet of +letters and that miniature case, both of which he +had doubtless forgotten. Now you know just as much +about them as I do.’</p> + +<p>Lucius untied the string. There were about a +dozen letters; some in a woman’s hand, fine, delicate, +and essentially un-English; the others in a +masculine caligraphy, by no means too legible. The +first was directed to Ferdinand Sivewright, at a post-office +in Oxford-street, but bore neither the date nor +the address of the writer. This was in the man’s +hand, written upon the paper of a fashionable club, +and ran thus:</p> +<br> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘Thanks, my dear Sivewright, for your last. +You are indeed a friend, and worth all my aristocratic +acquaintance, who pretend the warmest friendship, +but would not go half-a-dozen paces out of +their way to save me from hanging. You, by your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> +prompt assistance, have rescued me from the greatest +difficulty in which my imprudence—and I have +always been the most imprudent of men—ever +involved me. Thank Heaven and your tact, the +danger is over, and I think I now stand secure of +the old gentleman’s favour. Did he know the truth, +or but a scintillation of the truth, I should inevitably +lose all chance of that future prosperity which +will, I trust, enable me a few years hence to give +you some substantial proof of my gratitude.</p> + +<p>‘By the way, you talk of being hard up in the +present. I regret to say, my dear fellow, that at +this moment it is out of my power to help you with +a stiver. Not that I for an instant ignore the +obligation to provide for your small charge, but because +just now I am entirely cleaned out. A few +weeks hence I shall be no doubt able to send you a +cheque. In the mean time your household is a prosperous +one, and the cost your kindness to me may +occasion is one that can scarcely be felt. You +understand. How fares your little girl? I shall +always be glad to hear. Madame D—— writes to +me for news; so pray keep me <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au courant</i>, that I +may set her anxious mind at rest. O, Sivewright, +how I languish for an end of all my secrets and +perplexities, and for a happy union with her I love!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> +This waiting for dead men’s shoes is a weary business, +and makes me feel the most despicable of +mankind.—Yours ever,</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. G.’<br> +</p> +</div> +<br> + +<p>‘What do you make of that letter?’ asked Mr. +Sivewright.</p> + +<p>‘I can hardly tell what to make of it at present. +Your son must have been of some vital +service to the writer, but what the nature of that +friendly act is more than I can guess.’</p> + +<p>‘You will understand it better when you have +read the rest of the letters. Now, I have sometimes +thought that the writer of those lines was the father +of Lucille.’</p> + +<p>‘On what ground?’ asked Lucius. ‘He distinctly +says, “How fares <em>your</em> little girl?”’</p> + +<p>‘That might be inspired by caution. Do you +observe what he says about Madame D—— and her +anxiety to hear of the child’s welfare? Rely upon +it that Madame D—— was the mother. Then +there is the mention of a happy union with the +woman he loves, deferred until the death of some +wealthy relation. Then what do you make of the +lines in which he avows his obligation to provide +for “your small charge”? That small charge was +the child, and on whom would there be such an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> +obligation except upon the father? This is how I +have sometimes been inclined to read the riddle.’</p> + +<p>‘You think, then, that Lucille was the child of +some secret marriage?’ said Lucius; ‘or of an intrigue?’ +he added reluctantly.</p> + +<p>‘Of a secret marriage most likely,’ answered the +old man. ‘Had it been only an intrigue, there would +hardly have been need for such excessive caution. +You will see in one of the later letters how this man +who signs himself “H. G.” speaks of his total ruin +should his secret be discovered. But go on, the +letters are numbered. I arranged and numbered +them with a good deal of care. Go on to number +2.’</p> + +<p>Lucius obeyed. The second epistle was in the +same hand as the first, but the formation of the +characters showed that it had been written in haste +and profound agitation:</p> +<br> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘Dear Sivewright,—I enclose a cheque for 50<em>l.</em> +It leaves me a beggar; but anything is better than +the alternative. Your threat to trade upon my secret +has thrown me into an agony of apprehension. O, +Sivewright, you could surely never be such a villain! +You who pretended to be my bosom friend—you who +have so often enriched yourself at my expense, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> +fortune and your superior skill favoured your chances +at the card-table—could never be so base as to betray +me! When you took upon yourself the charge +which you now assert perpetually as a claim, pressing +and harassing me to death with your demands for +money, I deemed that friendship alone actuated you. +Is it possible that you looked at the matter from +the first with a trader’s spirit, and only considered +how much you might be able to make out of me?</p> + +<p>‘As you claim to be a gentleman, I conjure you +to write and assure me that your threat of communicating +with my uncle was only an idle menace; that +you will keep my secret, as a gentleman should keep +the secret of his friend.</p> + +<p>‘Bear in mind that to betray me would be to +ruin me most completely, and to destroy your own +chance of future benefit from my fortune.</p> + +<p>‘How is the little girl? Why do you not write +to me at length about her? Why do your letters +contain only demands for money? Madame D—— +is full of anxiety, and I can say so little to satisfy +her. How is the little thing? Is she well—is she +happy? Does she pine for her last home, and the +people who nursed her? For heaven’s sake reply, +and fully.—Yours,</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. G.’<br> +</p> +</div> +<br> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span></p> + +<p>‘Are those like a man’s inquiries about another +man’s child?’ asked Mr. Sivewright.</p> + +<p>‘Scarcely,’ replied Lucius. ‘I believe you are +right, and that Lucille is of no kin to your son.’</p> + +<p>‘And of no kin to me. You are glad of that, I +suppose,’ said the old man with a touch of bitterness.</p> + +<p>‘Forgive me if I confess that I shall be glad if +I find she is not the child of your son.’</p> + +<p>‘You are right. Can an evil tree bear good +fruit? That seems a hard saying, but I can’t wonder +you shrink from the idea of owning Ferdinand +Sivewright for your children’s grandfather. Yet this +H. G. may have been no better man.’</p> + +<p>‘I can hardly think that. There is some indication +of good feeling in his letters. He was most +likely the dupe and victim—’</p> + +<p>‘Of my son? Yes, I can believe that. Go on, +Lucius. The third letter is from the lady, who, you +will see, signs herself by her Christian name only, +but gives her full address.’</p> + +<p>‘That must afford some clue to the mystery,’ said +Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, for any one who will take the trouble to +follow so slight a clue. I have never attempted the +task. To accomplish it might have been to lose the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span> +only creature that loved me. You will call this +selfish policy, no doubt. Lucille’s interests ought +to have weighed with me more than my own. I can +only answer, that old age is selfish. When a man +has but a few years between him and the grave, he +may well shrink from the idea of making those years +desolate.’</p> + +<p>‘I do not wonder that you feared to lose her,’ +said Lucius.</p> + +<p>He opened the letter numbered 3. It was in that +delicate foreign hand, on thin paper.</p> +<br> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="right fs90"> +‘Rue Jeanne d’Arques, numéro 17, Rouen.<br> +</p> + +<p>‘Dear Sir,—Not having received a satisfactory +response from Mr. G., I venture to address you, believing +that you will compassionate my anxieties. I +wish to hear more of your charge. Is she well? is +she happy? O, sir, have pity upon the heart which +pines for her—to which this enforced separation is a +living death! Does she grow? does she remember +me, and ask for me? Yet, considering her tender +age at the time of our parting, that is hardly possible. +I ought to be thankful that it is so—that she will +not suffer any of the pangs which rend my sorrowful +heart. But in spite of that thought, it grieves me to +know that she will lose all memory of my face, all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span> +love for me. It is a hard trial; and it may last for +years. Heaven knows if I shall live to see the end +of it.</p> + +<p>‘I entreat you, sir, to pity one who is most grateful +for your friendly help at a time when it was +needed, and to let me have a full account of the little +girl.</p> + +<p>‘I am quite content to submit to Mr. G.’s desire +that, for the next few years of her life, she shall have +no friends but those she has in your house; yet I can +but think that, at her age, residence in a London +house, and above all a house of business, must be +harmful. I should be very glad could you make +some arrangement for her to live, at least part of the +year, a little way out of town, with people you could +fully trust.</p> + +<p>‘Do not doubt that, should God spare me to enjoy +the fortune to which Mr. G. looks forward, I +shall most liberally reward your goodness to one +born under an evil star.</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span style="padding-right: 3em">‘I have the honour to remain, yours,</span><br> +‘<span class="smcap">Felicie G.</span><br> +</p> + +<p class="right">‘P.S. My name here is Madame Dumarques.’</p> +</div> +<br> + +<p>‘That,’ exclaimed Lucius, ‘must surely be the +letter of a mother!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p> + +<p>‘Yes; and not a letter from a wife to her husband. +The Mr. G. spoken of in the letter is evidently +the husband of the writer.’</p> + +<p>‘Strange that the care of a beloved child should +have been intrusted to such a man as your son.’</p> + +<p>‘Men of pleasure have few friends,’ answered Mr. +Sivewright. ‘I daresay this Mr. G. had no one save +the companion of the gaming-table to whom he could +appeal in his difficulty.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you consider there is sufficient evidence here +to show that Lucille was the child alluded to?’</p> + +<p>‘No other child ever came to Bond-street.’</p> + +<p>‘True. Then the case seems clear enough. She +was not your son’s daughter, but the child of these +people, and committed to his care.’</p> + +<p>‘Read on, and you will discover farther details of +the affair.’</p> + +<p>The fourth letter was from ‘H. G.’ It was evidently +written in answer to a letter of complaint or +remonstrance from Ferdinand Sivewright. It ran +thus:</p> +<br> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘My dear Fellow,—Your reproaches are most unjust. +I always send money when I have it; but I +have not acquired the art of coiner, nor am I clever +enough to accomplish a successful forgery. In a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span> +word, you can’t get blood out of a stone. You have +had some hundreds since you first took charge of the +little one; and in any other home I had found for her, +she would not have cost me a third of the money. I +do not forget that you helped me out of a diabolical +difficulty, and that if you had not happened to be our +visitor when the old gentleman surprised me in our +Devonian cottage, and if you had not with sublime +tact assumed <em>my</em> responsibilities, I should have been +irretrievably ruined. Never shall I forget that midsummer +morning when I had to leave all I loved in +your care, and to turn my back upon that dear little +home, to accompany my uncle to London, assuming +the careless gaiety of a bachelor, while my heart was +racked with anguish for those I left behind. However, +we played the comedy well, and, please God, +the future will compensate Felicie and me for all we +have suffered in the past and suffer in the present. +Be as reasonable, dear old fellow, as you have been +useful, and rely upon it I shall by and by amply reward +your fidelity.—Yours,</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. G.’<br> +</p> +</div> +<br> + +<p>‘We get a clearer glimpse of the story in this,’ +said Lucius, as he finished the fourth letter. ‘It +seems easy enough now to read the riddle. A young +man, with large expectations from an uncle who, at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> +any moment, may disinherit him, has secretly married; +perhaps a woman beneath him in station. At +any rate, his choice is one which his uncle would inevitably +disapprove. He hides his young wife in +some quiet Devonshire village, where his friend, +your son, visits him. There, during your son’s visit, +the old man appears. By some means or other he +has tracked his nephew to this retreat. One mode +of escape only suggests itself. Ferdinand Sivewright +assumes the character of the husband and father, +while the delinquent leaves the place at his uncle’s +desire, and accompanies him back to London. Out +of this incident arises the rest. Ferdinand Sivewright +takes charge of the child, the wife retires to +her native country, where she has, no doubt, friends +who can give her a home. The whole business is +thus, as it were, dissolved. The husband is free to +play the part of a bachelor till his kinsman’s death. +That is my reading of the story.’</p> + +<p>‘I do not think you can be far out,’ answered Mr. +Sivewright. ‘You can look over the rest of the letters +at your leisure. They are less important than +those you have read, but may contain some stray +scraps of information which you can piece together. +There is one letter in which Madame Dumarques +speaks of the miniature. She sends it in order that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span> +the little girl may learn to know her mother’s features; +and in this, as in other letters from this lady, +there appears a foreboding of early death. “We may +never meet on earth,” she writes. “I like to think +that she will know my face if ever I am so blest as +to meet her in heaven.”’</p> + +<p>‘You think, then, that this poor mother died +young?’ inquired Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘That is my idea. The husband speaks of her +failing health in one of his letters. He has been to +Rouen to see her, and has found her sadly changed. +“You would hardly know that lovely face, Sivewright, +could you see it now,” he writes.’</p> + +<p>Lucius folded and tied up the letters with a careful +hand.</p> + +<p>‘May I have these to keep?’ he asked.</p> + +<p>‘You may. They are the only dower which your +wife will receive from her parents.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know that,’ answered Lucius; ‘her father +may still live, and if he does, he shall at least +give her his name.’</p> + +<p>‘What, you mean to seek out this nameless +father?’</p> + +<p>‘I do. The task may be long and difficult, but +I am determined to unravel this tangled skein.’</p> + +<p>‘Do what you like, so long as you and Lucille<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> +do not leave me to die alone,’ said the old man +sadly.</p> + +<p>‘Have no fear of that,’ replied Lucius. ‘This investigation +can wait. I will not desert my post in +your sick room, until you are on the highroad to +recovery.’</p> + +<p>‘You are a good fellow!’ exclaimed Mr. Sivewright, +with unusual warmth; ‘and I do not regret +having trusted you.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.<br> +<span class="fs70">MYSTIC MUSIC.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was now nearly dark, and Lucius was anxious to +obtain a speedy release from the sick room, lest the +time should creep on towards the hour at which Mr. +Otranto’s minions were to seek for admittance at the +little back door. He made some excuse therefore for +bidding his patient ‘good-night’ soon after this. +There would be time for him to see that the coast +was clear, and to keep watch for the coming of the +two men.</p> + +<p>He met Lucille in the corridor, coming up-stairs +for the night, at least two hours earlier than usual—a +most opportune retirement.</p> + +<p>She gave a little start at meeting him, and her +look was more of surprise than pleasure.</p> + +<p>‘You here, Lucius!’ she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dear; I have been with your grandfather. +I heard you were lying down, and would not disturb +you. I hope you feel refreshed by that long rest.’</p> + +<p>‘As much refreshed as I can be while I have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> +such cause for anxiety. I am going to my room +early, so as to be near my grandfather.’</p> + +<p>‘That is wise; only remember you must try to +sleep. You must not be watching and listening all +night. If Mr. Sivewright wants anything he will +call you. Good-night, my dearest.’</p> + +<p>He folded her in his arms, and pressed a tender +kiss upon the sad lips; but her only response to his +caress was a weary sigh. There was something amiss +here; what, he knew not; but he felt she had some +sorrow which she refused to share with him, and the +thought wounded him to the quick. He left her +perplexed and unhappy.</p> + +<p>The old clock on the staircase struck eight as +Lucius passed it. He had an hour to wait before +the arrival of the detectives. What to do with himself +during that time, he knew not. The lower part +of the house was wrapped in darkness, save for the +feeble glimmer of a candle in the great kitchen, +where Mr. and Mrs. Wincher were seated at their +frugal supper. Lucius looked and beheld them regaling +themselves on a stony-looking Dutch cheese +and an overgrown lettuce—a gigantic vegetable, which +they liberally soused with vinegar.</p> + +<p>From Mrs. Wincher, Lucius obtained a candle, +which he carried to the parlour—a room that looked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> +empty and desolate without Lucille. There was the +sofa upon which she had rested; there her book; +there her work-basket.</p> + +<p>He sat down amidst these tokens of her presence, +and stared at the flame of the candle, sorely troubled +in mind. What was this gulf between them, this +feeling of severance that was so strange to his heart? +Why was it that there returned to him ever and anon +a suspicion formless, inexplicable, but which troubled +him beyond measure? He strove to escape from +gloomy thoughts by the aid of an old enchanter. He +took his violin from its hiding-place, and began to +play a tender <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">sotto-voce</i> strain, which soothed his +troubled mind. His thoughts drifted into a smoother +channel. He thought of that grand discovery made +to-night—a discovery which, at another time, he +would have deemed all-sufficient for happiness: Lucille +was not the child of the wretch his hand had +slain. The comfort of that thought was measureless.</p> + +<p>Could he do wrong in accepting the evidence of +those letters—in giving them this interpretation? +Surely not. They seemed to point but to one conclusion. +They told a story in which there were few +missing links. It remained for him to trace the father +who had thus abandoned his child. It would +be a more pleasing task than that which Lucille had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> +imposed upon him when she bade him seek for Ferdinand +Sivewright.</p> + +<p>But why had this father—who from the tone of +his letters seemed to have been fond of his child—abandoned +her entirely to her fate, and made no effort +to reclaim her in after years? That question might +be answered in two ways. The father might have died +years ago, carrying his secret with him to the grave. +Or it is just possible that this man, in whom weakness +might be near akin to wickedness, had made +some advantageous alliance after the death of Lucille’s +mother, and had deemed it wise to be silent +as to his first marriage, even at the cost of his +daughter’s love.</p> + +<p>Thus reasoned Lucius as he played a slow pensive +melody, always <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">sotto voce</i>.</p> + +<p>Thought and music together had beguiled him +into forgetfulness of time. The clock struck nine +while he was still playing.</p> + +<p>He put down his violin immediately, left the +lighted candle on the table, and went out to the back +door. Mr. Wincher was there before him, the door +open, and two men standing on the threshold.</p> + +<p>‘We’ve got our orders from Mr. Otranto, sir,’ +said the elder of the two. ‘I’m to stop all night in +the room that contains the vallibles, and my mate is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span> +to be in and out and keep a hi upon the back premises. +But if you have anything you’d like to suggest, +sir, we’re at your service.’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ said Lucius; ‘I’ve no doubt Mr. Otranto +knows his business a great deal better than I do. +Come with me, Mr.—’</p> + +<p>‘Simcox, sir. My mate is Joe Cleaver.’</p> + +<p>‘Come with me then, Mr. Simcox, and I’ll show +you the room that needs watching. Mr. Cleaver can +stay in the kitchen. I daresay he can make himself +comfortable there.’</p> + +<p>‘Purvided he isn’t timid of beadles,’ interjected +Mrs. Wincher; ‘which the crickets are that tame they +plays about the table while we’re at supper.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Cleaver pronounced himself indifferent as to +beetles or crickets.</p> + +<p>‘They won’t hurt me,’ he said; ‘I’ve had to deal +with worse than black-beadles in my time.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Simcox followed Lucius to the room that +contained the Sivewright collection—that curious +chaos of relics and fragments which represented the +knowledge and labour of a lifetime. The detective +surveyed these works of art with a disparaging eye.</p> + +<p>‘There doesn’t seem to be much for the melting-pot +here!’ he exclaimed; ‘or much portable property +of any kind.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span></p> + +<p>‘There’s a good deal of curious old china,’ answered +Lucius, ‘which is, I believe, more valuable +than silver. The thief who stole the old plate might +return for that.’</p> + +<p>‘He might,’ answered Mr. Simcox with a sceptical +air; ‘but he must be a cut above the common run +of thieves if he knows much about old chaney; the +sterling metal is what most of ’em go in for. However, +here I am, sir, and I know my duty. I’m ready +to watch as many nights as you please.’</p> + +<p>‘Very good,’ said Lucius; ‘then I’ll wish you +good-night, Mr. Simcox; and if you want a mattress +and a blanket, I daresay Mr. Wincher—the old man +who opened the door to you—will give you them. I +don’t live in the house, but I shall be here early to-morrow +morning to learn the result of your watch. +Good-night.’</p> + +<p>He had his hand upon the door, when a sound +from the other side of the hall—low, but still sufficiently +audible—startled him as if it had been the +fall of a thunderbolt. It was his own violin, played +softly—a wild minor strain, dirge-like and unearthly. +Scarcely had he heard the notes when they died +away. It was almost as if he had dreamed them. +There was not time for him to utter an exclamation +before all was dumb. Then came a muffled sound,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> +like the cautious closing of a heavy door; but that +strange strain of melody possessed the soul and ears +of Lucius, and he did not hear that stealthy closing +of the hall-door.</p> + +<p>‘Did you hear that?’ he asked the detective +eagerly.</p> + +<p>‘Hear what, sir?’</p> + +<p>‘A violin played in the opposite room.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, no, sir, I can’t say as I did. Yet I fancy +I did hear somethink in the way of music—a barrel-organ, +perhaps, outside.’</p> + +<p>‘Strange!’ muttered Lucius; ‘my senses must +be growing confused. I have been too long without +sleep, or I have thought too much. My brain has +been unceasingly on the rack; no wonder it should +fail. Yet I could have sworn I heard a wild unearthly +strain—like—like other music I heard once.’</p> + +<p>It was a foolish thing, he felt, to be disturbed by +such a trifle. A mere fancy, doubtless, but he was +disturbed by it nevertheless. He hurried across to +the parlour where he had left his violin. There it +lay, just as he had put it down. The room was +empty.</p> + +<p>‘What if my violin were enchanted now, and +could play of itself?’ he thought idly. ‘Or what if +the furies who torment me with the slow tortures of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span> +remorse had invented a new agony, that I should +hear ghostly strains—mere phantasmal sounds—reminding +me of the music I heard in the American +forest?’</p> + +<p>He put the violin back into its case, locked it, +and put the key in his waistcoat-pocket. The lock +was a Chubb.</p> + +<p>‘Neither mortals nor fiends shall play upon you +any more to-night, my little Amati,’ he said.</p> + +<p>He was glad to escape from the house presently, +having no further business there. He felt that +Lucille and the old man were securely guarded for +that night at least. To-morrow might furnish a +clue to the mystery—to-morrow might reveal the +thief.</p> + +<p>The thought set his brain on fire. Who opened +that door? Who admitted the midnight plunderer? +Would to-morrow’s light bring with it the answer to +that question?</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.<br> +<span class="fs70">AT FAULT.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Geoffrey Hossack</span> rushed down to Stillmington as +fast as a recklessly-driven hansom and an express +train could take him. His heart seemed to sing +aloud as he went, ‘I am coming, my love, I am coming; +and we will part no more.’</p> + +<p>How sweet, how rustic, how peaceful, the little +uncommercial town seemed to him to-day in its verdant +setting; the low hills, on whose grassy slopes tall +chestnuts spread their wide branches, and the dark +foliage of the beech gleamed silvery as the warm +breezes ruffled it; fertile pastures where the aftermath +grew deep, green tinged with russet—over all +the land late summer’s vanishing glory.</p> + +<p>‘I could live here with her for ever,’ he thought; +‘ay, in the humblest cottage half hidden among +those green lanes, which seem to lead nowhere. I +could live all my life with her, cut off from all the +rest of the world, and never languish for its hollow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span> +pleasures, and never sigh for change. God grant I +may find her reasonable! God grant that she may +accept my simple assurance of her release, and make +me happy!’</p> + +<p>On the very threshold of Mrs. Bertram’s modest +dwelling a sudden fear seized him. Something in +the aspect of the house to-day struck him as unfamiliar. +The window was shut—an unusual circumstance, +for Janet loved air. The flowers in the little +rustic stand that screened the window had a neglected +look. There were dead leaves on the geraniums, +which were wont to be so carefully tended. +The care of those flowers had been Janet’s early morning +task. How often had he walked this way before +breakfast, for the sake of catching one chance glimpse +of the noble face bending over those flowers!</p> + +<p>‘Good Heavens, can she be ill?’ he thought with +agonising fear. He knocked softly, lest she should +be indeed lying ill up-stairs and the sound of the +knocker disturb her.</p> + +<p>The maid who opened the door had come straight +from the washtub, breathless, with bare steaming +arms.</p> + +<p>‘Is Mrs. Bertram at home—and—and well?’ +asked Geoffrey eagerly.</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Bertram, sir? O dear, no; she left us<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> +three days ago, and the apartments are to let. Missus +doesn’t put up any bill, because she says it gives +such a low look; but there’s a card at the grocer’s.’</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Bertram has moved!’ said Geoffrey, his +heart beating very fast. ‘Where has she gone?’</p> + +<p>It might be to the next street only. She had +found the rooms small perhaps, as her pupils increased. +Yet even a few minutes’ delay dashed his +high hopes. It seemed hard to meet any kind of +hindrance at the outset.</p> + +<p>‘She didn’t leave no address,’ answered the girl; +‘she’s left Stillmington for some time. She said +the air was relackshing at this time of year, and the +little girl didn’t seem quite well. So she went. She +means to come back in the winter, she told us, and +go on with her pupils; but she was going somewheres +by the sea.’</p> + +<p>‘But surely she must have left some address +with your mistress, in order that letters might be +forwarded to her?’</p> + +<p>‘No, she didn’t, sir. I heared missus ast her +that very question about the letters, and she says to +missus that it didn’t matter—there wouldn’t be no +letters for her, not of no consequence, as she would +write and tell her friends her new address. She +didn’t exactly know where she was going, she says.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span></p> + +<p>‘When did she leave?’ asked Geoffrey in despair. +How could the Fates treat him so hardly?</p> + +<p>‘Three days ago—last Wednesday.’</p> + +<p>The very day of his journey down to Hampshire. +She had lost no time in taking flight. She had gone +almost immediately after he left Stillmington. Could +he doubt that her motive had been to avoid him—to +flee temptation? For did he not know that she +loved him?</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Bertram left very suddenly, did she not?’ +he asked of the maid-of-all-work, who was breathing +hard with impatience to be gone, knowing that her +mistress awaited her in the washhouse, and would +assuredly lecture her for gossiping.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir, it was quite suddent. She gave missus +a week’s rent instead of the reglar notice.’</p> + +<p>‘And you have really no idea where she went +when she left you?’</p> + +<p>‘No, sir. She went away by the London train. +That’s all I can tell you.’</p> + +<p>‘Thanks,’ said Geoffrey with a sigh.</p> + +<p>He rewarded the girl with a half-crown, almost +mechanically, and departed heartsore. How could +she be so cruel as to hide herself from him—to put +a new barrier between them! Was she afraid of his +importunity—afraid that she would lack strength to +resist his pleading?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span></p> + +<p>By the sea! She had gone to the sea-side. That +was information of the vaguest character.</p> + +<p>‘If I have to scour the English coast, I will find +her,’ he said to himself desperately.</p> + +<p>But it was just possible she might leave England—that +she might hide herself in some obscure +village in Normandy or Brittany, where the cockney-tourist +had not yet penetrated. The field was wide, +to say the least of it.</p> + +<p>‘She will surely let her brother know where she +is?’ he thought presently; and with that thought +came a brief moment of hopefulness, which quickly +changed again to despair. If she wanted to avoid +him, Geoffrey, she would scarcely trust her secret to +his bosom friend Lucius.</p> + +<p>There was that ever-ready medium—that universal +go-between—the second column of the <cite>Times</cite>. +He might advertise. He wrote a long appeal, so +worded that, to the stranger, it was an absolute +hieroglyphic, telling her that she was free—the only +barrier that could divide them had been long removed—and +entreating her to communicate with him +immediately. This appeal he headed ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Voi che sapéte</i>’—the +opening words of her favourite song. She +could hardly fail to understand.</p> + +<p>But what if she did not see the <cite>Times</cite>? And if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> +she were out of England, or even buried deep in +some remote English watering-place, the chances +against her seeing it were as ten to one. He sent +the same advertisement to Galignani, and to a dozen +provincial newspapers, chosen almost at random, but +covering a wide area. He sent cheques to pay for +a month’s insertions in every paper. He felt himself +transformed into a man of business, and went +to work as actively as if he had been advertising a +new cocoa or a new hair-dye.</p> + +<p>This done, and there being nothing to detain +him at Stillmington, he went back to Hillersdon, +much to the delight of his cousins Belle and Jessie, +who had in no wise expected this prompt return of +the deserter. There was some comfort to him in +the idea of being amidst the scenes of Janet’s youth. +He went over to Tyrrelhurst, the cathedral town, saw +the Registrar of Births, Deaths, and Marriages, and +found the entry of that fatal union which stood between +him and happiness.</p> + +<p>Yes, there it was: ‘Frederick Vandeleur, gentleman, +&c. &c., to Janet Davoren.’ The ceremony had +been legal enough. Nothing but some previous contract +could invalidate such a marriage; and was it +not very probable that this villain’s assertion of a +previous marriage was but a lie, invented to release<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span> +him from a union that had become troublesome +to him?</p> + +<p>‘I wish to Heaven I had as good a certificate of +the scoundrel’s death,’ thought Geoffrey; ‘but even +if I find her and tell her that he is dead, I doubt if +my bare assertion will satisfy her scruples.’</p> + +<p>He made a pilgrimage to Wykhamston, prowled +about the gray old church, talked to the sexton, who +had been an old man twenty years ago, and who +calmly survived all changes, like a being over whom +Time had no power. From him Geoffrey heard a +great deal about the old rector and his beautiful +daughter, who had played the organ, and how a +stranger had come to Wykhamston, who took a great +fancy to playing the organ, and played wonderful; +and how Miss Davoren used oftentimes to be in the +church practising when the stranger came in; and +how not long after she ran away from home, as some +folks said, and he, the sexton, was afraid no good had +come of those meetings in the church.</p> + +<p>To this Geoffrey listened silently, wounded, as he +always was, by the thought that she whom he loved +so dearly had left her home under a cloud, were it +but the lightest breath of suspicion.</p> + +<p>Even to this sexton he must needs defend his +idol.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> + +<p>‘I have reason to know that Miss Davoren was +married to that gentleman before he came to Wykhamston,’ +he said. ‘It was a secret marriage, and she +was foolish enough to leave her home without informing +her parents of the step she had taken; but she +was that man’s wife, and no shadow of dishonour can +tarnish her name.’</p> + +<p>‘Deary me!’ exclaimed the sexton; ‘and our poor +dear rector took it so to heart. Some folks think it +was that as killed him, though the doctors called it +heart-disease of long standing.’</p> + +<p>Geoffrey went from the church to the rectory, an +overgrown thatched cottage, quaint and old, with +plastered walls and big chimney-stacks; the garden +all abloom with late roses—the new incumbent evidently +a prosperous gentleman.</p> + +<p>He loitered by the tall privet-hedge a little while, +gathered a rose from a bush that grew within reach—a +rose which he put carefully in his pocket-book—frail +memorial of her he loved.</p> + +<p>This pilgrimage occupied an entire day; for the +young man lingered about Wykhamston as if loth +to leave the spot where Janet had once lived—as if +he almost hoped to meet the phantom of her girlhood +in one of those low water meadows where he wandered +listlessly by the reedy trout streams.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span></p> + +<p>Belle and Jessie pouted a little at this desertion, +yet would not complain. Were they not fortunate in +dear Geoffrey’s return? And if they questioned or +teased him he might take flight again.</p> + +<p>‘I hope you are not going to desert us to-morrow,’ +said Belle, on the evening of his return from +Wykhamston.</p> + +<p>‘Why do you lay such a tremendous stress upon +to-morrow?’ asked Geoffrey, with a comfortable yawn. +He was stretched on a rustic bench outside the drawing-room +windows smoking, while these damsels conversed +with him from within.</p> + +<p>‘Have you forgotten?’</p> + +<p>‘Forgotten what?’ with another yawn. ‘How +sleepy this country air makes one!’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, and how stupid sometimes!’ exclaimed +Jessie. ‘You might have remembered that to-morrow +is the day for Lady Baker’s <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fête</i>.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, to be sure! She’s a very nice old party, +that Lady Baker of yours. I shall make a point of +being in attendance upon you.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.<br> +<span class="fs70">TROUBLES THICKEN.</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">There</span> was plenty of work for Lucius in his surgery +when he went home, after inducting Mr. Otranto’s +men in their duties at Cedar House. There were the +medicines to be made up, and to be taken round to +the patients that night, by the sleepy boy, who looked +unutterable reproaches at his master for this unwonted +neglect of duty.</p> + +<p>‘Some of the places will be shut, I should think,’ +he said with an injured air, as he ground some nauseous +drug furiously with a stone pestle; ‘and some +of the folks gone to bed. We’ve never been so late +before.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think our neighbours hereabouts are renowned +for their early habits,’ answered Lucius, unabashed +by this reproof. ‘If you find people are +gone to bed, you can bring the medicines home, and +take them out again early to-morrow morning. You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span> +needn’t go on knocking and ringing if you don’t get +answered quickly.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well, sir,’ murmured the boy with a yawn. +‘They’ll be up at all the publics of course: there’s +the liniment for Mrs. Purdew’s sprained wrist, and +the lotion for Mr. Tweaker’s black eye; and they’ll +be up at the butcher’s, and at the general round the +corner, where the children’s down with measles, I +daresay. But I expect to find the private gentlefolks +gone to bed.’</p> + +<p>‘Give me that rhubarb, and hold your tongue,’ +said Lucius.</p> + +<p>His medicines were soon made up and dispatched; +and he was on the point of leaving his surgery for +the night, when he put his hand in his pocket in +search of a key, and found the bottle he had taken +from Mr. Sivewright’s bedside.</p> + +<p>‘Good heavens!’ he exclaimed; ‘are mind and +memory failing me altogether that I could forget +this?’</p> + +<p>He held the bottle between him and the flame of +the gas. The liquid, which had been clear enough +when he sent it out of his surgery, had now a slightly +clouded look.</p> + +<p>‘I wonder whether I have such a thing as a bit<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span> +of copper gauze?’ he thought, as he put down the +bottle.</p> + +<p>He looked in several small drawers in the table on +which he made up his medicines, and finally found +the object he sought for. He poured the medicine +into a glass vessel and applied his test.</p> + +<p>The experiment showed him that there was arsenic +in the medicine. The quantity was of the +smallest, but the poison was there. He repeated his +experiment, to make assurance doubly sure. Yes, +there could be no shadow of doubt. Arsenic had been +introduced into the medicine since it had left his +hands yesterday afternoon.</p> + +<p>Whose was the guilty hand which had done this +thing? His vague suspicion arose before him all at +once in the shape of an awful fact, and the horror of +it almost paralysed thought. Who could have seemed +more secure than this harmless old man, lying on +his sick bed, tenderly watched by loving eyes, ministered +to by dutiful hands—guarded, it would seem, +from the possibility of danger? Yet even there a +murderer had penetrated; and by slow steps, by +means so gradual as almost to defy suspicion, that +feeble life was assailed.</p> + +<p>Who could the assassin be but that old servant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span> +in whose fidelity Homer Sivewright trusted from the +mere force of habit? Yes; the case seemed clear +enough, looked at by the light of this new discovery. +Jacob Wincher, who knew the full value of the collection, +had begun a systematic course of plunder—who +could tell how long it had gone on? perhaps +ever since Mr. Sivewright had taken to his bed—and, +in order to escape the detection which must have +been inevitable on the old man’s recovery, he had +taken measures to make his master’s illness mortal.</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps he argues that by dropping a pinch of +arsenic into his master’s medicine now and then he +only assists the progress of the disease, and that his +crime is something less than murder,’ thought Lucius +bitterly.</p> + +<p>He was angry with himself, because this very day—after +suspecting Jacob Wincher, nay, after feeling +convinced of his guilt—he had suffered himself to be +hoodwinked, and had believed the old servant to be +an honest man. He remembered Mr. Otranto’s dictum, +so absolutely expressed, and smiled at the fatuity +of a man whom the world deemed possessed of almost +superhuman powers.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, the scheme is transparent. He has admitted +the man I saw night after night, and has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span> +doubtless made away with all that is most valuable in +the collection. He knows that his master’s recovery +would be his ruin, and he means to prevent that recovery. +His apparent candour this morning was a +profound stroke of policy. He took alarm from what +I said to his wife—guessed that I had seen the entrance +of his accomplice, and played his cards accordingly. +Not clever enough for a thief, did you say, +Mr. Otranto? Why, here is a man clever enough to +carry on simultaneous robbery and murder, and yet +to wear the semblance of most consummate innocence. +This is evidently a development of intellectual +power among the dangerous classes for which your +previous experience has not prepared you.’</p> + +<p>Lucius laughed the laugh of scorn at the thought +of Mr. Otranto’s shortsightedness.</p> + +<p>But what was he, Lucius, to do? That was the +question. How was he to avert the danger from his +patient, and yet avoid alarming him? To alarm +him might be fatal. To tell a man almost at Death’s +door that he had been brought to this pass by a slow +poisoner in his own household, would surely be to +complete the murder. Where was the sick man +with nerves strong enough to endure such a revelation?</p> + +<p>‘I must get rid of these Winchers, yet not tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span> +Mr. Sivewright the cause of their dismissal,’ thought +Lucius. ‘I can invent some plausible excuse for +their disappearance. And when they are gone—Stay, +might it not be better to let them stop, and to keep +watch over my patient myself—so close a watch, that +if foul play were attempted I must discover the delinquent?’</p> + +<p>He meditated upon this question for some time; +now leaning one way, now the other.</p> + +<p>‘No,’ he decided at last; ‘murder shall no longer +lurk within the shadow of those walls! At any cost +I will get rid of those wretches, with their pretence +of long service and fidelity.’</p> + +<p>He thought of Mrs. Wincher, whom he had a +little while ago considered one of the most well-meaning +of women, completely devoted to her young mistress, +faithful, affectionate.</p> + +<p>‘She may not know the extent of her husband’s +iniquity,’ he thought; for it was painful to him to +believe that the woman who had hovered about Love’s +rosy pathway like a protecting angel was among the +vilest of her sex.</p> + +<p>‘What about this night?’ he asked himself with +painful anxiety. He had left a guard upon the house +and its treasures, but what guard had he set upon +that old man’s life? The doors of the sick room<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> +might be locked ever so securely, and yet the assassin +might enter. Wincher and his accomplice might +know of that secret staircase, in spite of the old servant’s +affectation of entire ignorance; and between +the secret staircase and the sick chamber there was +only a sliding panel.</p> + +<p>‘I’ll go back to-night,’ said Lucius. ‘I should +be a dastard if, with my present knowledge, I left +that old man unprotected. I’ll go back, and get into +the garden from the creek. I shall find the detective +on his beat at the back, no doubt. I’ll warn him +about the secret staircase; so that no one shall get to +Mr. Sivewright’s room that way, at any rate.’</p> + +<p>He lost no time in putting his resolve into execution. +It was a few minutes past eleven, and the distance +to Cedar House was about half an hour’s walk. +Before midnight he would be there.</p> + +<p>Fortune favoured him. The night was dark, and +there was no one to observe his trespass as he walked +along the deserted wharf and stepped lightly across +the untenanted barges. From one of these it was +easy to get upon the low wall of Mr. Sivewright’s garden. +He saw a light in the brewhouse, where he had +found the entrance to the secret stair. The door was +open, and the detective was lounging against the +door-post, smoking his pipe and enjoying the night air.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span></p> + +<p>‘Who’s there?’ he demanded in cautious tones, +as Lucius’s light footstep sounded on the weedy +gravel.</p> + +<p>‘A friend—Davoren,’ answered Lucius, and then +told the man the reason of his return.</p> + +<p>‘This is a worse case than even I thought it,’ he +said. ‘There has been an attempt to poison the old +gentleman up-stairs, as well as to rob him.’</p> + +<p>The man looked incredulous. Lucius briefly +stated his grounds for this statement.</p> + +<p>‘There has been nothing stirring here?’ he asked.</p> + +<p>‘Nothing, except the beadles. They’re on short +rations, and it seems to make ’em active. I’ve been +in and out ever since you left.’</p> + +<p>‘Has Wincher gone to bed?’</p> + +<p>‘Two hours ago.’</p> + +<p>‘And you are sure he has never stirred since?’</p> + +<p>‘Quite sure. I’ve been past his door about every +ten minutes or so, and have heard him and his wife +snoring as peaceable as a pair of turtle-doves.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, I’ve come to share your watch till morning, +if you’ve no objection. After the discovery I’ve +just told you about, I couldn’t rest.’</p> + +<p>‘No objections, sir. If you’d brought a casebottle +with a trifle of spirit it might have been welcome.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> + +<p>‘I am sorry that I omitted to provide myself with +such a thing,’ answered Lucius politely.</p> + +<p>He showed the detective the door opening upon +the secret staircase, and told him not to leave the +brewhouse while he, Lucius, went up-stairs to see +that all was right on the upper floor.</p> + +<p>‘If the man who came last night should come +again to-night, he will try to enter by that door,’ said +Lucius, pointing to the door by which he had just +come in. ‘Leave it open, and your light burning +just where it is. He’ll take that to mean that all’s +right, most likely. But be sure you keep in the +background yourself till he’s fairly inside.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope I know my business, sir,’ replied the detective +with dignity.</p> + +<p>Lucius went through the back premises to the +hall. The doors in the interior of the house had +been left open for the convenience of the watchers. +His footsteps, cautiously as he trod, resounded on the +stone-paved floor; so at the foot of the staircase he +drew off his boots, and went up-stairs noiselessly +in his stockings. He thought of Mr. Sivewright’s +complaint of that mysterious foot-fall which had +disturbed his slumbers in the deep of night,—the +footstep of the secret assassin. To-night he was +surely guarded. From the lower part of the house<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span> +no one could approach him without the knowledge of +the watcher lying in wait below.</p> + +<p>But how about those upper rooms, in one of +whose windows he had seen the light burning last +night? Was there not some mystery there? He +determined to explore that topmost story, now, in +the darkness of the night even, rather than leave his +doubts unsatisfied.</p> + +<p>Vain determination! The door of communication +between the corridor and the upper staircase was +locked. He tried it with a cautious hand, and found +it firmly secured against him. Then he remembered +how Lucille had locked that door and put the key +in her pocket after they came down-stairs from the +loft.</p> + +<p>If that door had been locked and the key in Lucille’s +possession last night, how came the light in +the upper window? That was a new problem for +him to solve.</p> + +<p>He crept along the passage, and listened at the +old man’s door. He could hear his patient’s breathing, +laboured but regular. There was no other sound +in the room.</p> + +<p>He waited here for some time, listening; but +there was nothing save the old man’s breathing to +disturb the stillness, nothing until from Lucille’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span> +room there came the sound of a long deep sigh—a +sigh from a heart sorely oppressed.</p> + +<p>That sound smote his own heart with unspeakable +pain. It betrayed such deep unhappiness—a +sorrow which could only find vent in the dead of the +night, in deep heartbroken sighs.</p> + +<p>‘Is it her grandfather’s danger that makes her +so unhappy?’ he wondered. ‘Strange; for the old +man has never been particularly kind to her—has +always kept her at arm’s length, as it were. Yet, I +daresay, to her tender nature the thought of approaching +death is too terrible. She cannot face the +inevitable doom; she lies awake and broods upon +the approaching calamity. Poor child! if she but +knew how baseless has been her dream of a father’s +love, how vainly her tenderest feelings have been +wasted on a wretch who has not even the poor claim +of kindred to her love!’</p> + +<p>For more than an hour he waited, sometimes outside +his patient’s door, sometimes by Lucille’s; but +nothing happened to alarm him throughout his +watch, and he knew the approach to the secret staircase +was securely guarded. No intruder could reach +Mr. Sivewright’s room that night, at any rate.</p> + +<p>Lucius went down-stairs at last, and smoked a +cigar in the brewhouse while the detective took his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span> +round through all the lower rooms. Thus the night +wore away, and in the gray dawn Lucius once more +mounted the stairs, and paced the corridor. Again +all was silence. This time he heard no sigh from +Lucille. His heart was relieved by the thought that +she was sleeping peacefully.</p> + +<p>With the dawn—Aurora the rosy-fingered showing +poorly at this east-end of London—he made his +way back by the garden-wall, the barges, and the +wharf, and returned to his own abode, which looked +sordid and cheerless enough beneath the pale light +of newborn day—cold and dreary and poor, lacking +the picturesqueness of a lodge in the primeval forest, +and but slightly surpassing it in luxury. He laid +himself down and tried his hardest to sleep; but the +thought of old Homer Sivewright and his hidden +enemy, the domestic poisoner, drove away slumber.</p> + +<p>‘I shall sleep no more till I have fathomed this +mystery,’ he said to himself wearily.</p> + +<p>But at last, when the sun was shining through +the poor screen afforded by a calico blind, he did fall +into a kind of sleep, or rather that feverish condition +which is neither sleeping nor waking. From this +state he woke with a start—that kind of shock which +jars the nerves of the dreamer when his vision ends +on the brink of a precipice, whence he feels himself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span> +descending to fathomless depths below. His forehead +was damp with a nameless horror; he trembled +as he rose in his bed.</p> + +<p>It was as if a voice had spoken in his ear as he +slept.</p> + +<p>‘What if Lucille were the poisoner?’</p> + +<p>Great Heaven! how could so vile a thought shape +itself in his mind? Yet with the thought there +arose before him, as if it had been shown to him +upon the open pages of a book, all those circumstances +which might seem to point to this hideous +conclusion. Who else, in that lonely old house, had +the same power to approach the patient? In whom +else would Homer Sivewright trust as blindly?</p> + +<p>He remembered Lucille’s agitation when he first +hinted the possibility of poison—that whitening +cheek, that sudden look of horror. Might not guilt +look thus?</p> + +<p>And then her emotion yesterday morning, when +she had dropped lifeless at his feet? Could anything +<em>but</em> guilt be thus stricken?</p> + +<p>‘O God,’ he cried, ‘I am surely going mad! +Or how else could such horrible thoughts enter my +mind? Do I not know her to be good and pure, +loving, unselfish, compassionate? And with the +conviction of her goodness firmly rooted in my heart,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span> +can I for one moment fear,—ay, even though circumstances +should weave a web of proof around her, +leaving not one loophole for escape?’</p> + +<p>He wrenched his thoughts away from the facts +which seemed to condemn the woman he so deeply +loved, and by a great effort of will dismissed a fancy +which seemed the most cruel treason against love.</p> + +<p>‘Does the evil one inspire our dreams sometimes?’ +he wondered. ‘So vile a thought could +never have entered my head if a voice had not whispered +the hateful suggestion into my sleeping ear. +But there shall be an end at once of suspicion and +of mystery. I will no longer treat Lucille as a +child. I frightened her more by my hints and suggestions +than I could have done had I told her the +plain facts. I will trust to her firmness and fortitude, +and tell her all without reserve—the discovery +of the attempted poisoning, the robbery, the secret +entrance of the man I watched the night before last. +I will trust her most fully.’</p> + +<p>This resolve gave extreme relief to his mind. +He dressed hurriedly, took a brief breakfast of his own +preparation, Mrs. Babb the charwoman not yet having +left her domestic circle to minister to his wants, and +at half-past eight o’clock found himself once more +outside the iron gate which shut in the chief object<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span> +of his love. Mrs. Wincher admitted him with a +solemn and mournful visage.</p> + +<p>‘Is there anything amiss?’ asked Lucius anxiously.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t believe there’ll ever be anything more in +this blessed house that isn’t amiss,’ answered Mrs. +Wincher obscurely, but with a despondent air that +augered ill.</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Sivewright is worse, I suppose,’ said Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Sivewright is much as usual, grumble, +grumble—this here don’t agree with him, and that +there turns sour on his stomach, and so on—enough +to worrit folks into early graves. But there’s a deal +more the matter than that this morning.’</p> + +<p>‘For Heaven’s sake, speak plainly,’ cried Lucius +impatiently.</p> + +<p>‘Our missy is in a burning fever. She was +heavy and lollopy-like all yesterday afternoon, and +her cheeks, that have been as white as a chaney tea-plate +latterly, was red and hot-looking, and she slept +heavy and breathed short in her sleep, for I stood +and watched her; and she moved about in a languid +way that wasn’t a bit like her quick light ways when +she’s well. But I thought it was nothink more than +what you says yourself yesterday morning—want of +rest. I should ’ave thought you might ’ave knowed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span> +she was sickening for a fever,’ added Mrs. Wincher +reproachfully.</p> + +<p>‘Misfortune does not always declare itself so +plainly. I could see that she was ill, and that was all. +God grant the fever may not be very much, after all!’</p> + +<p>‘Not very much!’ exclaimed Mrs. Wincher. +‘Why, when I took her a hearly cup of tea at half-past +seven this morning, which was as soon as I +could get my kittle boiled, she was raving like a +lunatic—going on about her father, and such-like—in +a dreadful way, and didn’t recognise me no more +nor if I’d been a stranger out of the street.’</p> + +<p>This was a bad hearing; but Lucius bore the +shock calmly enough. Troubles and perplexities +had rained thickly upon him of late, and there is a +kind of stoicism which grows out of familiarity with +sorrow.</p> + +<p>‘Take me to Miss Sivewright’s room,’ he said +quietly, ‘and let me see what is the matter.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ve moved her out of the little dressing-room +into her own room,’ said Mrs. Wincher; ‘me and +my good gentleman carried the bed with her on it +while she was asleep. I thought as how it wouldn’t +do for her grandpa to hear her carrying on that +wild.’</p> + +<p>‘You were right enough there. Yet she was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span> +faithful guardian, and your master is now in the +power of his foes.’</p> + +<p>‘Foes, sir? What foes can he have in this +house?’</p> + +<p>‘The same people who found their way to the +plate in the muniment chest might find their way to +Mr. Sivewright’s room,’ said Lucius.</p> + +<p>‘Lor, sir, how you do frighten one! But what +harm could even thieves and robbers want to do to +a harmless old man, unless he stood between ’em +and the property?’</p> + +<p>‘I won’t stop to discuss that question with you +now, Mrs. Wincher. I shall have something to say +to you and your husband presently. Have the detectives +gone?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir; but they’re coming back the same +time to-night. One of ’em left a bit of a note for +you. It’s on the kitchen chimleypiece. I’ll run +and fetch it if you like.’</p> + +<p>‘Not till you have taken me to Miss Sivewright’s +room. Is she alone all this time?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir; but she was asleep when I left her. +She dozes off every now and then.’</p> + +<p>‘She must have a nurse to watch her, sleeping +or waking.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher led the way up-stairs, and to one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span> +of the doors in the corridor out of which Mr. Sivewright’s +room opened. For the first time Lucius +found himself in Lucille’s room—a spacious airy +apartment, with three windows deep set in the solid +walls, and provided with broad oak window-seats. A +scantily furnished chamber, yet with that grace and +prettiness of aspect which a girl’s taste can give to +the poorest surroundings. There were books, a few +water-coloured sketches on the walls, a few oddments +of old china tastefully disposed on the high oak +chimneypiece, white muslin curtains to the windows, +a well-worn Persian carpet in the centre of the dark +oak floor—everywhere the most perfect neatness, +cleanliness the most scrupulous.</p> + +<p>Lucille was sleeping when Lucius and Mrs. +Wincher entered; but at the sound of her lover’s +footsteps, lightly as he trod, she started, opened her +eyes, and looked at him.</p> + +<p>O, how sad to see those sweet eyes looking at +him thus, without recognition! how sad to mark +that dreamy unconscious stare in eyes that yesterday +had been full of meaning! Lucius sank into a chair +by the bed, fairly overcome. It was some moments +before he was sufficiently master of himself to approach +the case professionally, to go through the +usual formula, with an aching heart.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span></p> + +<p>She was very ill, with such an illness as might +have been easily induced by long-continued anxiety +and want of rest—anxious days, sleepless nights. +The gravest feature in the case was the delirium—the +inability to recognise familiar faces.</p> + +<p>‘Lucille,’ he said, in a low tender voice, ‘don’t +you know me?’</p> + +<p>She did not answer him. Her head moved +wearily on the pillow from side to side, while her +lips murmured faintly. Lucius bent over her to +catch the words.</p> + +<p>‘You shouldn’t have come here, father,’ she said, +‘if you couldn’t forgive him. But no, no, you could +not do him any harm—you could not be so vile as +that. I have loved you so dearly. Papa, don’t you +remember—the violin—our happy evenings?’</p> + +<p>Thus the parched lips went on, in low broken +murmurs, which were sometimes quite unintelligible.</p> + +<p>‘It’s been all her father since she was took that +way,’ said Mrs. Wincher.</p> + +<p>‘Strange that her mind should brood thus upon +that one memory,’ thought Lucius—‘the one tender +remembrance of her childhood.’</p> + +<p>He lingered for some time by the bedside, listening +to those indistinct murmurs in which the name +of ‘father’ was so often repeated. Then he began to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span> +consider what he must do to secure the safety of this +beloved sufferer.</p> + +<p>To leave her in the custody of people whom he +believed guilty of the deepest iniquity was not to be +dreamed of. He must get rid of these Winchers at +any hazard, bring in a sick nurse upon whose fidelity +he could rely, and, so far as it was possible, keep +watch upon the premises himself by day and night.</p> + +<p>Get rid of the Winchers? How was that to be +done? He had no authority for their dismissal.</p> + +<p>There was one way, he thought, hazardous perhaps +for his patient, but tolerably certain of immediate +success. He must inform Mr. Sivewright of +the robbery, and state on whom his suspicions fell. +There was little doubt that on learning he had been +robbed the <em>bric-à-brac</em> dealer would dismiss his old +servants. The first thing to be done was to get the +sick nurse and secure Lucille’s safety, come what +might.</p> + +<p>He told Mrs. Wincher that he would return in +half an hour or so to see her master, and left the +house without giving her any farther hint as to his +intention. He knew of a nurse in the immediate +neighbourhood, a woman of the comfortable motherly +order, of whose ministrations among his patients he +had had ample experience, and he hailed the first cab<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> +that hove in sight, and drove off in quest of this +honest matron. Fortune favoured him. Mrs. Milderson, +the nurse—like Mrs. Gamp, sick and monthly—had +just returned from an interesting case in the +West India-road.</p> + +<p>On this worthy woman Lucius descended like a +whirlwind: would hardly give her time to rummage +up an apron or two and a clean print gown, let alone +her brush and comb—as she said plaintively—ere he +whisked her into the devouring jaws of the hansom, +which swallowed her up, bundle and all, and conveyed +her with almost electric speed to Cedar House.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher stared amain at this interloper, and +would fain have kept her on the outer side of the iron +gate.</p> + +<p>‘And pray, Dr. Davory, what may this good lady +want?’ she asked, surveying the nurse and bundle +with looks of withering scorn.</p> + +<p>‘This good lady’s name is Milderson; she is an +honest and trustworthy person, and she has come to +nurse Miss Sivewright.’</p> + +<p>‘May I ask, Dr. Davory, by whose orders?’</p> + +<p>‘By mine, the young lady’s medical attendant and +her future husband,’ answered Lucius. ‘This way, +if you please, Milderson. I’ll talk to you presently, +Mrs. Wincher.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> + +<p>He passed that astonished female, who stood +agape, staring after him with bewildered looks, and +then raising her eyes aloft to outraged Heaven—</p> + +<p>‘And me not thought good enough to nurse our +missy!’ she ejaculated. ‘Me, that took her through +the measles, and had her on my lap three blessed days +and nights with the chicken-pox. I couldn’t have +thought it of you, Dr. Davory. And a stranger +brought into this house without by your leave nor +with your leave! Who’s to be respounceable for the +safety of the bricklebrack after this, I should like +to know!’</p> + +<p>Having propounded this question to the unresponsive +sky, Mrs. Wincher uttered a loud groan, as +if disappointed at receiving no answer, and then +slowly dragged her weary way to the house, sliding one +slippered foot after the other in deepest dejection. +She walked up-stairs with the same slipshod step, +and waited in the corridor outside Lucille’s room +with folded arms and a countenance in which a blank +stare had succeeded to the workings of indignation.</p> + +<p>This stony visage confronted Lucius when he +emerged from the sick room, after about a quarter of +an hour employed in giving directions to Mrs. Milderson.</p> + +<p>‘Do you mean to say, Dr. Davory, that I’m not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span> +to nurse my young missy?’ asked Mrs. Wincher, +stifled emotion trembling in every accent.</p> + +<p>‘That is my intention, Mrs. Wincher,’ answered +Lucius severely. ‘First and foremost, you are not an +experienced nurse; and secondly, I cannot trust you.’</p> + +<p>‘Not experienced, after taking that blessed dear +through the chicken-pox—which she had it worse than +ever chicken-pox was knowed within the memory of +the chemist round the corner, in Condick-street, +where I got the gray powders as I gave her—and +after walking about with her in the measles till I +was ready to drop! Not to be trusted after five-and-twenty +years’ faithful service! O, Dr. Davory, I +couldn’t have thought it of you!’</p> + +<p>‘Five-and-twenty years’ service is a poor certificate +if the service ends in robbery and attempted +murder,’ answered Lucius quietly.</p> + +<p>‘Attempted murder!’ echoed Mrs. Wincher, +aghast.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, that’s a terrible word, Mrs. Wincher, isn’t +it? And this is the worst of all murders—domestic +murder—the slow and secret work of the poisoner, +whose stealthy hand introduces death into the medicine +that should heal, the food that should nourish. +Of all forms of assassination there can be none so +vile as that.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher uttered no syllable of reply. She +could only gaze at the speaker in dumb wonderment. +She began to fear that this young man was going +mad.</p> + +<p>‘He’s been eggziting and werrying of hisself till +he’s on the high road to a lunacy asylum,’ she said +to herself presently, when Lucius had passed her and +gone into Mr. Sivewright’s room.</p> + +<p>‘You took away my medicine yesterday morning,’ +said the invalid in his most querulous tone, ‘and +sent me none to replace it. However, as I feel much +better without it, your physic was no loss.’</p> + +<p>‘Pardon my inattention,’ said Lucius. ‘And you +really feel better without the medicine? Those +troublesome symptoms have abated, eh?’</p> + +<p>They had abated, Mr. Sivewright said, and he +went on to describe his condition, in which there +was positive improvement.</p> + +<p>‘I’m glad to find you so much better,’ Lucius +said, ‘for you will be able to hear some rather disagreeable +intelligence. You have been robbed.’</p> + +<p>‘Robbed!’ cried the old man, starting up in his +bed as if moved by a galvanic battery. ‘Robbed! +Yes, I thought as much when I heard those footsteps. +Robbed! My collection rifled of its gems, I +suppose. The Capo di Monte—the Copenhagen—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> +old Roman medals in the ebony cabinet—the +Boucher tapestry!’ he exclaimed, running over the +catalogue of his treasures breathlessly.</p> + +<p>‘These are safe, for anything I know to the contrary. +You had a monstrance in silver-gilt?’</p> + +<p>‘Gold!’ cried the old man; ‘twenty-carat gold! +I had it assayed. I gave thirty pounds for that +monstrance to an old scoundrel who was going to +break it up for the sake of the gems, and who believed +it was lacquer. It had been stolen from some +foreign church, no doubt. The emeralds alone are +worth two hundred pounds. You don’t mean to tell +me I’ve been robbed of that?’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sorry to say that and some pieces of old +silver are missing; but I hope to recover them.’</p> + +<p>‘Recover the dead from the bottom of the sea and +bring them to life again!’ cried Mr. Sivewright +vehemently. ‘You might do that as easily as the +other. Why, those things were in the muniment +chest, and Wincher had the key. He has kept that +key for the last twenty years.’</p> + +<p>‘Some one has found his way to the chest +in spite of Mr. Wincher’s care,’ answered Lucius +gravely.</p> + +<p>He went on to relate the particulars of the robbery. +The old man got out of bed while he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> +talking, and began to drag on his clothes with +trembling hands.</p> + +<p>‘I will not lie here to be plundered,’ he exclaimed, +profoundly agitated.</p> + +<p>‘Now, that is what I feared,’ cried Lucius. ‘If +you do not obey me implicitly, I shall repent having +told you the truth. You must remain in this room +till you are strong enough to leave it. You can +surely trust me to protect the property in which your +generous confidence has given me the strongest +interest.’</p> + +<p>‘True, you are as much interested as I am,’ +muttered the old man; ‘nay, more so, for life is +before you, and is nearly over with me. <em>My</em> interest +in these things is a vanishing one; yet I doubt if +there would be rest for me in the grave if those fruits +of my life’s labour were in jeopardy.’</p> + +<p>‘Will you trust me to take care of this house and +all it contains?’ asked Lucius anxiously. ‘Will you +give me authority to dismiss these Winchers, whom +I cannot but suspect of complicity with the thief, +whoever he may be?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dismiss them. They have robbed me, no +doubt. I was a fool to trust old Wincher with the +key of that chest; but he has served me so long, and +I thought there was a dog-like fidelity in his nature,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span> +that he would be content to grub on to the end of +his days, asking nothing more than food and shelter. +I thought it was against his interests to rob me. At +his age a man should cling to his home as a mussel +sticks to his rock. The fellow is as sober as an +anchorite. One would suppose he could have no +motive for dishonesty. But you had better dismiss +him.’</p> + +<p>‘I have your permission to do so?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p>‘Thank you, sir. It seems a hard thing, but I +am convinced it is the right course. I will get your +house taken good care of, depend upon it.’</p> + +<p>‘I trust you implicitly,’ answered the old man, +with a faint sigh, half fatigue, half despondency. +‘You are the only friend I have upon earth—except +Lucille. Why has she not been to me this morning?’</p> + +<p>‘She is not very well. Anxiety and want of rest +have prostrated her for a little while.’</p> + +<p>‘Ill!’ said Mr. Sivewright anxiously; ‘that is +bad. Poor little Lucille!’</p> + +<p>‘Pray don’t be uneasy about her; be assured I +shall be watchful.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I am sure of that.’</p> + +<p>‘I have brought in a nurse—now, you mustn’t +be angry with me, though in this matter I have disobeyed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> +you—a thoroughly honest, competent woman, +who will attend to you and Lucille too.’</p> + +<p>‘I detest strangers,’ said Mr. Sivewright; ‘but +I suppose I must submit to the inevitable.’</p> + +<p>‘Now, I want your permission to remain in the +house for a night or two. I would stay altogether, +were it not for the possibility of night patients. I can +occupy the little room next this, and shall be at hand +to attend you. Lucille has returned to her own room.’</p> + +<p>‘Do as you please,’ answered Mr. Sivewright with +wonderful resignation, ‘so long as you protect me +from robbery.’</p> + +<p>‘With God’s help I will protect you from every +peril. By the way, since you say my medicine has +done you no good, you shall take no more. Your +food shall be prepared according to my directions, +and brought you by Mrs. Milderson, the nurse. I +told you some time ago that yours was a case in +which I attached more importance to diet than to +drugs. And now I’ll go and settle matters with +Mr. and Mrs. Wincher.’</p> + +<p>He had not far to go. Mrs. Wincher was still +in the corridor, waiting for him with stony visage +and folded arms.</p> + +<p>‘I should be glad to see your husband, Mrs. +Wincher,’ said Lucius.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> + +<p>‘My good gentleman is down-stairs, sir, and will +be happy to wait upon you direckly minute.’</p> + +<p>Lucius went down to the hall with Mrs. Wincher. +Her good gentleman was pottering about among his +master’s treasures, with a dusting-brush.</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Wincher,’ said Lucius without preamble, +‘I have come to the determination that, under the +very unpleasant circumstances which have arisen in +this house, plain sailing is the wisest course. I have +therefore informed Mr. Sivewright of the robbery.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, sir! I should have thought you’d +hardly have ventured that while he’s so ill. And +how did he take it?’</p> + +<p>‘Better than I expected: but he agreed with me +as to the necessity of a step which I proposed to +him.’</p> + +<p>‘What might that be, sir?’</p> + +<p>‘That you and Mrs. Wincher should immediately +leave this house.’</p> + +<p>The old man, who was feeble and somewhat +bowed with age and hard work, drew himself up +with an offended dignity that might have become a +prince of the blood-royal.</p> + +<p>‘If that is my master’s decision I am ready to go, +sir,’ he said, without a quaver in his weak old voice. +‘If that is my master’s decision after five-and-twenty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span> +years’ faithful service, I cannot go too soon. +Deborah, get our bits of things together, my dear, +as fast as you conveniently can, while I go out and +look about me for a room.’</p> + +<p>‘Lemaître, at his best, was not a finer actor than +this old man,’ thought Lucius. ‘It is the perfection +of art.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher only stared and breathed hard. +In her, indignation had paralysed the power of +speech.</p> + +<p>‘If it were a mere question of the robbery,’ said +Lucius, ‘I should not have counselled your dismissal. +It would have gone hard with me if, once put upon +my guard, I could not have protected the property +in this house. But there is one thing more valuable +than a man’s property, and more difficult to protect, +and that is his life. The reason of your dismissal, +Mr. Wincher, is that there has been an attempt +made by some one in this house—and you +best know how many it contains—to poison your +old master.’</p> + +<p>‘Poison!’ echoed Jacob Wincher helplessly.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I discovered arsenic last night in a half-filled +medicine bottle which I took from your master’s +room. Some one had introduced arsenic into +the medicine since it left my hands. Mr. Sivewright’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> +symptoms of late have been those of arsenical +poisoning. Under such circumstances you can +hardly wonder that I wish to bring about a change +of occupants in this house.’</p> + +<p>‘No, sir,’ answered the old man, ‘I don’t wonder. +Poison!—a poisoner at work in this house +where we have watched so faithfully! It is too horrible. +It is a mystery beyond my power to fathom. +There have been only three of us in the house—my +wife, and Miss Lucille, and me. And you think it +was I or my wife that put poison into that bottle. +Well, I can’t wonder at that. It couldn’t be Miss +Lucille, so it lies between my wife and me. We’re +best out of the house, sir, after that. This house is +no place for us. I hope you’ll contrive to take good +care of my master when we’re gone, and I pray God +that it may please Him in His good time to enlighten +your mind about us, and to show, somehow, +that neither I nor my good lady have tried to murder +the master we’ve served faithfully for a quarter of +a century.’</p> + +<p>‘If you are innocent, Mr. Wincher, I trust that +fact may be speedily demonstrated. In the mean +time you can hardly wonder that I think this house +a safer place without your presence in it.’</p> + +<p>‘No, sir, that’s natural enough. Deborah, my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span> +good soul, will you get together those things of ours? +The sooner the better.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll do what I can,’ answered Mrs. Wincher, +with a gasp; ‘but I don’t feel as if I had the proper +use of my limbs.’</p> + +<p>‘There’s the catalogue, sir,’ suggested Jacob +Wincher. ‘Hadn’t we better go through that before +I leave, and see what is right and what isn’t? +It’ll take some time, but it will be for the satisfaction +of both parties. I’ve one catalogue, sir, and Mr. Sivewright +another.’</p> + +<p>‘You are vastly conscientious, sir,’ said Lucius; +‘but as it would take at least a day to go through +these things, and as my ignorance unfits me for the +task, I think I will take my chance, and not oppose +any hindrance to your prompt departure. I’ll wait +hereabouts till Mrs. Wincher is ready.’</p> + +<p>‘As you please, sir. In that case I’ll go off at +once and look about me for a room.’</p> + +<p>‘Stay, Mr. Wincher,’ cried Lucius, as the old man +shuffled off towards the door; ‘I should be sorry +for you to leave this house penniless. Here are a +couple of sovereigns, which will enable you to live +for a week or so while you look for a new service.’</p> + +<p>‘A new service, sir!’ echoed Jacob Wincher bitterly. +‘Do you think that at my age situations are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span> +plentiful? No, sir, thank you; I couldn’t take money +from you, not if it was to save me from starvation. +I shall seek no new service. Mr. Sivewright +was never a very liberal paymaster, and since we +came to this house he has given us no wages except +a small allowance for our food. But our wants are +few, and we contrived to save the best part of our +wages while we were in Bond-street. No, sir, I am +not afraid to face the world, hard as it is to the old. +I shall get a few odd jobs to do among the poor +folks, I daresay, even without a character, and I +shall be able to rub along somehow.’</p> + +<p>Thus refusing Lucius’s proffered aid, Jacob Wincher +put on his hat and went out. Lucius went into +the room which contained the chief part of Mr. Sivewright’s +collection, and waited there with the door +open until Mr. Wincher’s good lady should make +her appearance, ready for departure.</p> + +<p>He looked round at the chaotic mass of property +wonderingly. How much had been plundered? +The shabby old glass cases of china seemed full +enough, yet who could tell how they had been +thinned by the dexterous hand of one who knew the +exact value of each separate object? It seemed hard +that the fruit of Homer Sivewright’s toil should +have been thus lessened; it seemed strange that he,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span> +who was a professed cynic, should have so entirely +trusted his old servant, only to be victimised by +him at last.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wincher made her appearance, after an interval +of about half an hour, laden with three bundles +of various shapes and sizes, but all of the +limpest description, two bandboxes, an ancient and +dilapidated umbrella, a small collection of hardware +in a hamper without a lid, a faded Paisley +shawl across her arm, a bottle-green cloth cloak of +antediluvian shape and style, and sundry small oddments +in the way of pattens, a brown-crockery teapot, +a paste-board, and a pepperbox.</p> + +<p>‘They’re our few little comforts, sir,’ she said +apologetically, as divers of these minor objects slid +from her grasp and rolled upon the stone floor of the +hall. ‘I suppose if we was sent to Newgate as +pisoners we shouldn’t be allowed to have ’em; but +as there’s no crime brought against us <em>yet</em>’—with +profoundest irony—‘I’ve took the liberty to bring +’em. Perhaps you’d like to look through my bundles, +Dr. Davory, to make sure as there’s none of +the bricklebrack hidden amongst my good gentleman’s +wardrobe.’</p> + +<p>‘No, thank you, Mrs. Wincher. I won’t trouble +you to open your bundles,’ answered Lucius, whose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span> +keen eye had taken note of the manner of goods +contained in those flabby envelopes.</p> + +<p>Thus absolved from the necessity of exhibiting +these treasures, Mrs. Wincher built them up in a +neat pyramid by the side of the hall-door, with infinite +pains, as if the monument were intended to be +permanent, and then seated herself meekly on the +lowest step of the staircase.</p> + +<p>‘I suppose as there’s no objections to my resting +my pore feet a bit, Dr. Davory,’ she said plaintively, +‘though me and my good gentleman is dismissed.’</p> + +<p>‘You are quite at liberty to rest yourself, Mrs. +Wincher,’ replied Lucius. ‘But I don’t mean to +take my eye off you till you’re out of this house,’ +he added mentally.</p> + +<p>He paced the hall and the room adjoining till the +bell at the outer gate announced Jacob Wincher’s +return. Mrs. Wincher went to admit her lord and +master, who presently appeared with a small truck +or hand-barrow, in which, aided by his wife, he deposited +the pyramid of goods and chattels, which +process involved a good deal more careful fitting-in +of curiously-shaped objects into odd corners. Everything, +however, having been finally adjusted to the +satisfaction of both parties, Mr. Wincher reëntered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span> +the house for the last time, while Mrs. Wincher +waited on the steps, and delivered the keys to Lucius. +Every key was neatly labelled with a slip of +parchment, whereon was inscribed its number in +Homer Sivewright’s crabbed penmanship.</p> + +<p>‘Those are all the keys, sir, just as my master +gave them to me when we first came here,’ said +Jacob Wincher. ‘I’ve got a bit of a lodging. Perhaps +you’d be kind enough to take down the address, +as I should be glad to learn if ever you find out the +real party that took the silver out of the chest, and +likewise tampered with the medicine.’</p> + +<p>‘If ever I find any evidence of your innocence +you shall hear of it, Mr. Wincher,’ answered Lucius +gravely. ‘What is the address?’</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Hickett’s, Crown-and-Anchor-alley, Bridge-street, +sir; not a quarter of an hour’s walk from +here.’</p> + +<p>Lucius wrote the address in his pocket-book +without another word.</p> + +<p>This last duty performed the Winchers departed, +and Lucius felt that he had taken the one step most +likely to insure the safety of his patient.</p> + +<p>‘If not they, who else?’ he said to himself, +thinking of the arsenic in the medicine bottle.</p> + +<p>He went once more to Lucille’s room, but hardly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span> +crossed the threshold. The sick girl was sleeping, +and the nurse gave a very fair account of her. He +told Mrs. Milderson her duties—how she was to +attend to Mr. Sivewright as well as to his granddaughter, +and told her furthermore how he had just +dismissed the old servants.</p> + +<p>‘I am going in search of some one to take their +place,’ he said, having made up his mind upon that +point some time ago.</p> + +<p>He went round the lower part of the house, tried +all the keys, saw that all the doors were secured—those +opening on the garden bolted and barred as +firmly as if they had belonged to a besieged citadel. +He looked through all the labels, but found no key +to the staircase door up-stairs; a circumstance that +annoyed him, as he had a particular desire to examine +those rooms on the top story. Then, having made +all safe, he went out, locking the hall-door and the +iron gate after him, and proceeded straightway to +Mr. Otranto’s office.</p> + +<p>Here he told that functionary exactly what he had +done. Mr. Otranto chewed the end of his pen, and +smiled upon his client with the calm smile of intellectual +superiority.</p> + +<p>‘Now, I daresay you think you’ve been and gone +and done a very clever thing,’ he said, when Lucius<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span> +had unbosomed himself; ‘but I can just tell you +you’re on the wrong tack—a good hundred knots out +of your course. That old party isn’t in the robbery; +and as to the pison, it’s not for me to argue with a +professional gent like you; no sorter should alter his +crepidam, as we say in the Classics; but I wouldn’t +mind laying even money that the pison is only your +fancy. You’ve been worriting yourself about this +blessed business till you’ve got nervous, so you goes +and sniffs at the physic, and jumps at the conclusion +that it’s poisoned.’</p> + +<p>‘I have not jumped at any conclusion,’ replied +Lucius. ‘My opinion is supported by an infallible +test.’</p> + +<p>He told Mr. Otranto that he wanted to find a +thoroughly honest man and woman, who would take +the place of the Winchers at Cedar House—a man +who would act as night watchman, and a woman who +would perform such trifling domestic duties as were +needed. Mr. Otranto, who had minions of all kinds +at his beck and call, did know of just such a couple—an +ex-policeman, who had left the force on account of +an accident that had lamed him, and a tidy body, the +ex-policeman’s wife. If Mr. Davoren wished, they +should be at Cedar House in two hours’ time.</p> + +<p>‘Let them meet me at the gate at three o’clock,’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span> +said Lucius. ‘I must go round among my patients +in the mean while.’</p> + +<p>His day’s work still waited to be done, and it was +long past twelve—dinner-time in the Shadrack district. +He had to endure reproachful looks from some +of his patients, but bore all with perfect good-temper, +and did his very best for all. Happily the people +believed in him, and were grateful for all the good he +had done among them.</p> + +<p>At three o’clock he was at the iron gate, where he +found Mr. Magsby, the ex-policeman, and his wife—a +comfortable-looking young woman with a bundle +and a baby, for which latter encumbrance Lucius +had not bargained, and for which Mrs. Magsby duly +apologised.</p> + +<p>‘Which Mr. Otranter may not have told you, sir, +as I couldn’t leave the baby behind, but she’s as +good a little dear as ever drew breath, and never +cries, and in a large house will be no ill-convenience.’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps not, if she never cries,’ said Lucius, +‘but if she does cry, you must smother her, rather +than let her voice be heard up-stairs.’ And then he +touched the small cheek kindly with his finger, and +smiled upon the little one, after a fashion which at +once won Mrs. Magsby’s heart.</p> + +<p>Mr. Magsby’s lameness was little more than a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span> +halt in his walk, and, although sufficient to disable +him as a public servant, was no hindrance to him as +a night-watchman. Altogether Lucius decided that +the Magsbys would do. He inducted them in the +gloomy old kitchen and the room with the presses, +where Mr. and Mrs. Wincher’s turn-up bedstead +yawned disconsolate and empty, and where there +were such bits of humble furniture as would suffice +for the absolute needs of life.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Magsby pronounced the apartments roomy +and commodious, but somewhat wanting in cheerfulness. +‘But me and Magsby have took care of all +manner of houses,’ she added with resignation, ‘and +we can make ourselves comfortable amost anywheres, +purvided we’ve a bit o’ firing to bile the kettle for our +cup o’ tea and a mouthful of victuals.’</p> + +<p>Lucius showed Mr. Magsby the premises—the door +opening upon the hidden staircase, all the ins and outs +of the place—and told him what was expected of him.</p> + +<p>After this induction of the Magsbys, he went up-stairs +and saw Lucille. She was awake, but her +mind still wandered. She looked at him with a far-off +unrecognising gaze that went to his heart, and murmured +some broken sentence, in which the name of +‘father’ was the only word he could distinctly hear.</p> + +<p>‘Pray to our Father in heaven, dearest,’ said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span> +Lucius, tenderly supporting the weary head, which +moved so restlessly upon the pillow. ‘He is the only +Father who never wrongs His children; in whose love +and wisdom we can believe, come weal, come woe.’</p> + +<p>He stayed by the bedside a little while, gave his +instructions to Mrs. Milderson, and then went to the +other sick room.</p> + +<p>Here he found Mr. Sivewright, fretful and impatient, +but decidedly improved since the suspension +of the medicine; a fact which that gentleman dwelt +upon in a somewhat cynical spirit.</p> + +<p>‘You may remember that at the beginning of +our acquaintance I professed myself a sceptic with +regard to medical science,’ he said with his harsh +laugh, ‘and I cannot say that my experience even of +your skill has been calculated to conquer my prejudices. +You are a very good fellow, Lucius, but the only +effect of your medicines for the last month or so has +been to make me feel nearer death than ever I felt +before. I seem to be twice the man I was since I +left off that confounded tonic of yours.’</p> + +<p>‘I am very glad to hear it—not glad that the +tonic has failed, but that you are better. Try to +believe in me a little, however, in spite of this.’</p> + +<p>‘Have you sent away those thieves?’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. and Mrs. Wincher? Yes, they are gone.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span></p> + +<p>‘So ends five-and-twenty years’ service! And +I thought them faithful!’ said Mr. Sivewright with a +sigh. ‘And by what models of honesty have you +replaced these traitors?’</p> + +<p>Lucius explained his arrangements, to which +Mr. Sivewright gave but doubtful approval.</p> + +<p>He inquired anxiously about Lucille, and seemed +grieved to find that she was too ill to come to him as +usual.</p> + +<p>‘Though for these many years past I have doubted +the existence of any relationship between us, she has +made herself dear to me somehow, in spite of myself. +God knows I have tried to shut my heart against her. +When my son abandoned me, I swore never to care +for any living creature—never again to subject myself +to the anguish that an ingrate can inflict.’</p> +<br> +<br> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs90">END OF VOL. II.</p> +<br> +<br> + +<p class="center no-indent fs80 wsp"> +LONDON:<br> +ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.<br> +</p> +<br> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter transnote"> +<h2 class="nobreak bold fs150" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 8 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">You loved this mam!</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">You loved this man!</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 152 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">conger eel and mackarel were unpopular</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">conger eel and mackerel were unpopular</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 263 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">having no farther business there</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">having no further business there</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> +<br> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75876 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75876-h/images/a003_deco.jpg b/75876-h/images/a003_deco.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aafdb5b --- /dev/null +++ b/75876-h/images/a003_deco.jpg diff --git a/75876-h/images/cover.jpg b/75876-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..972a6a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/75876-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75876-h/images/p001_deco.jpg b/75876-h/images/p001_deco.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5c8f2e --- /dev/null +++ b/75876-h/images/p001_deco.jpg diff --git a/75876-h/images/titlr.jpg b/75876-h/images/titlr.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3cc5429 --- /dev/null +++ b/75876-h/images/titlr.jpg |
