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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75930-0.txt b/75930-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5ab428 --- /dev/null +++ b/75930-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10119 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75930 *** + + + + + + NEW EAGLE SERIES NO. 1118 + + HER EVIL + GENIUS + + [Illustration] + + _By_ Adelaide Stirling + + + + +POPULAR COPYRIGHTS + +New Eagle Series + +PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS + +Carefully Selected Love Stories + +_Note the Authors!_ + + +There is such a profusion of good books in this list, that it is an +impossibility to urge you to select any particular title or author’s +work. All that we can say is that any line that contains the complete +works of Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Charles Garvice, Mrs. Harriet Lewis, +May Agnes Fleming, Wenona Gilman, Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller, and other +writers of the same type, is worthy of your attention, especially when +the price has been set at 15 cents the volume. + +These books range from 256 to 320 pages. They are printed from good +type, and are readable from start to finish. + +If you are looking for clean-cut, honest value, then we state most +emphatically that you will find it in this line. + + +_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_ + + 1--Queen Bess By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 2--Ruby’s Reward By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 7--Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 9--The Virginia Heiress By May Agnes Fleming + 12--Edrie’s Legacy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 17--Leslie’s Loyalty By Charles Garvice + (His Love So True) + 22--Elaine By Charles Garvice + 24--A Wasted Love By Charles Garvice + (On Love’s Altar) + 41--Her Heart’s Desire By Charles Garvice + (An Innocent Girl) + 44--That Dowdy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 50--Her Ransom By Charles Garvice + (Paid For) + 55--Thrice Wedded By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 66--Witch Hazel By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 70--Sydney By Charles Garvice + (A Wilful Young Woman) + 73--The Marquis By Charles Garvice + 77--Tina By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 79--Out of the Past By Charles Garvice + (Marjorie) + 84--Imogene By Charles Garvice + (Dumaresq’s Temptation) + 85--Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold By Charles Garvice + 88--Virgie’s Inheritance By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 95--A Wilful Maid By Charles Garvice + (Philippa) + 98--Claire By Charles Garvice + (The Mistress of Court Regna) + 99--Audrey’s Recompense By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 102--Sweet Cymbeline By Charles Garvice + (Bellmaire) + 109--Signa’s Sweetheart By Charles Garvice + (Lord Delamere’s Bride) + 111--Faithful Shirley By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 117--She Loved Him By Charles Garvice + 119--’Twixt Smile and Tear By Charles Garvice + (Dulcie) + 122--Grazia’s Mistake By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 130--A Passion Flower By Charles Garvice + (Madge) + 133--Max By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 136--The Unseen Bridegroom By May Agnes Fleming + 138--A Fatal Wooing By Laura Jean Libbey + 141--Lady Evelyn By May Agnes Fleming + 144--Dorothy’s Jewels By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 146--Magdalen’s Vow By May Agnes Fleming + 151--The Heiress of Glen Gower By May Agnes Fleming + 155--Nameless Dell By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 157--Who Wins By May Agnes Fleming + 166--The Masked Bridal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won By May Agnes Fleming + 174--His Guardian Angel By Charles Garvice + 177--A True Aristocrat By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 181--The Baronet’s Bride By May Agnes Fleming + 188--Dorothy Arnold’s Escape By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 199--Geoffrey’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 203--Only One Love By Charles Garvice + 210--Wild Oats By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 213--The Heiress of Egremont By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 215--Only a Girl’s Love By Charles Garvice + 219--Lost: A Pearle By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 222--The Lily of Mordaunt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 223--Leola Dale’s Fortune By Charles Garvice + 231--The Earl’s Heir By Charles Garvice + (Lady Norah) + 233--Nora By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 236--Her Humble Lover By Charles Garvice + (The Usurper; or, The Gipsy Peer) + 242--A Wounded Heart By Charles Garvice + (Sweet as a Rose) + 244--A Hoiden’s Conquest By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 250--A Woman’s Soul By Charles Garvice + (Doris; or, Behind the Footlights) + 255--The Little Marplot By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 257--A Martyred Love By Charles Garvice + (Iris; or, Under the Shadows) + 266--The Welfleet Mystery By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 267--Jeanne By Charles Garvice + (Barriers Between) + 268--Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake By Charles Garvice + 272--So Fair, So False By Charles Garvice + (The Beauty of the Season) + 276--So Nearly Lost By Charles Garvice + (The Springtime of Love) + 277--Brownie’s Triumph By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 280--Love’s Dilemma By Charles Garvice + (For an Earldom) + 282--The Forsaken Bride By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 283--My Lady Pride By Charles Garvice + (Floris) + 287--The Lady of Darracourt By Charles Garvice + 288--Sibyl’s Influence By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 292--For Her Only By Charles Garvice + (Diana) + 296--The Heir of Vering By Charles Garvice + 299--Little Miss Whirlwind By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 300--The Spider and the Fly By Charles Garvice + (Violet) + 303--The Queen of the Isle By May Agnes Fleming + 304--Stanch as a Woman By Charles Garvice + (A Maiden’s Sacrifice) + 305--Led by Love By Charles Garvice + Sequel to “Stanch as a Woman” + 309--The Heiress of Castle Cliffs By May Agnes Fleming + 312--Woven on Fate’s Loom, and The Snowdrift By Charles Garvice + 315--The Dark Secret By May Agnes Fleming + 317--Ione By Laura Jean Libbey + (Adrien Le Roy) + 318--Stanch of Heart By Charles Garvice + 322--Mildred By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 326--Parted by Fate By Laura Jean Libbey + 327--He Loves Me By Charles Garvice + 328--He Loves Me Not By Charles Garvice + 330--Aikenside By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 333--Stella’s Fortune By Charles Garvice + (The Sculptor’s Wooing) + 334--Miss McDonald By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 339--His Heart’s Queen By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 340--Bad Hugh. Vol. I. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 341--Bad Hugh. Vol. II. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 344--Tresillian Court By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 345--The Scorned Wife By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 346--Guy Tresillian’s Fate By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 347--The Eyes of Love By Charles Garvice + 348--The Hearts of Youth By Charles Garvice + 351--The Churchyard Betrothal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 352--Family Pride. Vol. I. By Mary J. Holmes + 353--Family Pride. Vol. II. By Mary J. Holmes + 354--A Love Comedy By Charles Garvice + 360--The Ashes of Love By Charles Garvice + 361--A Heart Triumphant By Charles Garvice + 367--The Pride of Her Life By Charles Garvice + 368--Won By Love’s Valor By Charles Garvice + 372--A Girl in a Thousand By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 373--A Thorn Among Roses By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + Sequel to “A Girl in a Thousand” + 380--Her Double Life By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 381--The Sunshine of Love By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + Sequel to “Her Double Life” + 382--Mona By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 391--Marguerite’s Heritage By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 399--Betsey’s Transformation By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 407--Esther, the Fright By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 415--Trixy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 440--Edna’s Secret Marriage By Charles Garvice + 449--The Bailiff’s Scheme By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 450--Rosamond’s Love By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + Sequel to “The Bailiff’s Scheme” + 451--Helen’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 456--A Vixen’s Treachery By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 457--Adrift in the World By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + Sequel to “A Vixen’s Treachery” + 458--When Love Meets Love By Charles Garvice + 464--The Old Life’s Shadows By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 465--Outside Her Eden By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + Sequel to “The Old Life’s Shadows” + 474--The Belle of the Season By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + 475--Love Before Pride By Mrs. Harriet Lewis + Sequel to “The Belle of the Season” + 481--Wedded, Yet No Wife By May Agnes Fleming + 489--Lucy Harding By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes + 495--Norine’s Revenge By May Agnes Fleming + 511--The Golden Key By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 512--A Heritage of Love By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + Sequel to “The Golden Key” + 519--The Magic Cameo By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 520--The Heatherford Fortune By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + Sequel to “The Magic Cameo” + 525--Sweet Kitty Clover By Laura Jean Libbey + 531--Better Than Life By Charles Garvice + 534--Lotta, the Cloak Model By Laura Jean Libbey + 542--Once in a Life By Charles Garvice + 543--The Veiled Bride By Laura Jean Libbey + 548--’Twas Love’s Fault By Charles Garvice + 551--Pity--Not Love By Laura Jean Libbey + 553--Queen Kate By Charles Garvice + 554--Step by Step By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 557--In Cupid’s Chains By Charles Garvice + 630--The Verdict of the Heart By Charles Garvice + 635--A Coronet of Shame By Charles Garvice + 640--A Girl of Spirit By Charles Garvice + 645--A Jest of Fate By Charles Garvice + 648--Gertrude Elliott’s Crucible By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 650--Diana’s Destiny By Charles Garvice + 655--Linked by Fate By Charles Garvice + 663--Creatures of Destiny By Charles Garvice + 671--When Love Is Young By Charles Garvice + 676--My Lady Beth By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 679--Gold in the Gutter By Charles Garvice + 712--Love and a Lie By Charles Garvice + 721--A Girl from the South By Charles Garvice + 730--John Hungerford’s Redemption By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon + 741--The Fatal Ruby By Charles Garvice + 749--The Heart of a Maid By Charles Garvice + 758--The Woman in It By Charles Garvice + 774--Love in a Snare By Charles Garvice + 775--My Love Kitty By Charles Garvice + 776--That Strange Girl By Charles Garvice + 777--Nellie By Charles Garvice + 778--Miss Estcourt; or Olive By Charles Garvice + 818--The Girl Who Was True By Charles Garvice + 826--The Irony of Love By Charles Garvice + 896--A Terrible Secret By May Agnes Fleming + 897--When To-morrow Came By May Agnes Fleming + 904--A Mad Marriage By May Agnes Fleming + 905--A Woman Without Mercy By May Agnes Fleming + 912--One Night’s Mystery By May Agnes Fleming + 913--The Cost of a Lie By May Agnes Fleming + 920--Silent and True By May Agnes Fleming + 921--A Treasure Lost By May Agnes Fleming + 925--Forrest House By Mary J. Holmes + 926--He Loved Her Once By Mary J. Holmes + 930--Kate Danton By May Agnes Fleming + 931--Proud as a Queen By May Agnes Fleming + 935--Queenie Hetherton By Mary J. Holmes + 936--Mightier Than Pride By Mary J. Holmes + 940--The Heir of Charlton By May Agnes Fleming + 941--While Love Stood Waiting By May Agnes Fleming + 945--Gretchen By Mary J. Holmes + 946--Beauty That Faded By Mary J. Holmes + 950--Carried by Storm By May Agnes Fleming + 951--Love’s Dazzling Glitter By May Agnes Fleming + 954--Marguerite By Mary J. Holmes + 955--When Love Spurs Onward By Mary J. Holmes + 960--Lost for a Woman By May Agnes Fleming + 961--His to Love or Hate By May Agnes Fleming + 964--Paul Ralston’s First Love By Mary J. Holmes + 965--Where Love’s Shadows Lie Deep By Mary J. Holmes + 968--The Tracy Diamonds By Mary J. Holmes + 969--She Loved Another By Mary J. Holmes + 972--The Cromptons By Mary J. Holmes + 973--Her Husband Was a Scamp By Mary J. Holmes + 975--The Merivale Banks By Mary J. Holmes + 978--The One Girl in the World By Charles Garvice + 979--His Priceless Jewel By Charles Garvice + 982--The Millionaire’s Daughter and Other Stories By Charles Garvice + 983--Doctor Hathern’s Daughters By Mary J. Holmes + 984--The Colonel’s Bride By Mary J. Holmes + 988--Her Ladyship’s Diamonds, and Other Stories By Charles Garvice + 998--Sharing Her Crime By May Agnes Fleming + 999--The Heiress of Sunset Hall By May Agnes Fleming + 1004--Maude Percy’s Secret By May Agnes Fleming + 1005--The Adopted Daughter By May Agnes Fleming + 1010--The Sisters of Torwood By May Agnes Fleming + 1015--A Changed Heart By May Agnes Fleming + 1016--Enchanted By May Agnes Fleming + 1025--A Wife’s Tragedy By May Agnes Fleming + 1026--Brought to Reckoning By May Agnes Fleming + 1027--A Madcap Sweetheart By Emma Garrison Jones + 1028--An Unhappy Bargain By Effie Adelaide Rowlands + 1029--Only a Working Girl By Geraldine Fleming + 1030--The Unbidden Guest By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1031--The Man and His Millions By Ida Reade Allen + 1032--Mabel’s Sacrifice By Charlotte M. Stanley + 1033--Was He Worth It? By Geraldine Fleming + 1034--Her Two Suitors By Wenona Gilman + 1035--Edith Percival By May Agnes Fleming + 1036--Caught in the Snare By May Agnes Fleming + 1037--A Love Concealed By Emma Garrison Jones + 1038--The Price of Happiness By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller + 1039--The Lucky Man By Geraldine Fleming + 1040--A Forced Promise By Ida Reade Allen + 1041--The Crime of Love By Barbara Howard + 1042--The Bride’s Opals By Emma Garrison Jones + 1043--Love That Was Cursed By Geraldine Fleming + + + + + HER EVIL GENIUS; + + OR, + + Within Love’s Call + + BY + + ADELAIDE STIRLING + + Author of “A Forgotten Love,” “Love and Spite,” + “A Sacrifice to Love,” etc. + + [Illustration] + + STREET & SMITH CORPORATION + PUBLISHERS + 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York + + + + + Copyright, 1899 + + By STREET & SMITH + + Her Evil Genius + + + (Printed in the United States of America) + + All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign + languages, including the Scandinavian. + + + + +HER EVIL GENIUS. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I. THE CONVENT PRELUDE. + CHAPTER II. A FRIENDLESS FUGITIVE. + CHAPTER III. THE WHEELS OF FATE. + CHAPTER IV. THE LOVELY ANDRIA. + CHAPTER V. HER EVIL GENIUS. + CHAPTER VI. LORD ERCELDONNE MARKS THE KING. + CHAPTER VII. FIRST BLOOD TO ERCELDONNE. + CHAPTER VIII. A WOMAN’S DIARY. + CHAPTER IX. ON BOARD THE YACHT. + CHAPTER X. THE HOUSE BY THE SEA. + CHAPTER XI. TWO WARNINGS. + CHAPTER XII. THE HAUNTING EYES. + CHAPTER XIII. THE PATTERING FOOTSTEPS. + CHAPTER XIV. THE EYES OUTSIDE THE JALOUSY. + CHAPTER XV. A STRANGE POWER. + CHAPTER XVI. IN THE WOODS OF PARADISE. + CHAPTER XVII. OLD SINS AWAKENED. + CHAPTER XVIII. DOUBTING THOMAS. + CHAPTER XIX. TRUSTED TOO LATE. + CHAPTER XX. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. + CHAPTER XXI. STRANGERS. + CHAPTER XXII. BEHIND THE CYPRESS BOUGHS. + CHAPTER XXIII. THE CRY IN THE STARLIGHT. + CHAPTER XXIV. THE MADMAN. + CHAPTER XXV. THE LAUGH IN THE DARK. + CHAPTER XXVI. A SEALED PACKET. + CHAPTER XXVII. THE HAND OF FATE. + CHAPTER XXVIII. A MURDER IN THE DARK. + CHAPTER XXIX. THE DEATH-TRAP. + CHAPTER XXX. MOTHER FELICITAS. + CHAPTER XXXI. HOPELESS AND HELPLESS. + CHAPTER XXXII. AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH. + CHAPTER XXXIII. A DREAM OF VENGEANCE. + CHAPTER XXXIV. A LITTLE GOLD. + CHAPTER XXXV. THE BEGINNING OF THE JUDGMENT. + CHAPTER XXXVI. “A BOY!” + CHAPTER XXXVII. THE DARK HOUSE. + CHAPTER XXXVIII. DREAMS. + CHAPTER XXXIX. TAKEN UNAWARES. + CHAPTER XL. THE EXPIATION OF MOTHER FELICITAS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE CONVENT PRELUDE. + + +The summer holidays had begun and the great convent school was +deserted, all its pupils gone but two, who were in the alcove belonging +to the elder of them, and, as if that breakage of rule were not enough, +were seated on the small white bed which was counted a crime to rumple. + +The elder girl was eighteen, and after to-day convent rules would +concern her no more, for that very afternoon she was going out into +“the world” to earn her own living as a governess. She was wild +with excitement, and would have been enraptured with the foretaste +of liberty had it not been for the child who clung to her, sick and +exhausted with stormy crying. + +She looked down on her pityingly, and the reverend mother could have +told you Andria Heathcote was not given to compassion. Her red-brown +hair grew too strongly on her forehead for that; her full rose lips +were too heavy. Yet something in the very strangeness of the girl who +clutched her had caught at her hard young heart. + +For Beryl Corselas was only a child, and young for her years at +that. It seemed to Andria that the sins of eleven years old were too +seriously taken when they were considered crimes, and yet her goblin +ways were enough to provoke a saint--or Sister Felicitas! + +“Beryl, look here,” repeated Andria; “don’t cry any more. I’ll write to +you. I’m not going very far away.” + +The child lifted her face from the girl’s shoulder. It was a curious +face, with something almost vacant about it, yet what the lack was +no one could quite say. She had extraordinary eyes, strangely and +uncannily beautiful, so light a brown as to be almost yellow, tawny +golden under the heavy eyelashes, that were black as ink. The warm +whiteness of her cheeks was blurred with crying, paled with real +despair, and the startling crimson of the childish lips had been hard +bitten to check the sobs that might be heard. + +She pushed away the long cloud of straight hair that was not black nor +brown, but dusky, a cloud of darkness with no color to be named, from +her face, and spoke with sullen, unchildlike contempt. + +“You won’t write!” Her eyes were like burned-out coals. “You’ll mean +to, but you won’t. You’re always trying to save other people’s feelings +outside, but inside you never care. You’ll forget!” + +“I’ll try not to,” said Andria, with a sudden pang. Was she really what +Beryl said? Did her hatred of giving pain really make her more cruel in +the end? She kissed the wet cheek. + +“If I do forget, if I am like that, will you promise me something? +Remember that I don’t mean to forget, and that I don’t, really. Think +to yourself it’s just my way, and that some day you’ll see me again. +Will you try, Beryl?” + +“It’s no use my trying anything without you--in the house with Sister +Felicitas!” + +“Keep out of her way, then! Why are you always getting into her black +books?” + +“Because she hates me. I’m never myself with her.” + +“You are with Mother Benedicta!” + +“I might as well be comfortable with the statue in the chapel! I see +about as much of her.” + +She clung suddenly to the arm that enwrapped her. + +“Oh, it’s you I want--you!” she gasped. “If I’m going to be good it +will be for you. Who else do I like? Just you and animals--and I +haven’t any of them except my rabbits. And I hate, hate, hate Sister +Felicitas!” + +A shadow, tall, slight, and angular, fell on them. + +Andria looked up with a start, since convent tradition was still +strong in her, and she was breaking rules openly. Sister Felicitas +stood in the doorway, black against the sunlit passage. + +“You’ve no right to be here, Beryl Corselas,” her voice seemed to float +out into the shaded whiteness of the alcove, calm and cool as frost. +“Go away and do your weeding. Your garden is not a pretty sight.” + +Andria felt the quick shudder in the child’s body. + +“Please, sister,” she said, “let me stay. Andria is going away.” + +“I have nothing to do with that. But while I am in charge of the +kitchen-garden you must do your share there. Go at once,” she said very +softly, but the downcast eyes were angry. Andria Heathcote could not +be reprimanded, and Sister Felicitas longed to do it; she was always +making that hateful child rebel against lawful authority. But to-morrow +she would be gone. + +“A few minutes more or less cannot matter to you. Go to your weeding,” +she said scornfully. + +Beryl Corselas sat up, her slim, childish body quivering. + +“I won’t go!” her voice low and passionate. “You know there are no +weeds for me to dig up. I hate gardens. I wish everything in yours +would die, or else choke you when you ate it--nasty, nasty old onions!” +she cried, in a transport of temper. + +“Beryl!” Even Andria, who hated Sister Felicitas, was aghast. + +“You can do your weeding or not, that is for you to say,” said Sister +Felicitas, whose face was quite untroubled, but she was trilling her +fingers against her black habit. “But it is for me to say what will +happen to you if you disobey.” + +“I don’t care what you do to me!” + +“No?” Andria knew that far-off sound in Sister Felicitas’ voice; there +was not a girl in the convent whose nerves did not twitch when she +heard it. “Then I suppose I can send those rabbits of yours to market! +It will be time for rabbit-soup soon.” + +“No, no, no!” The child’s voice was dreadful in its wild scream of +supplication. If there had been any one in the empty corridor they +must have hurried to the sound of it. + +“Not my bunnies. I love them. They’re truly people. You--you couldn’t +be so wicked!” + +“If you can talk such nonsense about your rabbits, the sooner they are +gone the better,” said Sister Felicitas icily. “No--get up, child! You +will tear my habit.” + +For Beryl Corselas was on the floor, clutching at the immaculate black +folds of the sister’s robe. + +“You won’t take them away--say you won’t, sister!” She paid no +attention to the hand that tried to disengage hers. “I’ll do anything, +I’ll work in the garden, I’ll say I’m sorry----” The miserable voice +made a listener start, but Sister Felicitas only drew her skirts away +deftly. + +“That you will be obliged to do,” she said. + +“I’ll beg your pardon now,” sobbed Beryl, “only please don’t send my +rabbits to market! I’ll go and weed--I truly will.” + +“You make an idol of senseless things. You will be better without +them.” In “the world” the tone would have been called cruel. + +The child jumped to her feet, her wild, dusky hair streaming, her face +white and furious. + +“If you take them away I’ll kill you!” she cried out, shaking and +gasping. “I hate you! You make me wicked, and then punish me. I----” +She stopped as if something had turned her to stone. + +In the doorway stood the reverend mother. Mother Benedicta, who had +never been known to visit an alcove, who was high above the girls and +their rulers, was in front of her, a gracious, stately figure in her +black habit and white bands. There was a curious look on her beautiful, +placid face, enough to stop the tongue even of Beryl Corselas in a +temper. Yet she was not looking at the child, but at Sister Felicitas. + +“I think breaking rules and sorrow at Andria’s going has made some one +a little hysterical this morning! Is that it, Beryl? Come to me, my +child;” and she put an arm round the sinner, who stood petrified, as if +at the sight of a saint from heaven. Mother Benedicta’s cool fingers +felt the hot throbbing of the child’s lax hands, and her face grew +sterner. + +“You are sorry for your rudeness to the good sister, is it not so, +Beryl? Yes!” at the dumb nod that was a lie of despair. “I will see to +the child, then, sister. I know you are busy. Sister Ignatia is waiting +for you. She needs your help.” + +Sister Felicitas’ face grew white. + +“Yes, reverend mother,” she returned quietly, but her face was not +quiet as she left the alcove. To have Andria Heathcote incite that +hideous child to mutiny was bad enough, but to have Mother Benedicta +set aside her authority was worse. And there had been that in the face +of the reverend mother that told Sister Felicitas that even rancorous +hatred must go softly. + +“Reverend mother, my rabbits!” gasped the culprit, as the sister’s +steps died away. “You won’t let her take them?” + +“It was not meant, Beryl! The good sister thought to touch your heart; +that is a hard little heart, is it not?” she said, smiling. “But run +away now and wash your face. Then you can go to my room and wait there +quietly till Andria and I come to you. I will ask Sister Felicitas to +let her onions wait for to-day.” + +But there was no smile on her face as the child slipped away, radiant +with gratitude. + +“It was a pity you had her here, Andria!” she said. “But it is the +holidays, after all--only it provokes Sister Felicitas, who is always +so conscientious.” + +Andria Heathcote was brave enough, but, as a child had been quick to +see, she was too apt to let things go, to put a good face on ugly +matters. Yet now that curious politeness of hers left her. + +“You heard, reverend mother,” she said quickly. “That goes on all day +long. The child is growing sullen and strange.” + +“Do you mean that, Andria?” Mother Benedicta was not apt to talk so +freely, but Andria was going away. + +“Yes, reverend mother! I knew you did not know. And it is +true”--flushing at her own boldness--“that the sister dislikes Beryl.” + +Mother Benedicta sighed. + +“The child is difficult, they tell me, and incorrigibly idle;” but she +said it chiefly to hear the answer. + +“She can speak Spanish, and she works hard at that, though no one knows +but Sister De Sales. School is bad for her; the girls bully her. Could +you not send her home sometimes, dear mother?” + +“She has no home; did you not know? She has been here since she was a +baby. We do not even know who she is.” For once the Mother Superior had +forgotten herself. + +“Sister Felicitas knows,” said Andria quietly. + +“What! Why do you say that?” + +“Because”--once launched, Andria was floating well--“I heard her tell +the child that she came by her mad temper honestly--was her mother over +again.” + +Mother Benedicta stood dumb. + +She had heard more than she liked of Sister Felicitas’ methods this +morning, but this passed all bearing. + +“You must be mistaken,” she said, for the honor of the convent, but +Andria saw her breathing quicken. “But I have been wrong. After this I +will see more of the child. I promise you that much.” + +To think of Sister Felicitas having known all this time the parentage +of Beryl Corselas, which had been the mystery of the quiet convent +lives, was too much even for her charity. It seemed but yesterday since +a woman, wild, despairing, with the hand of death already on her, had +brought the child to the convent. She had been told that no baby of +three years could be taken, and had sunk into the nearest chair as if +her last hope were gone. + +Mother Benedicta had pitied her, seeing her so ill. (Afterward she had +altered her mind about the illness; it might easily have been furious +disappointment that had sapped her strange visitor’s strength.) She +left the room to tell a lay sister to bring wine and food, but, though +she was absent only a minute, when she returned the woman was gone. The +window was open on the garden, and in the room sat a pale, yellow-eyed +child, in exquisite clothing that was marked “Beryl Corselas.” + +That was all. Never from that day to this had they been able to find +out anything more, and only that the convent charter provided for +certain charity pupils could the rules have been stretched to keep the +waif. + +Yet kept she was, and now a curious thrill made the superior tremble. +Yet it was impossible. It had been six months before Sister Felicitas +joined the community, and the woman who had flung the child on their +charity had been pink-cheeked, golden-haired. Sister Felicitas was pale +and dark. And still the Mother Superior---- She forced herself to speak. + +“I do not know what is to become of the child,” she said. “As you say, +she is very strange. I never hear any good of her.” + +“There is good in her. But Sister Felicitas has a repulsion for the +child. You can see it.” + +“I hope not,” said the good woman; but her own thoughts frightened her. +“You had better write to her, Andria. I will see she gets your letters.” + +She had quite forgotten the reason that had brought her to Andria +Heathcote’s alcove in this sudden suspicion that had sprung up. She +looked unseeingly at the girl who had spoken out against all her +secretive nature. Yet Andria’s was not an ordinary face, and worth the +watching. + +Cleverness and self-reliance were written on the forehead, from which +the hair was brushed back convent fashion; cleverness again in the +wide eyebrows; perfect bravery was in the full-lipped mouth, and +dogged patience in the clean chin; but the warm blue eyes had a veiled +something in them that told of reluctance to speak out, of a temper +that would hold out a right hand to an enemy and stab effectually with +the left. Not from treachery, but because things were more easily done +in that manner. + +Mother Benedicta had meant to speak of these things, but she turned +away with only one sentence as she signed to the girl to follow her. + +“You will have to fight your own battles, Andria,” she said, almost +absently. “Do it well and openly, as you fought Beryl’s to-day. And +do not forget that this convent life has been but the prelude to your +warfare.” + +Andria bowed her head for the blessing that followed. She thought the +reverend mother looked strangely old and worn to-day. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A FRIENDLESS FUGITIVE. + + +Mother Benedicta, careful of many things, had meant to add the mystery +of Beryl Corselas to her burden, but fate was stronger than she, who +had been for so many years the capable head of the community. + +Two days after Andria’s departure, death had called her very quietly. +Unanointed, unshriven, and with the questions she had meant to ask +Sister Felicitas yet unspoken, the good mother had followed the beaten +pathway the saints have left toward heaven. + +It was Sister Felicitas who found her dead in her bed, but it was not +prayer for the superior’s soul that sent the sister to her knees, but +utter thankfulness that a stumbling-block was gone from her path. Beryl +Corselas heard the news in stony silence. Only once had the reverend +mother ever noticed her; and yet she felt alone. Andria, though the +weeks went by, never wrote, just as the child had prophesied; for +with all her unchildlike wisdom she never thought that it was Sister +Felicitas who opened the letters now, and that Andria’s promise was +well kept for a year. + +After that year perhaps she dared not write to the convent--who shall +say? But her letters ceased. And Sister Felicitas rose steadily in the +community, till five years after Mother Benedicta’s death she had been +made Mother Superior. + +Only Beryl Corselas knew what the story of those five years had been. +Years of injustice, of petty tortures--Mother Benedicta was not cold +in her grave before the rabbits were killed by the cook before the +very eyes of their shrieking, fainting owner--years of slow warping of +a child’s spirit till, now a girl of sixteen, she was deceitful from +fear, silent from sullen hopelessness, and almost ugly from misery. + +She sat alone in an empty class-room, where her face was but a white +spot in the growing dusk of evening. The heavy lids drooped over her +tearless eyes; she was past crying now, as she was past all childish +things. Mother Benedicta would have turned in her grave had she seen +how those years of pain had changed the child’s looks, how tall +and ill-nourished she was in her out-grown convent uniform. Sister +Felicitas punished by depriving the growing girl of proper food; she +was under sentence now where she sat in the empty class-room, and heard +the clatter of other hungry girls in the refectory. And hunger--and +something else--was making her as dangerous as a wild beast. + +“If I don’t get out of this I’ll kill her!” she thought, clasping +and unclasping her strong young hands. “And I know she doesn’t mean +me ever to get out. She means to make me a nun, and it’s no use my +telling Father Parker I’ve no vocation, for he’s deaf, and never hears +what I say. She can take her time and yell at him. If I shout in the +confessional I only get punished. The other nuns would stand up for +me--some of them. But, though this might keep me from being made a +novice, they couldn’t keep me from being made a lay sister; for it’s +in the charter that charity girls must pay the convent back for their +keep, somehow. And she’ll never let me go out into the world to do it. +I--I’d be willing to starve if I could only get away!” + +She got up and went to the window, heedless of bumps against the empty +forms. But outside there was nothing to see but a November garden, cold +and barren, and a homeless cat, crossing it furtively. + +The girl watched the miserable creature with the painful sympathy she +felt for all animals. In the dusk she saw it leap nimbly to the top of +the high wall and disappear. The convent rebel did not even know what +was on the other side of that wall; but she knew too well what was on +this side. A lay sister’s life, spent in the kitchens; in scrubbing and +killing fowls. She shuddered. And Mother Felicitas’ eye was always on +her; always with the same threat, the same malice. + +She peered into the twilight. The stray cat was gone. Beryl Corselas +stretched her young body, stiff with long sitting, just as the cat +itself might have done before it started on its furtive journey. But +when a sad-eyed nun came and let her out of the locked class-room her +face was as sullenly vacant as usual. There was no one, not even Mother +Felicitas, full of self-conceit at her realized ambition, to know that +the girl’s pulses were playing a wild tune that night, and that the +childhood that had sat so strangely on her had fallen from her like a +garment. + +Unnoticed, Beryl slipped up to bed before the other charity pupil; and +undressed in their joint alcove. Pale and too slender in her white +cotton nightgown, she passed under the white sheet that separated her +cubicle from the next. It belonged to a rich West Indian girl, and in +a box on the table were sovereigns, as she had known there would be. +Without a pang of hesitation Beryl Corselas took two in the glimmer +of the floating night-light. Then she lifted the sheet and slipped +under it, back to her own alcove, just in time. As she put the coins +noiselessly into her bed, the stout girl who shared the alcove came +in. She whispered sharply, though talking was forbidden: “You’re to be +moved to-morrow; sent to the kitchen with Sister Agnes. I wish I was +you; you’ll get enough to eat. Sister Agnes is just sweet.” + +Beryl raised her eyebrows significantly. The sister in charge was +clapping her hands as a signal for the girls to say their evening +prayers. But there were no prayers on the lips of one girl on her knees. + +Would it ever be quiet? Would the tossing of the girls never cease as +they twisted on their narrow beds? It seemed years to Beryl, lying +motionless in hers, longing for the dead middle of the night to bring +quiet breathing to the hundred sleepers round her. A wakeful devil +seemed to be making his rounds among them; girl after girl turned, +tossed, and coughed; not till long after midnight was the hush settled +and complete, and not till then did Beryl Corselas, whose blood was +thumping with suspense and determination, stir on her hard bed. + +Absolutely without sound she sat upright and looked about her. + +Her business would have been more easily done in the dark, but in +every alcove there floated a wick in an inch of oil buoyed up in a jar +full of water. In the glimmering, unearthly light the white sheets +separating the alcoves seemed to stir, but she was used to that; and to +have put out the dull light would have waked the heavy sleeper in the +next bed. + +Barefooted, Beryl slipped to the cold floor, dressed, put her stolen +money in her pocket, and, shoes in hand, crept through the wide +corridor between the double row of alcoves. + +Even the sister in charge heard no sounds as the light step passed, +and not a soul stirred in the convent as the girl stole down the wide, +polished stairs in her stocking feet. In the lower flat it was dark; +she was forced to keep one hand stretched out at arm’s length before +her as she crept inch by inch through the silent house. + +The schoolroom door creaked as she opened it, but once inside floods of +moonlight made her way clear. She looked round the room, where she had +sat a hungry prisoner from afternoon school till bedtime, and in her +fierce exultation at leaving it forgot she was still hungry. + +The window-fastening gave under her strong fingers, the sash moved +easily, without noise, and, as quietly as the cat she had watched +that evening, the girl dropped in the frozen grass outside. Skirting +the wall she moved quickly to the very spot where the cat had crossed +it, from a kind of superstition that she must climb over at no other +place; and there mounted it with an effortless spring just as the other +wandering thing had done. + +With a laugh she slipped to the ground and put on the shoes she +carried. For the cat had been a good pilot. She stood on a road that +she knew led to London, and she stretched out her arms in a kind of +rapture. + +She was free from Mother Felicitas at last! + +But a waving shadow that came suddenly before her eyes killed her hasty +joy. It was only the shadow of a bare, crooked tree, but its outline +was like an arm outstretched to catch her. “Beryl, you fool!” she +thought. “By morning you will be caught again unless there are miles +between you and the convent.” + +She began to run, and not a girl in the school could run like her. Yard +by yard she got over the hard road, till by daylight she found herself +in the suburbs of the great city, though where she did not know. She +walked on soberly till she came to a baker’s shop, and there bought a +roll. There were early risers about, but no one looked at her, for her +plain hat and coat were ordinary enough. Presently she grew bold enough +to stop at a street coffee-stall. + +The hot, strong stuff did her good, and as she paid for it she began to +think coherently for the first time since she had gone to bed. + +“I must have a place, and I haven’t one!” she pondered as she walked on +refreshed. “If I could get to Andria I should be all right, but----” +Her face grew too grim and bitter for her years. Andria had long ago +forgotten her, and more pertinently still the child of five years ago +had never known where the grown-up girl had gone. There was no hope +in Andria. Without a friend in the world the girl walked quietly on +her aimless way. Long before her absence was discovered--for her stout +roommate merely thought stolidly that Beryl Corselas had got up early, +and said nothing about her empty bed till breakfast-time--she was +adrift like many another waif in the interminable streets of London. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE WHEELS OF FATE. + + +Two days afterward a shabby little chemist in a shabby shop on the +Euston road looked carelessly at a strange customer. + +A tall, big-boned girl in a frock too short for her had asked for +laudanum for a toothache. She looked half-wild with pain--or despair; +the chemist never thought of the latter, and he sold her some. Her face +grew livid as he pushed a book toward her and requested her to sign her +name. It was always done, he explained, when people bought poisons. + +With a frightened hand she scrawled something, but the name was so +outlandish to the man as he stood peering at it that he never noticed +with what haste his customer had left the shop. She had been a fool +ever to have entered it, yet in the new and dreadful knowledge that +two days of London streets had crowded on her she had felt there was +nothing else to do. + +Perhaps her very innocence of the world had made her pass scatheless +through perils she only half-realized, but that half was enough. Behind +her lay the convent, and she could never go back to that; round her +were the awful streets where policemen kept hurrying her on, where +people passed her indifferent-eyed, or else--Beryl Corselas turned sick +and faint at the thought of those other people who had not passed on. + +Her money had been stolen, all but the few shillings she had put in +the bodice of her frock, and when that was done, what in all the world +remained to her? No one had ever liked her. She had no belief in any +one’s charity, and the girl’s heart swelled as she answered her own +question. + +“Only just death,” she thought, fingering the little bottle of laudanum +she had been forced to sign her name to get, “or Mother Felicitas--for +she’ll trace me by it. Well, I’d rather die out here than live in the +convent.” She had walked on aimlessly enough, and looked up to see +that she was in front of the entrance to a railway-station, where +people kept going in and out. With a sudden inspiration she followed +a woman inside, and stood behind her at the booking-office. A train +was waiting, ready to leave; on the carriage nearest her was a sign, +“For Blackpool.” She knew where that was, even with her badly learned +geography lessons; it was a long way off from London and Mother +Felicitas. + +She bought a second-class ticket, imitating the woman in front of her. +At least she could rest in the train, since her tired feet would hardly +carry her. She had no money at all when she had paid for her ticket, +and could just manage to follow a porter and stumble into the carriage +marked Blackpool. + +To her joy no one else entered it, and the train started. + +The cushioned carriage was rapture to her tired body, but before she +stretched herself out on its scant luxury, she drained the little +bottle the chemist had sold her, and threw it away. Then she curled +herself up and slept; at first uneasily, with the unaccustomed sounds +of the moving train in her dreams, and then heavily, as people sleep +themselves to death. + +There was no peace in the world for such as she, and at sixteen Beryl +Corselas had found it out. She had tried to get employment, but the +women at whose doors she had knocked wanted no such unearthly-looking +nursemaids, and she could do nothing else. To sleep her life away was +all she could do, and there would be plenty of time for that between +London and Blackpool. + +Remorselessly as the wheels of fate the train rolled on, and +dreamlessly the girl slept. + +If she had known two things she might have flung the laudanum from her +like a snake. The first was that Andria Heathcote had been longing for +her, yet not daring to visit her in the safe refuge of the convent. The +second, that if Mother Felicitas had known that her missing pupil had +gone to Blackpool she would have laughed silently, since that was the +only part of England Beryl Corselas had to avoid. But in ignorance and +despair the girl had drugged herself till a creepy warmth was in her +veins, and so, bound and helpless, would deliver herself to a worse +than Mother Felicitas, unless Death, like a quiet friend, called her +before such things could be. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE LOVELY ANDRIA. + + +While Beryl Corselas slept like a dead girl in the flying +railway-carriage, a woman sat in a beautiful house in London and +wondered why she was remembering the strange goblin child. “I’m not fit +to think of her or the convent, either,” she thought grimly. “Who would +believe that I was ever Andria Heathcote, or brought up in a convent +school?” + +She got up and looked at herself in a glass with an insight that does +not come to happy women. The world had taught her that a woman with a +clear skin and good teeth has it in her own hands to be beautiful, but +it was something else that had taught her to build up her beauty as an +architect builds a palace for a king. + +Her red-brown hair was but a little ruddier than in convent-days. She +had been too wise to dye it; her round, young face was chiseled into +the firmness of a delicate cameo by the sure hands of Love and vain +longing; her brave mouth was more scornful, more self-reliant than of +old, and the queer, veiled look was gone from her blue eyes. They were +bold, under the lashes and brows she had learned to darken, and the +head that had bowed so easily to rebuke was set proudly now. And yet +there was little for Andria Erle to glory in. She turned sharply from +the glass. “Bah! The child would not know me, nor I her,” she thought. +“I wonder why I am thinking of her. Oh, I’m nervous--nervous! And I +have no real cause, I can’t have any.” + +But the step with which she paced the room was not that of a woman at +ease. She was sick with a terror that grew daily, and she knew it. She +looked at the magnificence about her, not indifferently, as she had +been wont to look, but like a woman who holds luxury by a frail tenure +and fears to lose it. Yet the luxury of the place came last to her +troubled mind. There was more than that to lose; love and trust, that +might go any day. To keep her thoughts away from that she tried to +remember the convent, but it only maddened her. + +“Oh, Mother Benedicta!” she said to herself. “You knew too little +about the world when you sent me to a house like lady Parr’s. You and +the good sisters would have thought that house hell on earth from the +things that went on there. I might have, too, if I hadn’t been a blind +fool. But I wouldn’t go back. I’ve been happy; I’ve had my day--and +I’ve no reason to think it’s done yet. I know,” deliberately, “I’ve no +reason!” and while she swore it to herself she kept listening for the +postman’s knock. + +It seemed to thunder through the house before she knew it. But the +servant who brought in the one letter that had come found his mistress +sitting reading, her exquisite paled satin tea-gown in careful folds +about her languid figure. + +Her heart knocked at her ribs as she took the letter; as the door +closed behind the man she sprang to her feet, crushing the thin note to +her breast. + +“Oh, thank God!” she breathed, “thank God. I knew it would come. I knew +he didn’t mean to throw me over.” + +She kissed the senseless letter like a living thing. She knew each line +of the address--every letter was dear to her; yet Beryl Corselas would +not have known the name on the envelope, which certainly was not Andria +Heathcote. To Mother Felicitas it might not have been so strange. + +It was not for five minutes that Andria opened the letter, and when she +did so she no longer thanked God for it. + +It was a white, haggard wretch who crawled to a sofa and lay there +staring at the written sheet in her hand like one who cannot +understand. Yet it was plain English, and began, “Dear Andria,” as +letters do. But her face was convulsed out of all beauty as she felt +those few sentences burning into her brain; a dreadful trembling took +her. + +“I’m going to cry; and I won’t cry!” she said savagely. She was on her +feet and across the room to where a stand of spirits and soda waited +for a visitor who would never come back to that house. But though she +poured out neat whisky and drank it, it could not stop that horrible +trembling. + +“I’m to go. He’s done with me!” she thought. “I--that thanked God at +the sight of his letter;” her lips quivered in spite of her; “who’ve +been faithful for five years.” + +She tried to read the letter slowly and sanely, but one sentence in +it seemed to leap to her eyes. “Of course you know our marriage was +nonsense. The clergyman was never even ordained. It would not hold good +anywhere, even in Scotland.” + +“Then what am I?” thought Andria, and, being a brave woman, kept in the +cry. She read on mechanically. + +“The fact is I’m ruined. I haven’t got a penny left, and my father is +nearly as bad. You have plenty of sense, you will see for yourself that +I must give in to him and marry money. He will be beside himself till +we are on our feet again and there is an heir to the property. He would +never hear of my marrying you, even if our madness had not passed by +this time. You will understand this is not a pleasant letter for me to +write, so I will close it. I send you what money I can spare, but you +need not expect any more, for I haven’t got it. The sheriff will seize +the furniture to-morrow, but my father’s agent will take over the house +and pay the servants. Let me have your address, like a sensible girl. +But I know you will see reason, especially as you are not tied to me in +any way, and the end would have had to come some day.” + +There was no signature, and there were two pages preceding what was, +after all, the gist of the matter. Andria Heathcote, who had never been +Andria Erle except in her own mind, crept to her sofa and lay there, +her face buried in the silk cushions Raimond Erle had chosen that very +spring. But now it was November, and this was “a last year’s nest.” + +She bit at her arm fiercely that pain might keep away tears. None of +Raimond Erle’s servants should see that the woman who had never been +his wife had been crying in her shame and anger. She wondered how +much they knew. All London probably knew more than she had done. She +remembered how Raimond had had no friends but men, how she had gone +among them by the nickname of “The Lovely Andria”; how some of them had +openly thought her shameless--the remembrance made her writhe where she +lay. + +A silver clock chimed, and she counted the sweet strokes. + +“Five!” Five already, and she would not sleep another night under this +roof. The whisky had steadied her, helped her; she rose and looked in +the glass that an hour ago had reflected a woman who had hope left in +her and saw that no eye but her own would see any difference. Andria +Erle had looked nervous; Andria Heathcote was only a shade paler, a +little harder-eyed. + +She turned to ring the bell, and saw something on the hearth-rug. It +was a check for ten pounds, and at first she would have let it lie. +After five years he was turning her out of the house with ten pounds! +But it occurred to her suddenly that she had no other money in the +world. + +“It is bad to have been made a fool of, but it is worse to keep on +being a fool,” she said, with queer calmness, and stooped for the check. + +Another woman would have sat down and written an answer to that letter, +which would have cut even Raimond Erle. But to quarrel openly was not +Andria’s way. If an opportunity came to repay she would repay; it was +no use to write what he need not read unless he chose. Once more she +turned to ring for a servant, and this time did not falter. + +“Send my maid to me,” she said. “I have had a letter from Mr. Erle. He +is not returning and I am going away. Lord Erceldonne’s agent will pay +your wages.” + +She spoke gently as she always did, and the servant admired her for +it; he knew, as she thought, that things were at an end. But he liked +her, as did every one who had ever served her, and he kept his sympathy +from his face. + +Her maid came as quickly as if she had been waiting outside the door. + +“I want you to pack for me at once, Louise, I am going away to-night, +and I must leave you here.” + +“But, madam, you can never do without me,” said the girl awkwardly. She +would like to go with the mistress who had never spoken unkindly even +when she was displeased. + +“There is no room for you where I am going.” Andria’s voice was gentle +still. “You need not pack my evening gowns. But you must hurry, Louise.” + +“Madam’s jewels, of course!” said the maid, with tears in her eyes. All +the household but the mistress had known the end was coming. + +Andria turned to the windows. + +“I will see to the jewels,” she answered in a suffocated voice. “I will +not take them.” + +The maid dared not say more. But it was well that Andria did not see +her packing. Every gorgeous gown her mistress owned was in the boxes +decorously covered with underlinen and every-day clothes by the time +Mrs. Erle came up-stairs. + +Her jewels were spread out on the toilet-table; perhaps the faithful +maid thought the sight of them would tempt her mistress to take them. +But she shivered as the gorgeous, shining things glittered in the +candle-light. Every one of them had meant something in the days when +love was young; each stone held its separate insult now. She put +them back in her jewel-case with averted face and ungentle hands. +Diamonds and pearls, opals and beryls, not one would she keep; and +her wedding-ring fell with a clink on the mass. Andria Heathcote had +nothing to do with the baubles Andria Erle had loved. + +She stood up straight and fair as Louise dressed her in a plain black +gown. For three months she had been dreading this day, fearing heavily +to note the small signs of its approach; but now that it was here she +felt curiously calm. + +“Tell James to call a cab,” she said, “and this is for you! You are +a kind girl, Louise, and I have liked you.” She held out a long gold +chain set with pearls. It was her own, not his; she had a right to give +it away. + +But the maid was crying. + +“Don’t cry, child, for me,” she said steadily, “and take care of the +jewels till Mr. Travers, the agent, comes to-morrow. He will give you a +receipt for them, and you must send it to Mr. Erle at the club.” + +“But you’ll come back, madam?” cried Louise, sobbing. + +“No. Oh! my poor Louise, cheer up. There are better mistresses than +I’ve been.” + +“No, no!” said the girl passionately, “none. What haven’t you done for +me and my mother?” The French girl would have kissed Andria’s hand, but +with a queer feeling of superstition her mistress stooped and kissed +her cheek. It was something to have a creature to say farewell to; +there would be none to greet her home. + +“Get the cab,” she repeated. And when the girl was gone she went +to her writing-table. There was a photograph there and she stared +at it. Why had she loved him? He was just a long-legged, haggard, +gentlemanly-looking man, like scores of others, yet she had sold her +soul for him. + +Her hand was on the picture to put it in the fire, but a sudden thought +flamed in her eyes and stayed her hand. On the back of it was written: +“Raimond to Andria; on their wedding-day.” She would keep it! The +world was thick, they might never meet; but if they did that writing +might confound his dearest plans. She slipped the photograph into her +pocket and went down-stairs. The French girl, with a pang at her heart, +watched her get into the cab and drive away. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +HER EVIL GENIUS. + + +The train stopped with a jerk and a long jolting jar that startled +all the passengers, and flung a solitary traveler from her seat in a +second-class carriage. + +She lay on the floor, lax, inert as the dead; but her eyes were open. +Where was she? What was this hard, narrow place, where a light burned +dimly? She thought for one awful instant of her alcove at the convent, +and screamed wildly; but the train was starting and the whistles of the +engine covered it. The noise of the wheels reassured the drugged wits +of the girl on the floor. + +“No; it’s not the convent--it’s the train, and I’ve waked up! Oh, why +didn’t I die? Am I going to live after all that stuff?” + +She struggled up and back to her seat, dizzy and sick from the +laudanum. She tried to think. What should she--what could she--do now? +Life was before her, and not the death she had craved. Presently the +train would stop; they would put her out into the cold and darkness, +and she had no money for shelter or bread. + +“They ought to kill girls like me!” she sobbed. “What good has life +ever been to me! And what shall I do if I’ve been tracked--if a +telegram from Mother Felicitas is before me at Blackpool?” + +Every one’s hand had been against her all her life, and it was well for +her now. For a madness of determination came over her. + +“They sha’n’t find me! No one shall find me,” she thought, clenching +her hands. “I’ll hide somewhere and starve sooner than go back to +Mother Felicitas!” + +She opened the carriage window and drank in the cold evening air. It +drove the fumes of laudanum from her and stopped the headache that was +rending her. She had no reason to go to Blackpool; she could starve +as easily in some other place. What if she got out the first time the +train stopped, and slipped away into the dark? But it had been the +stoppage of the train at Preston that had wakened her; she did not know +there would be no pause between that and Blackpool. The train seemed to +whirl interminably on, and she shut the window and lay back against the +cushions; she would have warmth and rest as long as she could. + +Strangely enough, she felt better for that drugged sleep--more +reasonable, more sane. + +But, think as she might, she could see nothing but a miserable, +lingering death before her, and the death that had passed her by would +have been easy. + +The train whistled, then stopped; the guard came and took her ticket. + +“Blackpool, miss,” he said to the pale girl with the swollen, weary +eyes. The convent uniform was black and he thought cursorily that she +was in mourning, a thought that served her well afterward. + +She hurried by him without answering, and stood for one moment in the +glaring station, bewildered by the crowd. + +Her white face, her tawny eyes, with that strange vacancy about them +which long years of bullying had brought there, were striking enough +among the commonplace crowd that surged by her. + +A long-legged, gentlemanly-looking man, whose handsome face was haggard +and drawn till it almost came to being care-worn, pulled his brown +mustache as he stood waiting for the London train. + +“Looks as if she were in a mess!” he thought idly. “She might be +handsome, too--it’s a pity!” and he turned away. It was some other +fellow’s business; he had enough on his own hands without taking up a +girl who stared past him till she caught his eyes on her and then ran +with a sudden, frightened bound out of the lighted station. + +“The wicked flee when no man pursueth,” thought Mr. Erle; he was rather +fond of the Bible, for amusement merely. And he got into his train and +thought of other things, not too comfortably. + +He had had an exceedingly annoying interview with his father. After all +he had done to please him, the elder man would scarcely listen to his +question, or indeed speak to him. + +At a strenuous appeal for money, indeed Lord Erceldonne had broken out +savagely: + +“You had better discover a lady who possesses it,” he had said roughly, +unlike himself. “As for Erceldonne, you needn’t count on the succession +to it.” + +“What do you mean?” his son stared. + +But Lord Erceldonne had recovered himself. + +“Nothing,” he returned icily, “except that every stick we own is +mortgaged. You must forage yourself.” + +But his son had seen him crumple up a telegram that lay on the table. +It was not those ancient mortgages that troubled him. + +“I wonder what the deuce it was!” he reflected now in the train, for +distasteful as London was, it was better than his father’s society. + +“For a moment I thought my reverend parent was about to impart to me +that I was not the rightful heir!” sneeringly. “He’s got something on +his mind, but that would be rot! There’s been no question of it for +years.” + +The strange girl had completely left his memory as the train reached +London; indeed, she had never stayed there. Mr. Erle glanced at his +watch as he took a cab at Euston. It was not eleven o’clock; he would +see what fortune had done for him before he went--by George! he had +forgotten. He could not show himself in town. There was that business +of the sheriff, and Andria! + +“The Continent!” said he to himself. “As soon as possible! But first I +must visit my--well, I hope he’ll be my banker!” He stopped the cab and +got out at the very shop where Beryl had bought that useless laudanum +no farther back than the morning. + +“A shabby chemist’s,” she had thought, quite unconscious that the +drugs were but an outward show, and that the proprietor was one of +the largest book-makers in London, though he never attended a race. +Sometimes he had provided Mr. Erle with sums that tided him over; but +of late that gentleman had not been lucky. He entered the shop with a +languid nod, and was glad to see the proprietor was alone. + +For once, too, he seemed to be paying some attention to his legitimate +trade. He was studying a greasy blank-book that was not out of his +inside office. + +“Ah, Mr. Erle!” he said. “I have some money for you--a hundred or more.” + +Mr. Erle never moved a muscle, though he needed the money and had not +expected it. + +“Right!” he returned carelessly. “What have you got there?” + +“Only my register, sir. By the way, could you read that name?” He +pushed the book across the counter. + +“B. Corselas,” in an unsteady, childish hand stared Mr. Erle in the +face. B. Corselas, and his father, neither to hold nor to bind! There +could be nothing in it, and yet--Mr. Erle was startled. + +“No,” he said coolly. “Cassels, or something. Why?” + +“Well, she was a slip of a thing,” dryly, “and she bought laudanum. She +had a queer look about her--very light eyes!” + +“Tall, charming?” scoffingly. + +“No, Mr. Erle. Childish and frightened-looking. Will you have a check, +or notes? They’re both here. She would have been handsome if she hadn’t +looked hungry.” + +“Notes,” said Erle slowly. “You’ll get into trouble yet, Peters, with +your drugs. Good night!” + +He was richer than he had been for many a day; but he was not thinking +of that as he got into his cab and drove back to Euston. + +It was queer that he felt so assured that he had seen at Blackpool the +very girl who had signed Peter’s book. He dismissed his cab at the +Euston Hotel, but before he entered it he returned to the station. +A few inquiries made him surer than ever, but the “B. Corselas” +staggered him. It might be all right, but if, after all these years, +it was going to be all wrong, it was no joke. + +He wrote a brief note to his father, for there was no sense in trusting +a country telegraph office, and then retired to bed. + +“Paris for me!” he reflected as he put out the light. “If there is +anything queer the farther I’m out of it the better. Besides, other +things. But, of course, it’s all a silly coincidence.” + +He little knew the trouble it would have saved him if he had spoken +kindly to that girl at Blackpool. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +LORD ERCELDONNE MARKS THE KING. + + +On the shore of St. Anne’s, that is a day’s walking from Blackpool, +was the wreck of a brig. Dismantled, gaunt in the daylight, black and +gruesome at night, it lay canted on the beach a grim sign-post on a +coast where the life-boat men are seldom idle. + +The lamplighter looked at it as he finished his rounds in the dusk. + +“’Tis said it’s haunted,” he remarked to himself, “but ghosts have +quieter tongues than Margery! And ’tis the only place she’ll not rout +me out of.” His conscience was not clear nor his legs quite reliable as +he made an unostentatious progress over the shingle to the wreck. He +was not drunk to his own mind, but he would be drunk to a certainty in +the eyes of the rate-payers and his wife. Mr. Ebenezer Davids had no +mind to be brought up before the vestry or the domestic tribunal. + +He scrambled on board the weather-beaten hull of the _Highland +Mary_, and made his way below, down a companionway that slanted at a +discomposing angle. The darkness of the cabin was musty, but Mr. Davids +was not squeamish. He felt his way to a moldy locker and collapsed on +it. Something rustled, but he cared nothing for rats. He only turned +more comfortably and let the joyful slumber of semi-intoxication +possess him utterly. + +The tide was rising; it lipped against the seaward side of the +_Highland Mary_ with a noise that was oddly like the frightened +breathing of a weak creature. But there was no other sound till the +lamplighter’s snores began to fill the cabin. Then came a faint +rustling in the berth opposite him, a gasp as if a desperate resolve +had taken away some one’s breath. The snoring kept on. + +In the dark there was a sound of cautious feet; feet that had no +strength or weight; but if any one stole up to the lamplighter he did +not hear. In his sleep he flung out his arm, and it struck something +that gave; something that was bending over him, trying to reach a red +cotton bundle that lay between him and the wall. It was his supper of +bread and cheese that he had not eaten, and the smell of the cheese, +combined with the regular snoring, had drawn a living thing to his side. + +He started up, sobered with terror, sweating with fear. What had +touched him in the dark? What had screeched in his ear? + +“The place is haunted, curse it!” he said, and was frightened afresh. +For the instant he spoke a low moaning broke out at his very feet. + +The lamplighter was a little man, and not brave. In sheer desperation +and terror he remembered that he carried the tools of his trade in a +bag at his side, and with a shaking hand he lit his long wax taper. As +it burned blue in the close cabin he recoiled. + +The place was haunted, indeed! + +What was this on the floor, like a white-faced girl, whose long, black +hair streamed over her? No living woman could be so thin, could have +such strange, golden eyes. + +“What--what are you? Get away!” cried the lamplighter wildly. He raised +his foot to kick at the thing on the floor. + +“Don’t! Oh, don’t hurt me!” The cry was human, utterly desolate. “I +didn’t mean to steal, but I’m hungry,” cried the girl, with a sullen +sob. + +“Hungry!” said the lamplighter stupidly, and his taper nearly fell in +his surprise. “What are you doing here if you’re hungry, frightening +honest folk?” He grew angry as he remembered how nearly she had sent +him flying back to Margery with a bogy tale that would have made him a +laughing-stock. + +“I’ve nowhere else to go.” + +At the answer he stuck his taper upright in a convenient crack in the +floor of the _Highland Mary_, and with a rough kindness lifted the girl +to the locker. She was a threadpaper slip of sixteen or so, with the +queerest eyes he had ever seen; even the lamplighter, who was familiar +with poverty, had never seen a human being so thin. + +“Why, you’re starved, lass!” he cried. “What ever made you come to this +old hulk? You might have knowed there was no roast beef here. Where do +you come from?” for his keen little eyes saw that her shoes were not +the shoes of a tramp. + +She did not answer, except to point to the red handkerchief that +smelled of cheese. + +“You can have it, certain!” he had a foolish lump in his throat as he +stuffed the thick, unappetizing stuff into her hand. And he turned away +as he saw how she tore at it with sharp white teeth like a dog’s. But +she only ate a mouthful or two. + +The lamplighter took a seat on the locker and stared at her. + +“Come now, missus,” he said, not unkindly, “let us know what brought +you here. You can’t stay here till you die--like this!” + +“Where can I go? No one wants me.” + +“Go back to your friends, lass!” + +“I haven’t any, I haven’t any money, either, and it was cold and rainy, +so I came in here. I’ve been ill, I think. It seems a long time.” + +“By gum!” the lamplighter was nonplused. “Why didn’t you beg? Have you +had anything to eat?” sharply. + +“I hate people, and they hate me. No one would give me anything. I went +out in the nights and got water at a brook over there, and I found some +bread one evening.” She did not say it was crusts a dog had despised. + +“How long have you been like this?” he gasped. + +“I don’t know. More than a week. I’ve been ill, I----” Her head fell +forward with a stifled groan. + +“You’re sick, now, my lass!” he said pitifully. “Come, your way’s +with me, and I’ll take you----” He stopped; he dared not take her to +Margery, and the only other place was the workhouse. + +“I won’t go to a convent,” she muttered, “I won’t!” + +“It’s not a convent,” he said, puzzled. “Just a--well, there!--it’s +hell on earth to my mind, but it’s better than this,” he broke out +roughly, for the strange girl could not hear him; she was in a dead +faint at his feet. + +Staggering, sweating, Davids managed to carry her up the companionway +to the deck that was keeled over at such an angle that, burden and all, +he nearly slipped through the broken bulwarks to the stony beach. But +he clawed and staggered valiantly, till he had laid the girl, who to +his mind was dying, safely on the ground. Then he gazed about him. What +was to be done next? + +“There ain’t no choice as I can see,” remarked the bewildered +Samaritan. “Though she’s gey and heavy for such a bag of bones.” + +He shouldered her like a sack of potatoes, fearful that she might die +on his hands. + +“Here goes, and prays I that Margery don’t hear of it!” he muttered, +and with toil and cursing, gained the highway, a ludicrous figure in +the light of the November moon. His only thought was by what byway he +could come at the workhouse, and as he puzzled at it he ran into a tall +man in an Inverness cape who was coming from the opposite direction. + +“What the devil!” cried the latter furiously. “Why don’t you look where +you’re going?” + +“Beg your pardon, my lord,” gasped the despairing Davids. “I couldn’t +look, she’s too mortal heavy.” + +“She--who? Why, it’s you, Davids! What are you doing?” Lord Erceldonne +stared as he had never stared in all his ill-spent life. + +“Going to the workhouse,” said the man wretchedly. + +“What for? And--why, it’s a woman!” said Lord Erceldonne, with unkind +enjoyment. A squint-eyed, frowsy lamplighter with a romance was too +delightful. + +“It’s a lady, if you ask me,” retorted the man, with some dignity. “And +I think she’s over near to dying for laughter.” + +“What d’ye mean?” cried Lord Erceldonne, enraged at the just rebuke. +Ebenezer told him. But it was too dark for him to see how Lord +Erceldonne’s hand flew to his pocket where two letters lay. + +“Put her down,” he ordered. “Let me look at her.” + +Ebenezer obeyed, with some relief. + +Straight and tall, her long limbs as nerveless as if she were dead, +the girl lay on the ground. Her white face showed gaunt with famine in +the moonlight as her matted, wild hair lifted in the night wind. For a +moment both men thought her dead. + +Erceldonne knelt down by her. + +“Did she tell you her name?” His voice was thick. + +“Not she!” + +“Then she’ll never tell it now--she’s dead!” There was something so +like recognition, exultation, in the pitiless words that Davids looked +angrily at the speaker. Then he started. + +The pale, worn face bent over the girl was hers almost line for line; +allowing for the difference between sixteen years and fifty. + +“My soul!” thought the lamplighter. “She is the very spit and image of +his lordship.” He turned almost fiercely on the man, as if he had been +his equal. + +“She ain’t dead, and she ain’t going to die, while I can help it. Move, +my lord--and let me carry her to the workhouse while there’s time.” + +A stranger look than ever was on Erceldonne’s face. This was fate--but +he had conquered fate before. He burst into a cackling laugh that made +Davids jump; long and loud he laughed in the light of the moon over the +girl who lay dying on the ground. + +“Get on with you, then, to the workhouse!” he cried indifferently, but +as he turned away his eyes were still full of laughter, in strange +contrast to his savage temper when he met Ebenezer. + +“I mark the king, it seems!” said Lord Erceldonne to the desolate +night. “I mark the king, after all!” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +FIRST BLOOD TO ERCELDONNE. + + +Mother Felicitas sat in her white-walled parlor, and her lean face +looked gray against the whitewashed background from which the pictured +saints and martyrs looked down indifferent-eyed. Opposite her sat +her man of business--for even convents have such things--and his +matter-of-fact manner was driving her mad. + +“You traced that misguided child,” she said smoothly, “to Blackpool, I +think you said.” She could hardly sit still in her chair. + +“Easily. And then to St. Anne’s. But I regret to say I was too late. +She had been hiding on an old wreck there starving, for nearly a +fortnight, till a lamplighter found her and took her to the workhouse. +I went there, of course, but the matron, a civil-spoken woman, told me +the girl had been taken away only that morning by a Mrs. Fuller, who +wished to adopt her.” + +“Did they hand her over to a strange woman without any references?” +said the mother, moistening her dry lips. + +“It seems so,” he answered bluntly. “They had the address in Liverpool, +but when I went there the caretaker told me Mrs. Fuller had that +morning gone to the Continent with a young lady till the spring. Oh, +I fancy it’s all right, reverend mother! You are too troubled about a +good-for-nothing runaway.” + +“Yes,” she said, and hid her hands in her sleeves that he might not see +the trembling of them. + +“But her well-being is naturally a--sacred charge to me. I feel all +this terribly.” She wondered while she spoke how she was to find out +what was racking her, indeed. + +“Lord Erceldonne is lord of the manor at St. Anne’s--I suppose--he had +not been interested in the sad case,” she observed. + +“He was away. I heard by chance.” The lawyer had not got speech of +Ebenezer Davids, who was too unimportant. “He had not been there for +months.” + +Mother Felicitas’ heart gave a bound of relief. + +Then it was, after all, what it looked! Some tender-hearted fool had +adopted the girl. She was not beaten--yet! + +“Yes, yes!” she said indifferently. “But did the child, by the way, +tell her name?” + +“Certainly,” he answered, rather surprised; but Mother Felicitas, of +course, had never raised her saintly eyes and did not see. + +That was a blow; but still Erceldonne was away and he would certainly +never see the workhouse register. He was in her power still. + +“That is all, I think. Thank you,” she said calmly. “We must first +wait till this Mrs. Fuller returns. You have her address? And then +perhaps our stray may be induced to return to us. You will take some +refreshment before you leave, Mr. Mayhew?” + +But when he was gone Mother Felicitas sat cold and speechless. Perhaps +she saw herself excommunicated if the whole story of her connection +with Beryl Corselas ever came out. + +“At least, he does not know and never shall,” she thought, when thought +would come. “He shall fear me till he dies, as he has feared me this +many a year. He shall pay, as he has always paid, to the enrichment of +our order,” for she, of all the convent, had alone known the source of +the roll of notes that came anonymously each year to her. + +She frowned thoughtfully as she began to write a letter, dignified +and guarded. It might be months in reaching the man it was meant +for, but it would reach him in the end. It informed the guardians of +the workhouse at St. Anne’s that the lady who had so kindly adopted +the stray child had been authorized to do so by her only friend, the +Mother Superior of the Convent of St. Mary; and that it was hoped the +arrangement would be most satisfactory. + +“As I hear that Viscount Erceldonne had kindly interested himself in +the case, perhaps you would be so good as to let him know the ending,” +the letter concluded, and when it was gone Mother Felicitas breathed +more easily. Erceldonne should know that she was in keeping of his +secret still; that the sword that hung over his head had not left her +grasp. + +But, clever as she was, she never dreamed of Erceldonne’s face when the +letter was forwarded to him in London. He was very busy, but he let his +business stand while he chuckled over that courteous epistle. + +“There’s nothing so dangerous as being too clever,” he said, wiping +tears of laughter from his eyes; “and this is too good! Mrs. +Fuller--oh! Mother Felicitas! since that’s your name now--truly you +have strange friends, for a nun.” + +He drew from his pocket two papers, the very ones to which his hand had +flown on the night he had met the lamplighter. On one was written in an +uneducated scrawl: “The Gurl is gone Run Away.” + +It had never entered the mind of the reverend mother that Lord +Erceldonne had no idea of paying the hush-money for a dead or vanished +girl, or that he had established a spy in her very house in the shape +of the loutish boy who carried her vegetables to market, the only +male being in her employ. It did not even strike her when, in a week +or so, the boy gave warning and returned to his natural orbit in Lord +Erceldonne’s employ. He was used to watching ladies for his master, and +this was only a queerer item than usual on the list. + +The other letter was the “coincidence” his son had thought worth +telling him--a letter that would have been wasted but for the +lamplighter. Lord Erceldonne had reason to laugh that night. + +He swept his correspondence into a drawer as a light knock came on his +door. + +“Come in!” he cried, and rose punctiliously, yet mockingly, for he knew +who his visitor was. + +A little woman, exceedingly pretty, charming mannered, and exquisitely +dressed, stood on the threshold. + +“May I?” her voice was not quite of a piece with the rest of her. “Dear +Erceldonne! how warm your room is!” she exclaimed, seating herself. + +“Bad habit!” he returned vaguely. “I suppose you’ve come to say you’re +off?” + +She nodded. + +“Paris!” she cried gaily. “Having accomplished your lordship’s wishes +and played nursemaid for a month, I suppose I may go and amuse myself +again. My kind godmother, as you know,” she said flippantly, “is on the +Continent!” + +Erceldonne laughed. Truly that Mrs. Fuller whose address in Liverpool +he had borrowed knew nothing of this one, nor of Beryl Corselas, either. + +“What are you going to do with that child?” she continued. “Not bring +her here, surely. It would not be edifying--for Raimond!” + +Erceldonne’s middle-aged handsome face was utterly blank. He had no +idea of telling his charming friend anything. She had served his +purpose, and now the sooner he saw the last of her pretty person the +better. + +“St. John’s Wood is still standing,” he remarked easily. “As for +Raimond, no one sees less of him than I,” yet she had made him angry; +there was no one weaker than Raimond about a handsome face, and he had +been struck with this penniless girl already. + +“I hear the lovely Andria is----” she hesitated. + +“Gone the way of all flesh, I believe, in hope of further exaltation,” +he said, shrugging his shoulders. + +No one would have believed how hard he had worked to obtain just that +result as he sat looking at his visitor with critical admiration. She +really wore wonderfully! + +“Well, you’re off! And you may have those diamonds you wanted, to take +with you.” He had caught her expectant eyes. “What! Something finer?” + +“I--I would rather have that paper of mine. Please, Erceldonne!” she +said, with an earnestness that sat ill on her. + +He rose, flicked her cheek lightly, and laughed. + +“Not yet, my dear Emeline; I can’t spare it.” + +There were tears in her hard eyes as he put a velvet case in her hand, +but she dared not implore him. She knew him. She had got his “fancy” +for him; she had hoped that would have wiped off the old score; but the +man was too careful a blackguard. + +Only one shot did the supposed “Mrs. Fuller” fire as she said good-by. + +“The girl is a handful, even for you. I don’t think you can do anything +with her.” + +“Perhaps not.” Lord Erceldonne laughed in that sudden, unpleasant, loud +cackle. “Oh, my dear Emeline! you have a short memory.” + +The poor, painted, little sinner started; for the blow was cruel. +Erceldonne laughed again as she crept out of the room she had entered +so jauntily. He knew all her secrets; and she had not even touched the +garment’s hem of his. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A WOMAN’S DIARY. + + + “Tuesday, Dec. 7th. + +“I never knew how much I read till now, when I have no books. Time +hangs and hangs; writing this thing helps to pass it, though there is +nothing to put down. I can’t think; I feel as if all this were a dream. +This horrid room in Chelsea, and all those boxes left ‘to be called +for’ at Paddington station. When they come to sell them--for that’s +what they do with unclaimed things--they will wonder how the owner had +the heart to forget them. But perhaps they won’t know each one of those +plain dresses cost twenty pounds. + +“I wish I had what they cost; I never realized what it took to live. I +am going to realize it well enough next week, when I must get something +to do, or starve. + +“I write down all these sordid little sentences because I daren’t write +the only thought that is in my mind. I would go mad if I let myself +remember--and I can’t forget. Better to put down how I’ve lived for a +month on ten pounds. I, who threw away as much of a morning to pass the +time! + +“I pay, let me see, fifteen shillings a week here, and buy my food +besides. I ought never to have taken this room, but it looked dreadful +enough; how was I to know that I could have got one for eight in a +worse place? I’ve been here four weeks; that disposes of five pounds, +counting my food, though I know the woman cheats me. My bread and tea +never cost ten shillings from Saturday to Saturday. There are two +pounds in my purse, and the other three have melted. How many fees +have I paid at registry-offices? How many women have looked me up +and down when I asked for a governess’ place, have seen through me +with their disapproving eyes? I don’t know and I don’t care--but I’ll +care to-morrow. I’m too tired to-night from tramping in search of an +engagement and too cold in this room. And I’m afraid. Afraid of meeting +him in the streets and having him pass me by. I’ve no spirit. I believe +I could forgive him, but in an hour I may be just as sure I never could. + +“The loneliness of it all frightens me, too. This room, where no one +ever comes, the streets I walk all day in terror of meeting some man +who knows. To-morrow I must get work. I’m losing all my courage. I’d +give half my life to-night just to----” + + * * * * * + +The writing broke off, the page smeared where a quick hand had closed +the book while the ink was wet. But on the other side it began again. + + * * * * * + + “Thursday. + +“What have I done? And why does such a simple piece of business make +me feel creepy, as if I had entered into a bargain with the devil! I’m +saved! I’ve found a situation! But I feel something saying to me that I +would have done better to starve in the streets. + +“It was yesterday, two days after I last wrote in this diary. I +was standing in the register’s office and two women who had wanted +governesses had told me I would not do. I felt dizzy, for I had been +walking too far. I leaned against the wall, too tired to go home, and +the registry-office was warm. + +“I was not noticing anything because my head swam. I was thinking that +for women like me the world had only one path, and I would die before +I walked on it--any farther. I was fighting off the horror of it when +some one touched me on the arm. + +“It was the registry woman. She had left her desk and there was no one +in the room but her and me, and a middle-aged man. + +“‘Miss Holbeach,’ she was saying--I dared not go back to Heathcote +when I found I had no right to Erle. Every one knew Andria Heathcote’s +story, and Holbeach was not noticeable--‘Miss Holbeach, don’t you hear +Mr. Egerton speaking to you?’” + +“‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, for I was stupid. + +“The man handed me a chair as if I were a lady and not a would-be +governess. I sat down and then I looked at him. I don’t know now what +there was in his face that seemed familiar. I only saw it in that first +glance; afterward I knew perfectly well that he was an utter stranger. + +“He was rather tall and rather dark and thin. I think now that if he +had let it his hair would have been gray, but then I just saw it was +black. He had a pale face, wrinkled and full of crow’s-feet round the +eyes, and they were very dark, almost black. They puzzled me--their +shape--I seemed to know that. But the way they looked at me was not +like any eyes I know or ever have known. He wore beautiful clothes and +had a London man’s manner. I mean those men you meet in the season who +are so civil and so quiet, as if no one in the world was their superior +and there was no occasion to assert themselves. I ought to know that +manner by this time. + +“This man seemed to take me in without looking at me. I remembered I +had on old gloves. + +“‘This lady, I think,’ he said to the registry woman, ‘wishes to be a +governess?’ + +“‘Miss Holbeach? Yes, sir,’ She frowned at me to stand up, but I +couldn’t. The man sat down by me, and it was then I saw how lined his +face was. He looked fifty when you were close to him. + +“‘Miss Holbeach; thank you!’ He just glanced at her, but she went away +as if he had pushed her. Then he spoke to me. He wanted a governess, or +rather a companion, for his ward, a girl of sixteen. Lessons were not +so much an object as being willing to go abroad. His ward was obliged +to winter in the South. She was not strong. I could only stare at him; +the thought of getting a situation and getting out of England at the +same time nearly made me cry with joy--till I remembered a man like +this would never take me for his ward’s governess. + +“‘I won’t do,’ I said. ‘You will not want me. I have not any--any +references!’ My own voice sounded so odd to me, as if I had never heard +it before. + +“‘Oh,’ he said slowly, ‘you have no references,’ and I saw something so +queer in his look that I could not answer from astonishment. + +“A woman like me, who watches a man’s face for sunshine or bad weather, +learns little things. This man’s forehead, instead of contracting +between the eyebrows with annoyance, had grown smooth with relief. +I couldn’t understand it then, and I can’t now; but I know he was +relieved that I had no references. + +“‘This woman knows you?’ he said. + +“‘Only because I came here for work,’ it was no use pretending things, +and I didn’t try. + +“‘You have not always been a governess, is that it?’ He spoke so +quietly that I knew the woman at the desk could not hear him, but I +answered out loud: + +“‘I was educated for a governess, but I have had no need to earn money +for some years. Now I must--do something,’ and I couldn’t keep my lips +steady. + +“‘Ah!’ he said. ‘And without a character you have been unsuccessful!’ +But I saw he was not sorry for me, only thinking what to do or how to +do it. For I knew, as I know that I sit here in this room with its fire +and the rain on the window, that he was going to engage me. + +“And he did. Without a rag of reference, with only a few questions--and +now that I come to think of it he never asked me where I was educated. +I couldn’t have told him. I suppose Mother Benedicta knows how I ran +away from Lady Parr’s with--but I won’t write that name. + +“But it has all come to this: I, who had no hope of ever getting an +engagement, am to be companion to a girl at a salary of a hundred +pounds a year. And I know that I’m not fit to be with any girl; the +five pounds that he gave me for expenses looks like a fee from the +devil as it shines on the table. For the more I think of it, the more +sure I am that he was certain I was a woman with a past and not +anything else in the world. + +“But past or no past, I will write it down here in this book, and +sign my name to it, that no girl shall ever learn harm from me, or +anything but hatred for evil. My schooling has been hardly paid for; +it can at least be useful in helping some poor girl to keep out of the +agony I have known. There is no peace or joy for women like me, and I +would never see any girl stray on the bitter road that I trod. If Mr. +Egerton, for reasons of his own, has engaged me because I am what I +am, he has burned his own boats. If the girl is as sly and sullen as +he hints, I will be a better guardian for her than a saint like Mother +Benedicta was for me. + +“I have read this over, and it seems far-fetched and ungrateful. The +man is kind and he is giving me a chance to live honestly; but yet I +cannot feel that in my heart. There is something behind his kindness. + +“Whether there is or not, I can’t get out of my bargain now. I am to +go to Southampton to-morrow, to join Mr. Egerton and his ward on his +yacht; a steam-yacht, thank goodness! I hate the sea. We are to go to +Bermuda, of all places in the world! Not that I know any one there, but +it seems the very end of the world. + +“Mr. Egerton has a house there, and if his ward likes it, we may stay +till spring. It is all one to me, since I shall be out of England. +To-morrow I must get those boxes at Paddington that I never meant to +call for. I would be glad never to wear any of those clothes again, but +I have no choice. The five pounds he gave me would not buy my ticket to +Southampton and get me a governess’ outfit ‘warranted to wear’ into the +bargain. + +“I write very prettily. As I look at the neat, close pages of this +book, I wonder how they could have been written with so heavy a heart. +The past sickens me and the future frightens me, though it may be with +a senseless terror that I shall laugh at by and by. + +“The future! I laugh now when I see I have written that word. There is +no future, Andria Heathcote, alias Holbeach, for such women as you; if +you dare but touch the smallest joy that may be offered you a hand will +come from the past when you least expect it and snatch the new wine +from your lips. + + “‘This is your solace and your reward, + That have drained life’s dregs from a broken shard,’ + +“Good-night, Andria, and no dreams to you! + +“May you do your work and live decently, till such time as your story +comes out!” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +ON BOARD THE YACHT. + + +Mr. Egerton sat in the smoking-room of the steam-yacht _Flora_ and +reflected--it was the first day the sea had favored reflection--on his +plans. + +They had given him more trouble than anything for sixteen years, but +this very elaboration of detail pleased the man. He was a very cruel +person, and a very cautious one, or he might have solved all his +difficulties more easily and inexpensively. But wonderful as his luck +had been lately, he was not out of the wood yet. He took up a tumbler +of whisky and soda, and watched the mounting bubbles as if he were +watching the workings of his own mind. + +“First,” he mused, “there was getting out of the power of that woman +in the convent. She can never threaten me now, to any effect; or turn +on me. I know nothing of any girl. She cannot say there ever was one. +She never could have, really. Second, there were those letters. Raimond +is an ass, but if it hadn’t been for him I never should have stayed +at Erceldonne, or come across that girl with the lamplighter. That +saved me from having to scorn all England and from having to trust +detectives--who retire and write books. And the ‘Mrs. Fuller’ comedy +was lucky; it prevented my appearing in any way. And ‘Mrs. Fuller,’ +having played her part, will never bother her head about what happened +to her charge. If she did, she would never connect ‘Mr. Egerton,’ the +governess, and his ward, with Lord Erceldonne’s queer ‘fancy.’” He +laughed aloud. And then he thought of that diplomatic epistle of Mother +Felicitas’, that had been so futile a lie. + +“She could dictate to me while she had the girl, but not when there is +no girl for her to produce. Third,” he resumed his counting, “there was +my coming on that woman in the registry-office. The minute I saw her I +knew she had a history, was at the end of her tether and in despair. No +troublesome questions from a woman like that! She swallowed everything +I told her because, forsooth, I had taken her without references. A +woman who had no references and was dressed like a duchess was a fitter +woman for my purpose than all the Mrs. Grundys in England. She stood +being hustled on board and hurried off without a sight of her charge +like a lamb, just because she didn’t care a straw what happened to her. +I could see it in her face. And it’s just as well she doesn’t!” His own +face contracted a little as at something slightly, yet unavoidably, +unpleasant. “Well, no one will inquire about either of the ladies if +their absence is prolonged! + +“I didn’t tell her that obstinate little devil down-stairs wouldn’t see +her, wouldn’t hear of her. She’ll find out soon enough what a handful +she has before her, while it lasts. But whatever happens, no one will +be able to root out dangerous tales of me and my tawny-eyed young +friend. Mr. Egerton and his ward and governess having disappeared into +space will not trouble Erceldonne. + +“It was lucky Raimond was out of the way; it would have suited him +to rout out things he would be a fool to know. He might even have +fancied the girl. I wonder what set his mind on an old story! But it +doesn’t matter. The affair will be nothing but a lying rumor soon; an +absolutely absurd canard.” + +He drank down the whisky and soda with small enjoyment, for it was +flat, and the only troublesome reflection of the afternoon came to him. + +“Damn that fool who put Beryl Corselas and her adventures in the +papers,” he thought angrily. “The name might have set people thinking. +But I don’t think so. I stayed long enough in London to be sure there +was no revival of stale talk. Anyhow, if there were, it doesn’t matter. +She’s disappeared, and by ---- this time she’ll stay disappeared!” + +He rose and looked out of the window. + +It was a deck cabin, and almost within reach of his arm sat the +governess looking vaguely out over a sea that was blue for the first +time in the six days since they had left England. + +It was rough still, but the rollers had purple hollows instead of +gray ones, and curled over blue and clear. But the governess was not +thinking of them, and her employer knew it. He rang the bell. + +“Take this to Miss Holbeach,” he ordered, penciling a note, and then +buried himself in a French novel as one who is luckily far away from +an unpleasant business. That little tiger-cat had fought hard. First, +against the departure of “Mrs. Fuller,” to whom she had taken a fancy; +and then against the installation of a governess. To “Mr. Egerton” +himself she maintained a stony sulkiness; she did not like him, and +took no pains to hide it. She had openly accused him of tricking her +about Mrs. Fuller, and would not listen to his plausible tale of +explanation. + +“I don’t know why you bother about me!” she had said, staring at him. +“But I don’t seem able to get away from you. I don’t suppose you and +the governess can be any worse than Mother Felicitas! Yes, I know +you’ve been good to me, but----” She had stopped, afraid to go on. Only +anger with this strange man who had carried her off from Mrs. Fuller +had made her so outspoken, and as he looked at her, she dared not go +on. She had turned and fairly run to her cabin, where she had stayed +ever since, too seasick even to wonder at the strange turn her life had +taken. + +Andria took the little note the steward handed her. He was an Italian, +as were all the ship’s company, even to the stewardess. None of them +could speak a word of English, and she knew no Italian. It had come to +her oddly that one of the few questions Mr. Egerton had asked her was +whether she knew Italian. But she resolutely assured herself that the +two things had no connection. The note was just a line. + +“Would Miss Holbeach kindly go and see Mr. Egerton’s ward in her cabin.” + +The writer, to be truthful, had wanted the meeting over between the +two. The die was cast now; neither could get away from the other, +and if they had sense they would make friends. They would need to be +friendly! And he grinned over his novel, wondering if the headstrong +child would try to scratch the governess’ eyes out. If faces meant +anything, this Holbeach woman had managed men in her day. + +Andria was half-way down the companionway as he thought it; and stood +presently at a closed door. She knocked, and the stewardess came out. + +For a moment the governess was silent. She did not know the name of her +pupil, had never heard it all this time; she did not know who to ask +for. Then she laughed, for the Italian woman would not have understood +her in any case. At the sudden lifting of the lowered blue eyes the +maid moved aside. Andria, without waiting, went into the cabin. + +It was full of fresh air from an open port-hole, but in the berth, +heedless of air or sun, lay a huddled figure with its face to the wall. + +Nothing could be seen of the girl but a pale averted cheek, and a wild +mass of dusky hair neither black nor brown. Why did the years roll +back at the sight of that hair, dark and lusterless, a color without a +name? Andria was weary and unstrung, body and soul; she started at the +uncanny, waveless hair. + +“Are you better?” she said, and her voice was oddly troubled. “I hope +you are.” + +“Go away! I don’t want you,” said an angry, stifled voice from the +pillows. + +At the sound of it Andria honestly gasped. Was she dreaming that she +was back in the convent again, or--did she know it? + +With the quick gentleness that was of convent learning, she shut the +door on the waiting stewardess. + +“Beryl!” she cried, under her breath. “Beryl, is it you?” + +The figure in the berth started up, sweeping aside its veil of hair +with a hand and arm as thin as a goblin’s. The strangest yellow eyes +in the world stared from a white face at the intruder. + +“Yes, it’s I,” said the indifferent, insolent voice of long ago. “I +suppose you’re his governess?” + +“Don’t you know me?” Andria was trembling with nameless joy. Could it +be true that her pupil was no stranger, but the child she had loved +long ago? + +“No!” said Beryl Corselas, with the old vacancy in her face. +“Unless----” she paused and looked straight in Andria’s eyes. The +next instant she was out of bed, taller than Andria in her long white +night-dress. “Andria!” she cried; “Andria,” and flung her thin young +arms around the woman in her black Redfern gown. “How did you come +here? Where have you been all this time? Did he find you for me?” + +“I don’t know,” said Andria helplessly. “How are you his ward, and when +did you leave the convent?” She held the girl off and looked at her. + +It was Beryl Corselas, indeed, but the five years that had passed must +have dealt hardly with her to have made her into a girl like this. A +quick pang shot through Andria at the sullen hopelessness of those +yellow-brown eyes. + +“Tell me,” she said quickly, “did you never get my letters? Did Mother +Benedicta never speak of me?” + +“Mother Benedicta died the week you left,” the girl answered simply. +“Sister Felicitas is reverend mother now.” + +“But you--how are you here?” + +The girl told her, leaving out nothing. And if Andria had been +distrustful before, she was frightened now. + +Mr. Egerton, whoever he was, had no right to Beryl Corselas. There was +more in his adoption of her than appeared. Andria saw quite well why he +had dispensed with references in engaging a governess; he did not want +any one with a good character as a trustworthy person. + +“Beryl,” she said slowly, “don’t tell him you know me. Let me tell him +myself.” + +“I never tell him anything. I don’t like him,” she said calmly. “But +doesn’t he know? Didn’t he get you on purpose?” + +“No. He never even told me what your name was. And oh! I----” she +stammered, “my name’s Holbeach now, don’t forget and say Heathcote!” + +“Are you married? And----” she stopped, looking at Andria’s black gown +awkwardly. + +“Don’t!” said Andria sharply. “I’ll tell you by and by,” for some one +had knocked at the door. It was the stewardess, and she pointed to the +open port-hole. + +“We shall be there to-morrow. We are arrived,” she said. The words +Andria did not understand, but the gesture was plain enough, and the +governess looked out of the open port. + +Something like a blue cloud was visible as the yacht rose and fell. +Andria ran on deck. There it stood on the port bow, a high, blue coast, +mountainous against the sunset. As she stood leaning over the rail she +saw Egerton at her elbow. + +“What is that land?” she said quickly. “I did not know we passed any +after Madeira!” + +“Neither we do. This is Bermuda,” he said carelessly. Not a muscle +moved in the governess’ face. No yacht could go from Southampton to +Bermuda in six days; even a big liner could not do it. + +“Already?” she said slowly. + +“The boat is fast,” he answered, but he turned away quite satisfied, +for there had been no hidden meaning in her voice. + +Andria, left alone, never stirred. + +Where this man was taking her and Beryl, or for what mysterious reason, +she did not know; but that high land that towered against the sunset +was certainly not Bermuda. + +The governess’ nerves tightened sharply. + +What could this mystery round Beryl Corselas be? And of what evil was +that lie about Bermuda the beginning? + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE HOUSE BY THE SEA. + + “The chill is in my bones.” + + +Calm water and the stoppage of the engines roused Andria from her first +sleep after a wakeful night. It was daylight, and the sun was shining. +She was on deck as soon as she could dress, but her very hurry made her +take a long time. + +The yacht lay in a small, almost landlocked, bay; the water was +exquisitely blue, shoaling to green where it lapped on a white beach. +A keen, heavy scent of wild orange-blossoms came from the high shores +that looked an impenetrable tangle of thick woods; and behind, dark +against the rose and gold of the morning sky, rose a high mountain, +that cast a long, threatening shadow over the smaller slopes that ran +to its feet. + +Utterly puzzled, Andria stood staring, scarcely even noticing the +warmth of the scented air. She turned as Beryl Corselas came to her +side, pale and half-awake. + +“Is this Bermuda?” she said pettishly. “Thank goodness, for I hate the +sea! But I don’t see the house.” + +“What house?” asked Andria sharply. + +“Mr. Egerton’s, where you and I are to spend the winter with him. +Didn’t you know?” + +Andria was speechless, for the place looked a desert island. + +“Look, there he is now!” she said, with surprise. “He must have been on +shore.” Beryl pointed to one of the yacht’s boats that was pulling off +to them from the white beach. It was certainly Egerton who sat in the +stern. + +“Beryl,” Andria said sharply, “I hate teaching you to be deceitful, but +mind you don’t let him know you’ve ever heard of me before. I don’t +know why, but I don’t trust him!” + +“Neither do I. Yet but for him I might be back with Mother Felicitas.” + +“I know, and I’d be starving. I was very poor when he found me. But +I’ll tell you all that later on.” + +“Not all,” she thought, as she moved from the girl as Egerton reached +the yacht; “just enough. I wonder if I should have told her this isn’t +Bermuda! I don’t see what good it would have done. Whatever it is, we +can’t get away from it or him. There’s something queer, and Beryl’s the +key to it. But I can’t do anything till I find out a little more. I +wonder”--looking at the pale, indifferent face of her charge--“if she +knows more than she pretends. All this may be clear as daylight to her, +for all I know.” + +For sullen reserve was written on the handsome, obstinate face, and +Beryl had always been odd enough. + +“So,” said Egerton lightly, as he joined the governess, “you have been +making friends with your pupil. She is a queer mortal.” + +Andria, looking at him, could hardly repress a start. She saw now what +had been familiar to her in this man’s face. He was as like Beryl +Corselas as middle age can be like youth, except about the mouth. Where +the girl’s was sullen and timid, his was clear-cut, decisive. But the +difference in the eyes was only in color; his were all but black; hers +uncanny, tawny gold, like old wine; the shape of the eye-socket was +exactly similar in both faces. + +A queer compunction came over Andria. Perhaps the man was Beryl’s +father! That would explain almost everything--except that senseless lie +about Bermuda. + +“We have made friends, yes,” she said slowly. “Miss Corselas tells me +we are to stay here?” + +He nodded, and watched her as she looked all round the tree-covered +hills, where no houses were to be seen. + +“You don’t see anywhere to live? My house is up there, a short distance +from the shore,” said Egerton, pointing directly in front of him. “I +have just been there to see that the servants were prepared; we are +going on shore to breakfast. Please don’t turn pale, we will have some +coffee before we go.” + +As in a dream, Andria Holbeach--who had so short a time since been +Andria Erle in a very different place, but with no better right--found +herself being put on shore like cargo. There seemed no need for such +haste, and she saw with wonder how quickly the sailors were getting out +of the boats not only her own and Beryl’s boxes, but packing-cases of +stores. But she had little time to watch them. The instant Mr. Egerton +set foot on the firm, white sand, he led the way up a narrow path that +could not be seen from the yacht. + +“After me, please, Miss Holbeach,” he said, with a total change of +manner. “And look out for the llanos.” + +What llanos were she did not know, but she soon saw. Great ropes of +some vine were thick across the neglected path, a very trap for unwary +feet. Sharp edges of uneven rock cut her boots as she hurried after +Egerton. The man, for his age, was getting over the ground marvelously. + +High on each side of the path were wild orange-trees, pinky-white with +blossoms and headily sweet. Scarlet hibiscus flaunted great flowers the +size of her two hands; lilies sprang everywhere on the lower ground; +pink and white heaths showered her with their tiny petals as she +brushed past thickets of them. + +“I can’t walk so fast,” said Beryl from behind her. “Tell him to wait.” + +Egerton looked round. + +“It is not a good place to loiter in, this low ground,” he observed; +“the scents are heady in the early morning.” + +Andria, to her surprise, saw that his hurry was not put on; he was +glancing round him with real apprehension. And what could there be to +fear in a paradise of flowers like this? + +“Do you mean there is fever here?” she asked, catching up to him. + +“No,” he answered shortly; “merely what I said. The flowers give one +headache; the place is overgrown with them.” + +It was to a certainty. Blossoms she had never heard of dangled +sweet-scented tassels in her face; the soft, warm air was like a +greenhouse. But she had no time to look as Egerton hurried on. The +path, at times, was but a thread; she had to help Beryl over rocks and +through thickets, for her head was still dizzy from the voyage. And +all the while the anxiety on their guide’s face was plain; it shook +Andria’s nerves in spite of herself. + +Suddenly the rough path ended among great rocks, higher than a man’s +head. Egerton led the way through them, and they emerged suddenly on an +open space of coarse turf, with great trees scattered over it. Hot and +breathless as she was, Andria saw that the apprehension was gone from +Egerton’s face; whatever their danger had been, it was past. + +“There is the house,” he said; and as they went slowly across the dewy +grass an exclamation broke from her. + +She had expected a low wooden bungalow. The house that they came on +from behind a screen of trees was fit for a palace. + +High and white it stood in the morning sun, built of creamy stone; all +porticos and shady verandas. Green jalousies shaded the balconies, +and behind the great pile the ground sloped upward, so that it stood +against a background of flowering trees. + +Yet something in the look of the place filled Andria with terror. She, +who feared nothing since she had nothing left to dread, felt her blood +turn cold. The house looked evil; evil and wickedness lurked in it as +in a nightmare; the orange and scarlet creepers that decked the lower +verandas flaunted like sins in the morning sun. + +As she went up the broad, white steps and crossed the threshold into +the hall, a shudder of unutterable fear took her. And yet there was +nothing but luxury in the room she entered. She looked at Beryl. There +was only weariness in the girl’s face as she sat down in the first +chair she came to and looked listlessly about her. + +An empty vestibule had led into a large room, lined, floored, and +ceiled with polished wood. Gorgeous rugs, gorgeous silk cushions +covered the plainness of the wickerwork furniture; tastelessly arranged +flowers were everywhere, and even a piano stood against the wall. + +Egerton, his face as calm and matter-of-fact as if he had never hurried +them up that narrow path like a man in dread, pulled an old-fashioned +bell-rope; a colored woman in spotless white stood in the doorway +before the sound of the bell had ceased. + +“Breakfast waiting, sir,” she said, gazing at the two strange ladies +curiously. + +He nodded. + +“Here is your new mistress, Salome,” he said, turning to Andria. “Mind +you take care of her and this young lady.” + +“For de Lawd’s sake, sir,” said Salome, “dat’s certain. Don’t I +always----” + +Andria, behind Egerton’s back, knew that his eye had cut the woman +short. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +TWO WARNINGS. + + +All through breakfast she sat like a woman whose every perception +is sharpened by fear. The very ordinariness of that meal, served +faultlessly by Salome and another colored woman, only seemed to make +her more curiously fearful. The lie about Bermuda, the breathless hurry +up the path, the sudden relaxing of the vigilance in Egerton’s eyes as +they came out on open ground, were all parts of a puzzle she could not +fit together. She sat ready for anything as she ate mechanically; but +even she was not prepared for what was coming next. + +From her seat at the table she had heard the voices of the sailors as +they brought up the endless boxes, heard the thump with which each one +was deposited in some back veranda--for solid as the house looked, +inside it resembled a whispering gallery. A colored woman came in and +told Egerton the things had come. Should the men go? + +He rose hastily, and said something from the veranda to the waiting +sailors before he turned to the maid. + +“Give them breakfast,” he said shortly, “and then we’ll be off!” + +We! Even Beryl looked at him, though so far nothing in this strange +place had seemed to rouse her from a dull apathy. + +“Yes,” Egerton said quietly, “I’m going, too. I shall leave you two +ladies in Salome’s charge. I may be gone a month or six weeks. I have +some business. But you will be quite comfortable here; it is certainly +quiet;” and he laughed in that harsh cackle that was so out of +character with his polished voice and manner. The sound of it grated on +Andria’s nerves. + +“But what,” she began, “I mean, is there no one in the +neighborhood--are we alone on this island? What shall I do if Miss +Corselas is ill?” She was so confounded she could scarcely speak. + +“Salome can look after her. She has all sorts of medicines,” he +returned. “Neighbors? No, you have none. You need fear no interruptions +in either your work or play.” + +“But I thought there were any amount of people in Bermuda!” Beryl had +lifted her head and was staring at him with those strange, tawny eyes. + +“Bermuda is a big place,” he said, with a slow smile. “You won’t see +many people, and I shall come back as soon as I can----” He turned +suddenly to Andria, who sat pale and motionless, certain that his +coming back would be a long time in arriving. “My leaving you is +unavoidable,” he said, as if he knew her thoughts, “and also for the +best. You will learn to know each other better without a third person. +You may go about as you like, but I may as well tell you that most of +the country behind the house is impenetrable scrub, but quite safe if +you care to try it.” And it seemed as if his harsh laugh broke out +against his will, so quickly did he check it. + +“The only things I warn you not to do,” he went on, “are to go out +at night, and to go up and down to the shore by that short cut we +used this morning. You might easily hurt yourselves there; slip on +the rocks, trip on the vines; a hundred things. And Salome will show +you a better road when you wish to bathe or sit by the sea. But above +everything”--and he lifted his hand impressively, and Andria stared as +if she were fascinated where she sat--“do not stay out after sundown, +and never, never stir one step outside after dark.” + +There was something in his voice that carried warning and conviction. + +“If you take my advice,” he continued, a shade less earnestly, “you +will not even walk on the upper verandas after nightfall. The lower one +you must never think of but by daylight. The air is health itself in +the day, but at night it gives fever. You understand?” + +“Quite,” said Andria, whiter than a sheet of paper. “Quite.” + +“Then I will bid you good-by. It will be no time before you see me +again. The days slip by here, you will find.” + +He opened the door for them to leave the room, and shook hands with +studied courtesy as they passed. + +The governess never looked at him; she was quivering with rage. + +Beryl was so like him that she might easily be his daughter, and he +was leaving her here with a woman of whom he knew less than nothing, +whom he had chosen because she had absolutely no qualifications. And +leaving her, too, in a place he owned was fever-haunted. If it had been +in Andria’s power she would have knocked him down, and taken Beryl at a +run to the boat. But, even if she did this, it would avail her nothing. + +Beryl was tired out, and one of the colored women showed her to her +room. + +Andria remained in the dining-room, absorbed in her reflections. + +Suddenly she heard the sound of voices on the veranda without. She went +to the window, and, screened by the jalousy, saw Egerton and Salome. + +“So you haven’t seen anything of him lately?” Egerton was saying. + +“No,” answered Salome; “not a hoof of him been round here since summer. +Dey won’t be no more accidents dis time. He’s gone, and--dey’s gone, +too.” + +“Well! that’s good news,” he said slowly; and why did she think there +was disappointment in his voice? + +“But don’t let those two ladies go out after dark, all the same! +There’s fever; remember that!” + +“Might as well kill ’em as scare ’em to death,” said the woman +shrewdly. “But I’ll lock up every night same as always. Dat nigh shook +me into my grave, dat last trouble.” + +“See, then, that there’s no more,” he said sternly. “You’re responsible +for them till I come back. And I’ll have no talking to them, mind +that. You can’t afford to know anything about accidents, and I suppose +neither of the others know anything to tell.” + +“Not one of ’em.” Her voice shook as if at some horrible memory. “You +think I tell what I find, and bury? Nobody knows nothing ’bout dis +nigger----” + +“But me,” said Egerton slowly. “And what is done here you are +responsible for, and you know it.” + +She had good reason to. She broke out into a flood of protestations +that he cut short; and while the listener stood trying to make sense of +them she heard the man’s soft, quick footfall leaving the veranda. + +She had no mind to speak to him now. She knew there would be no +satisfaction from him; nothing but smooth lies. Before she could move +she heard Salome speaking to herself where Egerton had left her. + +“‘Take care o’ dem ladies,’ he says,” she broke out in a kind of wail. +“‘You’s ’sponsible.’ But who’s going to take care of me, an’ Chloe, an’ +Amelia Jane? Nothin’ but our own black skins. Praise de Lawd dis day +dat I ain’t white!” + +She shuffled off, and Andria went up-stairs, pale and half-distraught. +What sixth sense made her sure that all this show of warning, of +caution, only covered something that was meant to happen. + +“You’re responsible,” he had said to Salome, and a horrible conviction +was cold at Andria’s heart. If anything dreadful overtook her and +Beryl, Egerton would have washed his hands of it. He had warned them +and their keeper! + +Sick with apprehension, Andria almost ran against Amelia Jane, waiting, +stout and attentive, on the landing. + +“You looks terrible tuckered out, missus,” she said respectfully. “Best +lie down and rest.” + +Andria nodded; and then spoke on a sudden impulse. + +“Is this place Bermuda?” she said. + +“Law’s sake, missus, certain it is! Didn’t you know dat?” the colored +woman said emphatically. + +“No,” said Andria slowly, walking past her. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE HAUNTING EYES. + + +Beryl Corselas, wearied out, had slept from ten in the morning till +late afternoon. + +Now, as she sat in the drawing-room with the western sun pouring +through the open doorway, she looked a different girl; one whom Egerton +would scarcely have known. + +Her dusky hair was dressed like Andria’s, her golden-tawny eyes shone +serene in her pale face; even the crimson of her lips was brighter. +For the first time in all her miserable young life she was happy. As +a child, she had worshiped Andria Heathcote, and to be alone with the +only human being she had never feared or deceived was rapture to her; +even in this lonely island, with not a creature but themselves and the +black servants. The drawing-room looked wonderfully homelike, with its +open piano and comfortable tea-table, to the two who were so strangely +met after five years. + +“Andria,” Beryl said, drawing a long breath and clasping her thin young +arms round her knees, “why are you so quiet? Why aren’t you like me, +ready to dance because you’re free? Free--but you can’t know what it is +to me!” + +“‘Free among the dead,’” quoted the elder woman softly under her +breath, but Beryl’s ears were good. + +“What do you mean?”--looking up from her low seat with eyes like wells +of golden light. + +Andria rose, and opened the two doors of the room. There was not a soul +in sight, and from somewhere she could hear the servants talking over +their tea. + +“Beryl, how brave are you?” She had shut the doors softly and come very +close, so that her voice was but a whisper. + +“I don’t know!” said Beryl, startled. “Rough words--Mother +Felicitas--always made me a coward. But there are neither here.” + +“There’s something. I don’t know what. Listen”--Andria’s voice was +suddenly protecting, motherly--“and don’t speak loud! You heard Mr. +Egerton warn us not to go out after dark on the verandas, or use that +path. Well, there is some reason, I can’t tell what. I heard him +talking to Salome, and I know the place isn’t safe. And he knew it when +he brought us here.” + +“He only said we’d get fever if we went out after sunset. If he wanted +us to, he wouldn’t have warned us,” said Beryl sensibly. + +“I know! But----” The shrewd reason of Salome’s “might as well kill ’em +as scare ’em to death” came back to her. She must not fill the girl +with fear like her own--only she wished she had not overheard that talk +about accidents! She began to walk up and down the room restlessly. + +“I can’t see why he brought us here!” she cried, but guardedly. “What +reason could he have? Think, Beryl, why do you imagine he ever took you +away from that Fuller woman? What did he say?” + +“Nothing; but that she was too poor to be able to afford to be kind.” + +“Do you think he knows anything about you--is anything to you?” + +“No, but kind as he has been, I can’t like him.” + +“Why did he pretend to bring us to Bermuda, and leave us in a place +like this? That is what puzzles me. I would think he knew something of +you; wanted to hide you away safely, if----” she broke off. It was no +use to say “if I didn’t feel that this was a dangerous place, and that +he deceives us about it because he didn’t want us even to know where he +had taken us.” + +“What do you mean?” said Beryl, staring. “Isn’t this Bermuda?” + +Andria laughed as Beryl’s Andria had not known how. + +“No!” she returned contemptuously. “Bermuda is a lot of small islands; +small and low, not high like this. And it’s full of people--an English +garrison and American visitors. I knew a man who went there.” + +Beryl’s eyes dilated like a cat’s. + +“Then what’s this?” she whispered. + +“I don’t know,” answered Andria, shrugging her shoulders. “I haven’t +enough geography.” + +“Andria, you don’t believe he means to leave us here or murder us,” +said Beryl, with a queer calmness. + +“The first, perhaps! Not the last, or he wouldn’t have told Salome to +take care of us.” + +“Did he?” + +Andria nodded. There was no need to say she was sure he had not meant +it. + +“But there’s nothing to take care of us from!” continued Beryl +ungrammatically. + +“He said there was. Oh, Beryl! I think and think, and I can’t see +daylight. Why he brought us, why he lied to us; what it all means! +He never saw me in his life, nor heard of me, so it must be on your +account. No one in the convent ever knew who you were except Mother +Felicitas----” + +“Did she?” asked Beryl sharply. + +“Yes. But never mind her now, I only guessed that she knew. Think if +you can remember anything before you ever came to the nuns.” + +Beryl shook her head hopelessly. + +“I’ve often tried. I can’t remember one thing but a woman who used to +hold me so tight and hard against her that I cried. It seemed to be in +a room with a queer violet light in it--but it may be just a dream!” + +“It’s no more useful.” Andria walked to the open door and stood +watching the sun dip into the bay they had reached that morning; it lay +empty now, blank, rose, and opal under a gorgeous sky, but she was not +thinking of it. She was no girl like Beryl, but a woman, with a woman’s +sense of responsibility. Beryl was her charge, she would take care of +her--but how? That queer, blank feeling of thoughts that would not come +overpowered her as it had the day she had learned she was not Andria +Erle, but only Andria Heathcote, dishonored and deserted. A soft, heavy +step made her start. + +“’Scuse me, missus,” said Salome civilly, “but it’s mighty nigh +sundown, and I got to lock up dis place.” + +“Lock up now!” Andria’s gentle voice was even, as usual. “Why, Salome?” + +“It’s dark here, missus, de minute after de sun drops. I always does +like dis;” and she moved from jalousy to jalousy, round the long +veranda, drawing down and bolting each stout wooden shutter with easy +strength. + +To the remonstrance of the new mistress she paid no more attention than +to a child’s; and, in truth, Andria could not wish it. Since there was +some danger, somewhere, by all means let Salome bar it out! But she +meant to discover and fight it openly before long. + +As the black woman barred the front door, Andria noticed how strong it +was, and how heavy. Was it to shut in--or to shut out--that the bolts +were so big! + +“Where do you sleep, Salome?” she asked suddenly. + +“In de quarters behind de kitchen.” + +“Out of the house, do you mean?” she asked, with an uncontrollable +start. + +“Yes, missus, after de ladies’ dinner, at half-past seven, Chloe an’ me +an’ Amelia Jane goes to our own house.” + +“But we can’t stay all alone, Salome! If we wanted anything in the +night----” said Andria, aghast now in good earnest. + +“De ladies ring de bell,” returned the woman anxiously. “Dat’s de only +way.” + +“May I come and see? I’d like to.” + +Salome chuckled. She led the way through what seemed half a mile of +empty rooms and disused pantries into the kitchen; from its barred and +grated window Andria saw a paved courtyard, with a high wall on two +sides, on the third a stone house. + +“Oh, you’re not far! I could run to you.” + +“Please don’t, missus! Ring de bell; we’ll do de running,” said Salome +anxiously. + +“Then you’re not afraid to cross the courtyard in the dark?” she asked, +with sudden quickness. + +Salome looked nervously at the courtyard wall. + +“No, missus,” she answered. “Colored people ain’t got time to be +frightened o’ de dark.” + +Andria remembered what the woman had said about her black skin +protecting her. What could she have meant? + +By the time she was back in the drawing-room again she saw Salome had +been right about the darkness. It had dropped on the world like a +curtain the instant the sun vanished. + +There were no blinds to the windows, and in the lamplight after dinner +the dark squares of them were like blind eyes. As the two lonely girls +sat talking, each, without telling the other, felt a growing dislike to +those black windows, through which the darkness of the shut-up veranda +showed like a solid wall. By degrees a curious quietude fell on the +two. How silent the house was, and how silent the night outside. + +“Andria,” said Beryl softly, “have the servants gone to their funny +little house? Who puts out these lights?” + +“I do. We leave the hall lights burning, Salome said.” + +Beryl gave a sudden shiver. + +“Let’s go to bed! I don’t like it here in this room.” + +“Don’t you? Why?” + +The girl, with an infinitesimal movement of her finger, pointed to the +unblinded windows. + +“Those!” she whispered. “I feel as if some one were looking in.” + +So did Andria. A dreadful feeling that they were watched had come on +her as they talked. Brave as she was, she would have given a good deal +to have had her back to the wall instead of those windows, that might +suddenly splinter and crash in. + +“That’s nonsense!” she said, more to herself than Beryl. “The jalousies +are shut; no one could see in.” + +“They could--through the slats!” + +“You goose, there isn’t any one within miles!” If Andria’s quick laugh +jarred a little, Beryl did not notice it as the elder girl extinguished +the lamps. + +“Come along to bed--you’re getting nervous,” she commanded; and +purposely blundered against a chair in the dark. + +Once in her own room she put out the light there, and knelt by the +shut jalousies of the veranda--listening. She had heard something +down-stairs; had laughed that Beryl might not hear it, too. Now, in the +hush of the veiled moonlight, she heard it still. + +Some one was below her, in the garden, going round and round the house +with a fevered eagerness, almost running. Holding her breath, she heard +those quick, quick steps, and her blood grew chill. + +Who could be there? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE PATTERING FOOTSTEPS. + + +In a less lonely place the governess would have thought nothing of +those footsteps, but here she had been expressly told two things--there +were no neighbors and there was danger abroad at night. + +“I wonder if I dare!” she thought, and peered through the slats of +the jalousy. The moon was on the other side of the house; she could +see that much, for this side was in deep shadow. No one below could +possibly see if a jalousy were pushed out an inch or not. She unbolted +the smallest division of the heavy hanging shutters, and noiselessly +pushed it outward as far as she dared. + +All she could see was the strip of garden and shrubbery directly +beneath her; darkly shadowed as it was she could not tell if there was +any one there. + +“The night is dreadful in this place--dreadful!” she thought. “There +might be devils behind every bush. The very moonlight is not like the +good, clear light I know. Mr. Egerton need not have warned me not to go +out--nothing would take me into those dreadful shadows, that veiled, +honey-colored light.” + +The heavy jalousy tired her wrist, in another minute she must let +it go, and so far had learned nothing. She had known down in the +drawing-room that some person or thing was outside. Nothing moved now +in the stirless garden--those strangely light, quick steps had ceased. +But out of the quiet another sound and a nearer smote on her senses, a +creaking as of wood rubbing on wood. + +Her aching wrist forgotten, she peered through the crack, and with +horror, for the creepers were swaying below her. + +Some one was climbing up! + +Somehow, she shut the jalousy, bolted it and got back into her room. +Something noiseless, light, a darker shadow against the dark, clung +for an instant to the very shutter she had just closed, clung and was +gone. She heard the quick slither of it as it went down the creepers, +but whether it had been man or beast she could not tell. + +Her terror had taken her to the opposite wall of the room, that she +might at least have something solid behind her back, and for a long +minute she stood there, sick with the horror of the thing. + +Yet as she stood there, trembling-kneed, her heart grew strangely +light; she felt suddenly uplifted, happy, in the midst of she knew not +what mysterious dangers. Here was the chance to do as Mother Benedicta, +that saint on earth, had bidden her long ago. To fight Beryl’s battles +bravely, and in doing it rub out, perhaps, those years that had been so +evil. For evil they had been; she had never been sure as she pretended +that Raimond Erle and she were man and wife. She had snatched at +happiness, had cared little if that happiness were a sin, and now---- + +“I have my chance to blot it out,” she said to herself deliberately. +“I’ll save the child if I have to die for her. Perhaps Mother +Benedicta’s saints won’t shut me out of heaven then.” + +The hope that had never yet left her, that Raimond Erle might some day +come back to her, ceased suddenly, as her thoughts of revenging herself +died in the new hope that came over her. + +“I’ll never see him again,” she thought, little knowing, “and I’ll +beat Mr. Egerton yet! A better woman would have been a far more easily +managed governess. One like me knows too much. For I’m sure--sure that +he brought that girl here to put her out of the way, and his warnings +to Salome and me were nothing but a blind.” + +The danger she was in made her almost gay. + +Quite boldly she stepped out on the veranda and looked through those +shutters where that strange, hunting thing had scented her. + +What was it? It had looked, with its spread-eagle arms and legs, like +an ape. She would find out in the morning if there were such things +here. Then she shuddered, with a quailing at even her cold heart. + +Salome had thanked Heaven she was black! + +Then the thing, whatever it was, only attacked white people. Could it +be some dreadful, half-crazy black man, run wild in the woods? + +“I can’t get a pistol,” mused Andria dryly, “but I can get a knife!” +and she went quietly in to bed. The thing, whatever it was, was gone. + + * * * * * + +Bright and early she woke to a new day. + +Amelia Jane, with a tea-tray, stood by her bed, and Andria, after a +dazed instant, remembered where she was, and saw, too, that Amelia +Jane looked tired. She was the youngest of the colored women and the +stupidest, and she stared as she answered Andria’s good morning. + +Fully dressed, she had lain down on her bed, her only toilet for the +night having been to take out the pins from the great circle of ruddy +hair that hung round her in a glorious mass. Under the servant’s +wondering eyes, she laughed. + +“I must have fallen asleep,” she said. “Don’t tell any one, Amelia.” + +“You wasn’t awake late, was you?” the woman returned curiously. + +“I don’t know. I thought I heard footsteps, Amelia, last night!” + +Amelia Jane put down her tray. + +“Don’t speak of ’em--they isn’t lucky!” she said. “They’s haunts, miss.” + +“Do you mean ghosts?” + +“Jus’ ghosts. My soul! I slep’ here in this house once. I heard them +steps all night. Hurry, hurry--hunt, hunt--but I never see nothin’. +Bermuda’s haunted, I tell you so.” + +“Is the house called Bermuda?” asked Andria quickly. + +“Yas’m. And if it isn’t haunted, why is it that they’s no footsteps +heard out’n the quarters? Only in the big house.” + +So the house was called Bermuda! + +That was what Amelia had meant on the stairs. + +Andria’s heart lightened a little, for at least it showed the servants +were not in league with Egerton to deceive her. + +“Nobody ever sees the ‘haunt,’ do they?” she asked. + +“No’m! Sometimes ’taint here at all. Salome she say it’s nonsense--but +I don’t hear it. An’ yet it ain’t never amounted to nothing, only jus’ +noises.” + +“Are there monkeys here, Amelia?” + +Amelia Jane laughed till she had to cover her face with her apron. + +“Monkeys! No’m. I been here three years, an’ I never hear tell of no +monkeys. There ain’t no beasts ’tall. When you’ve had you bath’m kin +I brush out your hair? It’s tangled till if you piroots round in it +you’ll tear it out.” + +Andria thanked her, her heart warming to the kindly voice. But when her +toilet was done and she stood, fresh and fair, in front of the glass, +some one knocked at the door. It was Salome, and her fat face was +anxious. + +“Morning, missus,” she said hastily. “I come to tell you little miss +must habe gone out. I can’t see her nowhere.” + +“Out! Alone?” Andria gasped, “Oh, Salome! Which way? Not down that +path?” + +“You clear out and look down de road, ‘Melia Jane!” commanded the +housekeeper, and stopped Andria, as she would have followed. + +“Don’t you say nothin’ of dat path to ‘Melia Jane,” she whispered. +“She’d be faint-hearted of de place ef she got skeered. But run, +missus, do; and get little miss. She didn’t know no other way to go.” + +“Then you heard--last night!” cried Andria, almost running through the +house, Salome at her heels. + +“Heard what? Dey ain’t nothin’ to hear. Don’t you listen to tales from +‘Melia Jane ’bout haunts. Dey’s fever in dat path, dat’s all,” said the +woman, lying obstinately. + +Andria shot out of the house like an arrow from a bow. + +Down that uncanny path, with its hot, strong scents and gaudy flowers, +she ran as she had never thought she could run; her skirts caught to +her knees, she leaped and stumbled and slid over the tangled vines and +sharp rocks. Suddenly a gleam of white caught her eyes, and between two +high rocks she saw Beryl, kneeling over something on the ground. + +“Beryl,” she screamed, hoarse with fear and anger at the girl’s +disobedience; “Beryl, why did you come here? Come home!” + +“Hush!” said the girl softly, turning her head, “I’m all right! Come +here quietly and see what I’ve found. Such a darling kitten!” + +Andria, her pulses thumping and her breath gone, caught back an angry +word. What did the child mean? She had noticed last evening that Salome +had no dogs or cats. And then her heart contracted. + +On the ground beside Beryl, playing with her hand, was a small cat--all +marked with curious black rings on its yellow-white coat. + +But it was no cat. Its face was square, its eyes wild, as it stopped +its play at the sight of a second person. Beryl, her own strange eyes +intent and masterful, began to stroke it with soft, strong fingers. + +“Pussy, pussy--little, little cat!” she whispered in the thing’s small +ear; and as if it knew her it lay on its back and patted her with +velvet paws. + +What she had seen in the night came back to the governess. Had it been +a full-grown thing like this that had smelled her out on the upper +veranda? Trembling, she stepped to the girl’s side. + +“Beryl, put it down! Come home,” she begged, for orders, when the +girl’s face was absent and obstinate, were useless. “It may have its +mother somewhere, you don’t know! Come home.” + +“She wouldn’t hurt me!” said Beryl, and for a moment those strange, +yellow eyes met Andria’s, not so unlike the eyes of the queer, wild +kitten. + +“No, but she might me,” said Andria quietly, as a forlorn hope. + +Beryl turned pale. + +“Oh, Andria, forgive me!” she cried. “I forgot. There, little cat, run +home! Or shall I take it with us and feed it?” + +“No, no! Oh, come away!” with a wild horror she thought of being +followed up the path by a prowling thing like she had seen the night +before. Almost she stamped her foot as Beryl lingered, kissing her +new-found toy. Instead of scratching, it purred and rubbed its head +against her, and Andria knew that if she had touched it the thing would +have clawed her eyes out. Her heartbeats, which had shaken her from +breathlessness, shook her now with terror. Who could tell what moment +death might not be on them? + +But Beryl, putting down the kitten very gently, slipped her arm through +Andria’s with quick compunction. + +“Come along,” she said sweetly. “I’d forgotten this was a bad place and +we weren’t to come here. Run home, little cat! See, Andria, it will +follow us!” + +“Yes,” said Andria, with stiff lips. “It won’t come far, I fancy.” She +pushed Beryl in front of her so that if more than the kitten should +follow the girl would have a chance to run, and found herself glancing +every which way just as Egerton had done the morning before. To her +despair Beryl turned suddenly off the path. + +“Look!” she cried, “here’s the kitten again! It’s caught up with us. +And here’s the dearest little pond, Andria!” She did not believe for +one second in that fairy-tale of the kitten’s mother. “See it--all +white sand, and so clear.” + +Andria was utterly furious. + +“Beryl, please come! I’m so hungry,” she said. “I believe you want me +to get fever.” + +“How can you!” said Beryl. “You poor dear, I’ll come now.” + +And she did, hurrying with easy steps up the stony path. The kitten +stayed behind, and that terrified Andria anew. She turned to follow +Beryl, and her foot slipped. For a moment she fell on her knees, faint +with pain; her face bent over the still water of the little pond that +mirrored her clearly. The next second her heart seemed to die in her. +There was more than her own face reflected in the water. Over her +shoulder, leering, mouthing as if it jabbered at her, was a second +face, so wild and dreadful that her throat grew shut and dry with fear. +With her newborn instinct of facing an enemy, she wrenched herself +round on her knees and scrambled to her feet. + +The space behind her was utterly empty! Even the wild kitten was gone. + +Not a rustle, a moving leaf, stirred the gorgeous shrubs anywhere, +and yet she knew some one had vanished into them but now. That face +that had leered at her from the water mirror had been no dream, but a +dreadful reality. + +“Reflection can’t lie,” she thought. “And I saw it face to face with +me.” She could scarcely move as she realized how close it must have +been to her to have peered over her very shoulder. + +“Beryl!” She suddenly remembered the girl she had sworn to herself to +take care of, and forgot her turned ankle as she raced after her. At +the end of the path she almost sobbed with joy. There stood Beryl, +fresh and lovely in the sunshine that flooded the open turfed lawns. +Her face was quite careless and untroubled. + +“I won’t tell her,” Andria thought swiftly. “She’s seen nothing.” But +even there in the open ground she made her charge walk in front of her +all the way to the house, for fear of what might yet be behind them. + +Salome stood waiting at the door, and turned away as she saw them. + +“What on earth’s the matter with Salome?” Beryl said, laughing. +“Andria, she was truly pale! She was gray!” + +But Andria said nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE EYES OUTSIDE THE JALOUSY. + + +The weather changed that afternoon. A high, hot wind blew from the +southwest under a gray sky; the sea thundered on the beach below the +house; and as Beryl looked out listlessly, rainlike waterspouts came +thrashing down. + +“Hateful!” she said pettishly. “I was going out.” Andria, whose bruised +foot ached, began to laugh. + +“You needn’t laugh! If you do I’ll go still,” she said, with babyish +wilfulness. + +“It wasn’t that,” said the so-called governess; “it’s only this--do you +know that we were supposed to do lessons, and there isn’t a sign of a +book in the house! Not even a novel. Amelia Jane has half a Bible, and +she says that’s the only book there is.” + +“I believe he’s just stuck us here to mold away and die,” returned +Beryl quite calmly. “He didn’t care whether I learned anything or not, +in spite of his grandfatherly ways. But I’m not going to mold or die +either. I like the place!” she continued coolly. “I hope he’ll never +come back.” + +“You won’t like it long,” muttered Andria to herself. “You won’t have a +chance,” for her adventures were heavy on her mind, and it took all her +will not to pour them out to this careless listener. + +“I like it out, I mean! I didn’t like it indoors much.” Beryl went on, +blessedly ignorant of the thoughts in her companion’s mind. “That’s +rather funny about the books, but I don’t care. I wouldn’t do any more +lessons if we’d a library. All I want to do is to lie under the trees +and be lazy.” + +“You need it, you poor baby,” said Andria pitifully. For tall and +strong as the girl was, she was too thin, and the lovely outline of +her pale, warm cheeks too hollow. But in Andria’s mind was that there +would be few days to be out of doors in sun or shade; if things went +on as now this house would not be their prison alone--their only safety +would be inside its stout stone walls. + +“Hurrah, here comes tea!” cried Beryl gaily. “Salome, I haven’t +anything to do, and it’s raining. Couldn’t Amelia Jane go out and look +for my cat?” + +The tray clattered on the table. Salome had all but dropped it. + +“Cat?” she said. “Cat! Dey ain’t no cats here. For the land’s sake, +Miss Ber’l, what you mean?” + +“Just what I said,” answered Beryl provokingly. “Why? Don’t you like +cats, Salome?” + +Salome opened her eyes till they looked all whites. + +“Dey ain’t none on de island,” she persisted obstinately. “What you +mean? You didn’t bring no cat. I didn’t see none.” + +“I did, then, and I didn’t bring it either,” said Beryl, with a +cheerful laugh. “The dearest little cat, Salome! I found it on the path +on the shore this morning--all yellow with black spots.” + +“My gracious sakes, little miss!” said the woman slowly, and Andria saw +she was holding herself hard. “Don’t you come and tell ole Salome dem +tales.” + +“She did find a cat, Salome!” Andria interrupted. “I saw it, too. But +it wasn’t like a common cat. I think it was a wild one. Why didn’t you +tell me there were wildcats?” + +The woman drew her breath so sharply that it was all but a sob. + +“Dey ain’t--no wildcats!” she returned faintly. + +“I told you so, Andria,” Beryl stuck in gaily, helping herself to tea. +“I knew it was tame! It was so soft, and had such sweet fur.” + +“You didn’t go for to touch it?” and almost fiercely Salome turned to +the girl. + +“Why not, if it was only a dream-cat, like you say?” said Beryl, with +that goblin look in her queer face. “Salome, you silly woman, of course +I did! I played with it for ages.” + +“An’ you never seen nothin’ else? Nothin’ ’tall?” she insisted, her big +chest heaving. + +“No, of course not. Andria said its mother might come and eat us, but +she didn’t.” + +Andria’s eyes, full of meaning, caught Salome’s from behind Beryl’s +shoulder. The colored woman read them like print. If one had not seen, +the other had--and been silent. For an instant the black woman looked +rebelliously at the white. If the new red-haired mistress meant there +should be accidents Salome would have no hand in them. She moved, stiff +with angry suspicion, to the front door. + +“Guess I’ll lock up now,” she muttered. “Don’t want none o’ dem cats in +my kitchen.” + +“Salome, don’t shut up!” Beryl cried, running to the nearest window. +“My cat may be out there; wait till I look. I’m going to bring the poor +thing in out of the rain if it’s there.” + +She stared out into the blinding white mist of wild and streaming rain. +It was impossible to see through it if there had been fifty cats; +against it there was almost no difference in color between the gray +tree-trunks and the green leaves, so blanched was the world. Suddenly +lightning passed before her eyes, short, white, and vicious through the +pearl-white rain, like a striking sword. After it thunder that shook +the very earth. Under cover of the deafening peal of it Andria spoke in +Salome’s ear. + +“Don’t tell her, don’t frighten her,” she whispered. “You and I must +take care of her. Oh, Salome, I saw something!” + +The woman’s face changed as if by magic. “I was suspicioning you,” she +said, banging the door. “I don’t fancy dis place an’ dat’s a fact. But +if you don’t, neither, I guess we’ll get over dem--all o’ dem,” she +laughed savagely, but Andria caught at her black hand as at the hand of +a friend. “I trust you, Salome!” she breathed. + +“Fo’ the Lawd, you kin,” said the woman shortly. “But dey ain’t no time +now. You wait, missus, till to-night.” + +“Oh!” shrieked Beryl. “There’s my cat. I saw it. It’s looking for me. +I’ll get it.” + +Salome, with a bound that was ludicrous in a stout person who shook as +she walked, caught the girl half out of the window. “Does you want to +get killed by dat lightning?” she cried authoritatively. “I tell you +dey ain’t no playing wid de sword of de Lawd in dis country. See dat!” +she cried sharply. + +A tall tree was struck as she spoke, and the thunder drowned the fall +of it, as the rain quenched its smoking limbs. “Dey ain’t no cats worf +frizzling for, I tell you.” + +To Andria’s surprise Beryl turned obediently from the window. Salome, +with feverish haste, shut up her fortress and lit the lamps. + +“Dey’ll be good men drowned in dat wind,” she said soberly. “You pray +for dem, Miss Ber’l, instead o’ chasing after no cats.” + +A sudden heavy gust against the house corroborated her. The wind would +be a hurricane by and by. In the noise of it the woman muttered to +herself despairingly. “She see dat cat in daylight--broad daylight. +Oh! my soul--and dey’ll be wind to-night. I dunno what I’m gwine do. +I daresn’t tell ’em; he’d murder me just like dat if I did. I got to +piroot some way out of it.” And she shook her head meaningly as Andria +would have followed her from the room. + +Chloe and Amelia Jane waited at dinner. Salome was absent doing other +things. Strange things enough in that lonely place, far from towns and +tramps. The woman was strong as a man, and she worked feverishly at +her self-appointed task; piled packing-cases before the doors opening +on the lower veranda, put heaps of some strange-smelling, dried herb +on the verandas themselves. The top ones she never thought of, knowing +nothing of Andria’s vision the night before. When she had finished her +poor precautions she regarded them doubtfully enough. + +“Broad daylight, and I’d been sure dey was clean gone,” she groaned. +“And here it’s night, and de wind risin’. Pray dey’s grit in ole +Salome yet! But I ain’t knowing just what to do. Dey tells me +red-haired white women is liars, and how do I know ’bout dis one! She +kin trust me sure enough, but I ain’t trying no speriments on her.” + +Yet that very wind that was racking Salome’s nerves had set Andria’s +at rest. There could be no prowling spies on a night like this; not +even that strange being, whose leering, mocking face she scarcely dared +remember, could be abroad in such a storm. The face had been barely +human; animal greed and hatred had been in it, hungry fierceness in its +glittering eyes as it grinned at her. She longed to go and pour out her +story to Salome, but when she looked into the kitchen all was darkness. + +“Salome needn’t have deserted us!” she thought, like a hurt child, and +then resolutely banished all fear of their great loneliness in the +inclemency of the night. + +“Look out!” cried Beryl, as Andria returned to the drawing-room. “See +what I’ve found. Isn’t it fun?” + +She had from somewhere unearthed a long ugly dagger, very fine and +sharp. On the floor she had put a row of oranges, and with unerring +aim was throwing the dagger at them. She never missed; each orange as +it was struck was nailed to the floor. Andria took the dagger from the +orange where it stood quivering. How sharp it was! She had fairly to +drag it from the polished board. + +“Let me try!” and to her surprise, after the first failure, the thing +was easy. Only the fear of breaking the new toy made her stop; she +might have need of it. + +“I found some cards, too, and a book!” Beryl cried. “Such a funny old +book. Listen!” She read aloud from a battered calf octavo: “‘As sure as +the turquoise brings love and the amethyst repels it, so does the opal +attract misfortune and the beryl bring bad dreams.’ There, the beryl’s +me! What kind of a stone is it? I never saw one.” + +“It’s green,” said Andria absently; “pale-green; something the color of +that wild kitten’s eyes.” + +“Then look here!” exclaimed Beryl excitedly. “Is this one? It was shut +up in the book. Trust me to rummage round and find things.” + +She held up a tarnished gold ring, thin and old, set with a pale-green +stone that glittered in the lamplight. + +Andria seized it. + +“It’s a beryl, certainly,” she said slowly. “I wonder whose it is!” + +“It’s mine now,” said Beryl, snatching it and slipping it on her +finger. “I’m going to wear it.” + +“Bad dreams, the book says, and you’ve no right to it, you know,” said +Andria. + +“Neither has old Egerton any right to me. I’ll bring him bad dreams, +too, if I can. Oh, Andria! Isn’t it pretty? I never wore a ring in my +life.” + +Andria looked silently at her own bare fingers where once the diamonds +had felt heavy. “They didn’t bring happiness,” she said softly. “But +you can wear it if you like. Where are the cards? I’ll teach you to +play euchre.” + +Curiously enough, all Beryl’s nervousness of the night before had +vanished. She sat down calmly with her back to the uncurtained windows +and bestowed her whole attention on the game. Her left hand, with the +cards in it, was held high, with the ring glittering on it, so that if +there had been any one to look in they could have seen it plainly. The +storm made the house shake, solid as it was, and the noise of it was +deafening. There could be no one abroad to-night, yet suddenly Andria +seemed to stiffen in her chair. + +“Beryl,” she whispered, putting down a card that was all wrong, +“there’s the queerest sound in the wind! Like something sniffing at the +door. Can’t you hear it?” + +“I heard it ages ago,” said Beryl gaily. “Perhaps it’s my cat. Shall I +let it in?” + +“No! Don’t move. It’s too loud; no kitten could make it. It sounds like +a horse sniffing dust and blowing it out again.” + +The girl listened. + +Very, very soft, in the battering wind, came another sound; a scratch, +scratch, scratch at the door. + +“It is my kitten! I”--with a curious look in her eyes Beryl had +risen--“I must go.” + +“You sha’n’t stir,” said Andria, with a sudden ugly gentleness. “You +don’t know what’s outside. Come up-stairs; it isn’t safe here.” She +caught Beryl’s arm and fairly pushed her from the room, catching up +that lean, sharp dagger as she passed it. The instant they were over +the threshold the scratching ceased, as if whatever was outside knew +they had gone. + +Half-way up-stairs a sudden crash as if some one had upset a heavy +table stopped both girls short. Fear caught Andria by the throat; +silent and dry-lipped she pushed Beryl against the wall and stood in +front of her, the dagger in her hand. Had something got in up-stairs? +Was she to fight for both their lives--now--on these stairs? The +next second she heard Salome’s voice: “Ladies, ladies,” she called +frantically, “come up out o’ dat. Oh, my soul! Dey’s smelled de white +blood--de white blood!” + +“Salome! I thought you’d gone to your own house. What is it?--there’s +something--outside at the door.” + +“Come up, come up!” The black woman ran down to them, her snowy turban +askew on her frizzy hair. “Oh, Miss Holbeach, I been here six years and +I never seen nothin’ like dis. Dey’s hunted you down, hunted----” her +voice broke horribly. + +“What?” said Beryl sharply. She broke from Andria’s hands and ran +up-stairs. + +Andria tore after her, and stopped short at what she saw. + +Beryl was out on the veranda, staring into the darkness. Opposite +her, not two yards from her face, something shone through the bar +of the jalousies. Two great eyes, green as the stone she had found, +glittering, ravenous, were fixed on her; but not even a shadow of the +thing in whose head they shone showed against the black storm outside. + +“Come in,” said Andria, paralyzed. “Come in! Oh, what is it?” + +At the sound of her voice there came a snarl that made her blood cold, +but the creature, whatever it was, could not loose its foothold to claw +at the bars. + +“It’s an animal,” said Beryl, in a queer singsong tone, “I’m not afraid +of animals. Go in, or you’ll be killed.” + +She walked nearer to those awful eyes, crooning softly to herself. The +snarling ceased, but as Andria, in mad fear, leapt after the girl, +it broke out so wildly, with such a guttural note of rage, that she +screamed. The thing had got foothold! It was clawing at the bars. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +A STRANGE POWER. + + +With a quick, backward sweep of her long, young arm Beryl Corselas sent +Andria staggering backward, but she never looked to see Salome catch +her dexterously and drag her inside the room. + +Without taking her eyes from the fierce ones outside the stout, wooden +shutters, the girl began to croon again and the hungry scratching of +the iron claws ceased. Monotonous, scarcely rising or falling, that +queer chant went on, till through it there rose a purr like a great +cat’s. + +Closer, closer Beryl drew to the jalousy; the horrified watchers saw +her all but touch it. She stopped and gazed through the slats, straight +into the wonderful eyes. Very slowly the great animal relaxed, scraping +against the wood. Something heavy, yet strangely light-footed, leaped +softly to the ground. The thing was gone. + +Exactly as if she walked in her sleep Beryl Corselas came straight to +the other two. + +“I want a drink of water,” she said, very low. “That was a jaguar.” + +Salome struck a light and shut the door on the awful darkness of the +veranda before she brought a tumbler from the wash-stand. + +“How do you know? You never saw one.” Andria’s voice was thick with +shame. She had been so grand about saving Beryl; and it was Beryl who +had saved her! She threw her dagger down angrily; it would have been no +use at all in a struggle with a beast like that. + +“I don’t know.” Beryl gulped at the water. “But I do know, somehow,” +she said in her natural, every-day voice. + +Salome took the tumbler from her with a curious gesture of respect. + +“My soul! You saved us! Oh! my glory!” she cried hysterically. “Glory, +glory!” her voice rang out between sobs and laughter. “You’s one o’ +dem.” + +“What do you mean?” Andria had played a small part and hated herself. + +“You knows much as I knows,” said Salome sullenly. “You seen! She was +de beat of ’em. Dey’s some born like dat. Oh, missy, glory be dis +night!” Her chest heaved as she turned to Beryl, but the girl only +walked away. + +“Salome,” Andria broke out angrily, “you don’t trust me! I tell you I +love the child. I have nothing to do with Mr. Egerton’s plots against +her. I’ve known her ever since she was a baby.” + +“Don’t never hear o’ no plots,” said Salome sharply. But at the look +on Andria’s face she buried her own in her hands. “I will trust you, +missus,” she whispered. “Fo’ de Lawd, ole Salome couldn’t tell ’bout +you. I’m sick o’ dis life and dis yer place, dat’s true.” + +“Then tell me what it all means,” commanded Andria sternly. “Why are we +besieged here every night by wild beasts and worse?” + +Salome caught her by the arm. + +“Listen!” she cried. “I can’t tell you nothin’. I took my Bible +oath”--on Amelia Jane’s poor relic of religion!--“to hole my tongue. +But I took another in my mind to take care of dat child.” + +“Then tell me who I saw last night!” said Andria frantically. “Whose +hateful face jabbered at me this morning, down the path----” + +“You done see him! My soul!” said the woman, as if hell had opened +under her feet. “Den we’s gone, sure enough. Dey’s more than jaguars.” + +Beryl, as if she listened to something very far off, had drawn to the +other end of the room. She stood, a tense white figure, deaf to all +other sounds but those. Andria pointed to her dumbly. + +“Don’t say anything,” she breathed. “She is afraid of people, never of +animals. At the convent she once saved a sister from an ox that turned +on her----” + +“Dey’s born so, I tell you,” Salome returned, with a kind of pride. + +“Salome, if you don’t speak out to me I’ll go mad,” Andria said +desperately. “What can I do if I don’t know what it all means?” + +“I can’t tell you nothin’,” answered Salome slowly. “I couldn’t +get clear if I did. And you knows all I knows now. I don’t know no +more. Black people in the house, no one comes--white women! You seen +to-night.” + +“Do you mean the place is safe for black people?” + +“De white blood draws ’em,” she answered in a whisper that thrilled. + +“But men; Mr. Egerton----” + +“When he comes back you see. He ain’t going to stay long. He sleep up, +up in de roof, last time he come.” + +“And he brought two women here!” Every drop of Andria’s blood recoiled. + +“Dat’s what I can’t understand,” said Salome eagerly. “He say, ‘Salome, +you take care on ’em!’ And I seem to feel he don’t mean it.” + +“He can’t,” said Andria simply. “Oh! Salome, can’t we get away? Isn’t +there any one on all this island but us? Isn’t there a village--boats?” + +“If dey is dey’s behind miles o’ bush and scrub dat we can’t scrape +through,” Salome returned, very low. “Boats, if you means getting away +by de sea, dey ain’t none, ’less we make ’em. I never see no living +soul since I been here--but what you see to-night!” + +“But why are you here?” + +“’Cause he brought me. He tell me he take me to good place in Bermuda, +and I came here. Oh, missus! I’m not old--but I’m wore out with misery.” + +“But you’re not a slave! Why did you stay?” + +“Niggers has no choice,” she answered darkly. And something told Andria +there was a black story that Salome would not tell. “By and by he bring +Chloe an’ Amelia Jane. He tell dem dis is Bermuda. And dey never fret, +dey only caring to eat and save deir wages. De Lawd knows if we ever +get away from here. Don’t you ’spose I never tried, ’cause dat’s what +I did try. But--I ain’t gone yet!” + +“I’ll make him let us go!” + +Salome clutched her, really ashy with terror. + +“You never say nothin’, or dey’s no more o’ dis world for me. You mind +now. I never tell you nothin’; you never tell me nothin’; you see and I +sees; and we beat them if we can. Dey’s here, dey’s always been here, +but when dey ain’t no one but niggers in de house dey goes. Dey get +master yet,” she said savagely, “for all he dares ’em.” + +“But you told me there were no animals--where did that thing come from?” + +“Sometimes I think dey spring out o’ de earth. I don’t know. But +dey’s worse--you tell me he jabbers at you dis morning,” interrupting +herself, “an’ she’s afraid of people! If he’s going round in de +daylight like dat, an’ she’s afraid, he’ll get her sure!” + +“But who is he?” + +“Dat’s what I don’t know. But he climbs and--Miss Holbeach, it ain’t no +jaguar dat chokes de life out o’ my lambs and don’t tear no flesh nor +skin!” + +Andria’s flesh crawled at the slow words. In the silence the storm +outside was like the end of the world. The battering of the wind, the +crash of falling trees, the roar of the rain covered the low voices +of the two women. In the uproar Beryl, like a statue that lived and +listened, drew her breath long and slow. Suddenly she spoke, without +turning. + +“There are more than that one, and they’re hunting and yapping like +dogs. I wish I could see them! But it’s too dark.” + +“Are they hunting us?” cried Andria, shuddering. Already she seemed to +feel the ripping claws, the crunching teeth of the great beast outside. + +“Not me!” said Beryl dreamily. + +Salome watched her with awestruck eyes. + +“If we dies, we dies,” she said hardly. “Better lie down on dem beds +an’ rest. Dey ain’t got in yet. Pray de Lawd we ain’t going to be de +meat at a jaguar wedding dis night!” + +With the stoical courage born of long endurance of fear she lay down on +a rug. Andria, in sheer despair, sat down silently. And in the midst of +the storm she seemed to hear what Beryl was hearing--a wild snarling, a +medley of quick cries--and set her teeth. Any minute, through any door, +a square, savage head might show itself with death in its green eyes. +She looked at Beryl. + +The girl was curled up on her bed like a kitten, sound asleep. + +Black woman and white looked at each other, then with one consent sat +up and kept their useless, terrified watch till the lamp burned dim. +The wind had fallen, the horrid outcry in the garden had ceased, and, +lulled by the quiet, the two slept in their chairs, worn out. + +As the dawn flushed in the east the girl on the bed sat up, looked at +the two weary figures, the dying lamp, and like a ghost stole by them. +When the clear sunlight at last roused them she had not come back. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +IN THE WOODS OF PARADISE. + + “Drink to the men that were broken! + They were better men than you.” + + +Scorching morning sun on a barren point of rock and sand, and on great +waves that thudded and broke emerald-green and white on the wet beach; +and nothing else to tell of the past night’s storm. + +Nothing, unless if any one had shaded their eyes to gaze at the beach, +where the hot air quivered, they might have seen a huddled thing lying +there just out of the reach of the waves; a thing that last night had +been a man, and to-day--motionless, lax, it seemed but the body that +some one had cast aside. If something did move in the bushes, it did +not disturb that quiet sleeper in the sun. + +“Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other.” + +Brian Heriot had been put into the Guards at twenty, had lived as gaily +as if money grew on every bush, till the crash came and undeceived +him. His father died without a will, and his elder brothers quietly +threw him over. The new Lord Heriot was a Plymouth brother and a +philanthropist; he had no money to waste on idle young butterflies +in the Guards. The Honorable Brian Heriot grinned without much mirth +when he realized his position. He disgusted his dear friends by calmly +taking what little money he had to pay his debts, and then, without a +word to any one, quietly “went under.” His old haunts knew him no more; +people forgot him, no one troubling to remember that if Lord Heriot was +a pious prig, Brian, his brother, was a born adventurer. + +Strange lands, strange occupations knew him. He grew very tanned, very +handsome, with a look in his face that made women turn their heads as +he passed. But he made no money, only kept body and soul together; +a rolling stone that yet did not go down-hill. For he kept his soft +speech and manner, his good heart that hated cruelty and a lie. Somehow +he had drifted to Fayal, and there being penniless, if cheerful, had +shipped on a small coasting-vessel that gathered cargo for the European +steamers. + +That was a week ago. This morning there was neither vessel, cargo, nor +crew; nothing but Brian Heriot washed ashore almost dead. He had swum +till he could swim no more; that was all he knew. That, and a great +crashing of water, and utter darkness. But the very wave that had +stunned him had cast him high and dry like a bit of driftwood on the +sandy point where he lay. + +As the sun warmed him he stirred, ever so faintly. + +Had something touched him? Stooped over him with clammy fingers on his +bare throat? He tried to open his eyes, but he saw only one fleeting +shimmer of sun on water before they closed again. There was a deadly +heaviness in his limbs, an utter indifference in his brain; he did not +know whether he was alive or dead, and did not care. Presently he knew +he was dreaming. + +He thought he was lying in hot, hot sun, on hotter sand, and turned +away from the hungry sea that pounded in his ears. And just before his +eyes stood a girl; a tall girl in white, with a great veil of dusky +hair streaming over her. Round her feet played two jaguar cubs, and in +her arms was a third, that she cuddled and crooned to as if it were a +child. Step by step she came close to him, and over her shoulder there +peered from the bushes another face that leered and laughed as if in +malice. A dreadful fright for the girl came over Brian Heriot, but in +his nightmare he could not stir. He tried to shout, and the dream went. +Something wet and cool on his head roused him; a shadow that was heaven +came between him and the sun; a girl’s voice scolded something that +seemed to be running and jumping over him. + +With an effort that racked every bone Brian Heriot sat up, and +stared about him. Half his dream was true. He was on a beach, a wet +handkerchief was bound on his head, but there was no one there. + +“Please come back!” he said. “I won’t hurt you,” and then laughed +ruefully. Sick and dizzy, with a cut head and a wrenched ankle, he +certainly would not hurt any one. “Oh, do come back!” he cried again, +with a kind of vexed impatience, and wished he could remember some +Portuguese instead of this useless English. + +But even as he spoke the bushes parted, and a girl slipped out of them. +She stood looking at him with great eyes almost as yellow as topaz, and +he saw the color come and go in her creamy cheeks. + +“I thought you were Mr. Egerton at first,” she said slowly, almost +sullenly. “Did you come with him? Is he back?” + +Ill and exhausted as he was, the incongruity of the thing made him +stare. Where had he got to, that a girl played with jaguar cubs and +spoke in English? + +“I don’t know any one named Egerton,” he said, propping himself up on +one arm. “My name’s Heriot.” + +“How did you get here? You really mean you don’t know him?” + +“I mean I never heard of him,” he answered stupidly. “I got here +because my ship was wrecked last night. If you hadn’t waked me I think +I should have had a touch of sun.” + +“You must get out of it,” said the girl quickly. She twisted her hair +into a knot, as if she had just remembered it. As she did so a ring on +her finger glittered green, and at the sight of it something in the +bushes drew back sharply. + +At the rustle she bounded like a frightened child closer to the man in +the sand, whose eyes were so blue in his handsome face, handsome in +spite of blood-stains. + +“Did you see anything besides me, a little while ago?” she whispered. +“Quick, tell me!” + +“I thought I saw a man,” he answered, surprised. “But I wasn’t myself; +I don’t know.” + +She put her hand on his shoulder, and to his amaze he felt it tremble. + +“So did I!” she whispered, lower still. “Get up. I’ll help you. I’ll +take you with me. But,” suspiciously, “you mean what you say? Mr. +Egerton didn’t send you?” + +“No one sent me.” He forgot she was a girl, and spoke with rough truth +as to a man. “God knows you haven’t much choice when you’re washed +overboard. I didn’t mean to come. Why should I lie about it?” + +“Most people,” she said composedly, “lie. But”--she stopped, +listened--“come, come away!” she cried. “I’m afraid here.” + +“You can’t be afraid of much,” he answered, full of wonder. “I saw you +playing with jaguar cubs just now, unless I dreamed it.” + +The girl laughed. That rough denial of Egerton had somehow made her +trust the man. “Those were my cats. I’m not afraid of animals. I hate +people, though, except Andria.” + +“By George!” thought Heriot, “I’d rather face ten men than one jaguar. +Who is the girl? And who’s Andria? I knew one Andria, but----” He +smiled at the idea; it could not be she! + +“You don’t know anything about animals.” She had read his face with a +queer anger. Turning from him, she began to croon, very low, and at a +call a yellow, white, black-spotted kitten came out of the bushes. But +it only rubbed against her skirt and bounded away. Beryl Corselas grew +pale. + +“Come,” she said, and took his hand. “Can you walk?” + +“Yes.” He got on his feet and gritted his teeth with the pain in his +ankle. “Is it far?” + +“Yes; I don’t know,” she said absently, staring round her. Who was +calling the cats that they would not stay with her? What horrible face +had she seen for one instant through the bushes? “Don’t let go my +hand!” she said suddenly, childishly; and Heriot, for all his pain, saw +that this girl who played with jaguars was frightened. + +But as he went with her up what was surely a path, though not worn by +shod feet, the feeling that it was all a dream came over him again. +If it had not been for the pain in his foot he might have been Adam +walking with Eve in Eden for the loneliness and the beauty of the +place. The wet scrub was a mass of flowers, gorgeous butterflies swam +through thickets of white and rose heaths, strange blossoms flaunted in +his face. And never in all his days had he seen a beauty so strange as +that of the girl who led him by the hand. Yet for all its unlined youth +the face was pathetic, tragic; the dull rose lips were lips that had +tasted grief. + +“What do you mean by saying you’re afraid of people?” he said, the pain +in his ankle making him talk, for fear he should groan. + +“Animals are simple; I understand them,” she returned, without +slackening her pace. “People all have an animal in them. I see it in +their faces, but an animal turned bad. Mother Felicitas was a white +wolf.” + +“You are not afraid of me?” He was afraid himself of her answer. + +“No!” she answered carelessly. “No more than I would be of a dog. Come +on!” + +Heriot had stopped. He leaned against a tree, faint with pain. He would +cheerfully have given a thousand pounds for a drink. + +“You’ll have to wait,” he said ruefully. “I mean I will. There’s +something wrong with my foot.” + +With feverish haste the girl picked up a stick that lay on the path +and shoved it into his hand. “It’s green, it won’t break. Use it for a +walking-stick,” she ordered. “And try to hurry. Don’t you know there’s +something following us?” + +He had not heard a sound. + +“What sort of thing?” + +“Something dumb,” she whispered, “that leers and jabbers, and I can’t +manage it, for I’m afraid.” + +Heriot put his hand in his trousers pocket. His pistol was gone. + +“Walk ahead,” he said, setting his teeth. And as she obeyed he heard +behind him a faint rustling that grew no nearer. He limped on in +purgatory from the heat and his foot. His head swam as the sweat poured +off him. If it had not been for the terror of the girl with him he +would have sat down and waited for what was following them rather than +have walked another step. + +Suddenly she cried out, and, reaching back for his hand, fairly dragged +him after her. They were out of the scrub, standing at the edge of a +great, open meadow, with trees scattered over it. As in a dream he +saw a white house, quite near; nearer still a black woman and a white +running to them. He was so dizzy that he reeled and nearly pulled the +girl backward as she clutched his hand. + +“Beryl!” cried a voice high and sweet. “Oh, Beryl, where have you +been--who’s that?” asked Andria, with a quick note of startled surprise. + +The whole world swam before Mr. Heriot’s eyes. He tried to steady +himself, to speak. + +“Mrs. Erle,” he began, quite calmly, and fainted dead away on the grass +at Andria’s feet. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +OLD SINS AWAKENED. + + +Andria’s heart contracted where she sat in the pleasant, green-shaded +room. The three colored women had made nothing of carrying the +unconscious man into an unused room in the upper story of the servants’ +quarters; Salome’s eyes had told Andria he must not be taken into the +big house. And there in the spotless bareness of the darkened chamber +Andria had sat ever since, like a woman who sees a ghost, waiting for +this man who knew her to come to his senses. + +For he knew her quite well. He had been a friend of Raimond Erle’s, had +believed like the rest of London that the woman who was called “the +lovely Andria” had been the true cause of his financial ruin. When he +found what she was doing here, would he warn Beryl what a wicked woman +she was who masqueraded as a governess and guardian? + +She lifted her bowed head to look at him, and saw he had wakened from +the heavy sleep that had come on him after his fainting-fit. + +“Mrs. Erle,” he said again stupidly. + +She walked over to him swiftly. + +“I’m not Mrs. Erle; I never was!” she said, with a kind of passion. “My +name is Andria Heathcote, but they call me Holbeach here.” + +“But----” + +“I know,” she cut him short. “I have begun again. I am Beryl’s +governess, the girl who brought you home. She knows my real name, but I +told her I called myself Holbeach for reasons of my own.” + +“Governess!” he said, staring. + +“I’m not fit, you think!” she said bitterly. + +“I would not say so,” said the man slowly, and the blood came to his +face. + +“You think I’m bad--an--adventuress----” + +“I think you ruined Raimond Erle,” he answered bluntly. + +With a queer gesture she put her hand to her heart as if it hurt her. +This man was of the world, would judge as the world; and he could tell. + +“I----” She could not finish. A man who did not know her would have +been a rock of defense, to whom she could have told everything. This +man would never believe she was not in Egerton’s pay, to get rid of +Beryl Corselas. He would remember the evil places, the evil company he +had seen her in; would think it right to destroy Beryl’s faith in the +only soul she trusted. + +No! Let him think this was an ordinary house, she masquerading as an +ordinary governess. Salome said it would be weeks before he could walk; +let him stay here in this secluded room, where no noises would wake +him. He was only another burden, not a help. + +“Mr. Heriot,” she said quietly, “you will do as you like, of course, +about airing what you know of me. But if you will wait you will see +perhaps that I’m not all bad--not what you may think. Don’t tell Beryl +that I was Andria Erle till you see reason to mistrust me,” and even +while she spoke she knew he would see reason enough as soon as Beryl’s +careless, indifferent tongue told the queer story of Egerton and the +happenings in this evil house. No sane person would believe that if +such things were possible in this every-day world the woman Egerton +paid was not on his side in them. And what Egerton’s side was did not +puzzle Andria, if it did Salome. + +“I don’t go about blackmailing people,” said Heriot coldly. “Don’t look +so nervous.” + +“But you don’t think I ought to be in the house with any girl,” she +said quietly, and he could not see the bitterness in her face. + +“If you ask me,” unwillingly, “no! But God knows I can’t throw the +first stone at you, especially when you take me in and nurse me,” but +the old dislike of her and her kind was in his voice as he spoke. + +“Then try and think kindly of me,” she broke out, and there were tears +in the eyes he had always seen so hard. “I have begun again; I’ve put +all that behind me.” With a gesture of loathing he understood. + +“My dear lady,” he returned quickly, “don’t plead like that! It is +no business of mine what you were. I see you here as Miss Holbeach, +and--as for the girl, I am not her keeper.” + +“No, but I am!” she retorted, for his tone hurt unbearably. “And keep +her I will. I will send your dinner now,” she said, with a change of +manner that said more for her self-control than her honesty; “it is +nearly six o’clock; you must be starving.” + +“Tell me,” said Heriot quickly, “who is the child? What did she mean +this morning by saying she was frightened?” + +He was not prepared for the look on Mrs. Erle’s face. + +“Frightened!” she stammered. “What of--did she say? Not of those +horrible cats?” + +“If you mean jaguar cubs, she was playing with them. No; some one dumb, +she said, who leered and mouthed at her--and I thought I saw a queer +face myself, too!” + +Involuntarily Andria did the worst thing possible. + +“You were hurt and half-senseless,” she returned coolly. “You imagined +you saw what the child romanced about.” + +But he had seen her dismayed and confounded face, and knew she lied. + +“That woman here!” he thought, as she left the room, shutting his eyes +and seeing her as he had seen her in Raimond Erle’s house, covered with +diamonds, surrounded by the worst men in town. “And with that innocent, +fairy-tale sort of child and her queer pets. Why did she lie to me just +now? And why are either of them here? This must be Flores or Corvo; one +of the Azores, anyhow! And what is she about to let things frighten the +girl?” + +The whole thing made him thoughtful. Were there only the governess +and the girl--where were the master and mistress? Intuitively the man +felt there was something wrong. With a resistless impulse to see at +least where he was, he managed to drag himself over to the window. +Through the half-open jalousy he saw a small, stone courtyard, strong +as a prison, shaded by a high building from the sinking sun. And as he +stared voices floated up to him. + +“Salome, she saw--you know something that jabbered at her! She told +him. What shall we do?” + +“Why’d she tell him?” The second voice was richer, more guttural. “Oh, +my glory, missus! Mr. Egerton----” and the rest was in a whisper. + +“I know. This man won’t help us, Salome!” + +“No! An’ if Mr. Egerton he come back and find him here, de onliest +thing dat’ll happen is de Death Trap.” + +“What do you mean?” But the voice was not surprised, only appalled. + +“Pray he don’t find out. Best keep Miss Ber’l away from him. If she +tells him things, an’ he sees--he’ll go out fur to fight! And you +knows, missus,” earnestly, “he might have friends. Dey’d be coming +round asking for him. Onless you kin trust him to help us?” with a +searching accent that was an entreaty. + +“He’ll never help us. He’ll be against us, not for us,” bitterly. “You +daren’t tell, Salome?” + +“Den if he won’t help us, de sooner he goes de better. I can’t tell. +Ain’t nothin’ to me, one white man! An’ if Mr. Egerton finds people +spyin’ round here, it’s de end of me, sure!” + +“He can’t hear anything up there?” + +“No! No more’n ’Melia Jane does. Onless little miss screams!” + +“She sha’n’t scream!” + +Heriot drew away from the window, but not so far that he did not see +Andria Erle cross the courtyard with a light, quick step that went ill +with the grim sound in her voice. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +DOUBTING THOMAS. + + +Mr. Heriot, to his disgust, was extremely ill after that rash journey +to the window. + +For a fortnight he had fever, and was nursed untiringly by Salome, +silent as a statue. When he had mended enough to be left alone and +could walk about his room, he discovered he was to all intents a +prisoner. His stout nurse had calmly locked the door on him to keep him +out of mischief. + +“Serves me right for spying on them!” he thought, ashamed and angry, +standing at the window, as he had done that first evening. “But, all +the same, I think there’s some devilment going on here--hello!” he +pushed the jalousy from him and leaned out. + +Beryl Corselas, idle and listless, stood in the courtyard alone. He +had never seen her since she had brought him from the shore, and her +beauty, that was so young and so pathetic, struck him afresh. + +“Are you better?” she cried, waving her hand to him. “Why don’t you +come out?” + +“I can’t,” he answered calmly. “Salome has locked me in.” + +“Wait,” said the girl promptly. She ran across the yard, and he heard +her light feet on the stair outside. + +“You were locked in!” she cried, opening the door and standing there, +tall and lovely, her dark hair no longer hanging round her and her +white dress immaculate, instead of being soaked with dew. “How funny!” + +“Isn’t it?” returned Heriot gravely. He led the way out, limping; he +had no notion that Mrs. Erle should find her charge in his room. + +“Everything’s funny here, though,” the girl said thoughtfully. “I’m +getting used to it. But even Andria has got queer since you came. She +just sits and thinks, and she won’t let me out of her sight. She has +a headache to-day, poor Andria! And Salome and the others are busy +washing. This is the way, out this door.” + +She led him into the house through the empty kitchen, and at the +voices, and laughter that came from the wash-tubs the man felt he must +be a fool with his suspicions. Everything here was ordinary. Was he +thinking all sorts of nonsense because he had heard a conversation not +meant for him? + +In the drawing-room he was amazed at the luxury round him; the silk +cushions and gorgeous embroideries that were so strange in this corner +of the Azores. + +His companion made him sit down, and seated herself on the floor. She +looked up at him, her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands, +and for the first time he saw what a curious face she had. + +There was something almost vacant in it, and yet it was not a stupid +face, only utterly indifferent. The eyes that met his were startling in +their strangeness, the irises raying out a tawny golden-yellow, while +the eyebrows and lashes were like ink. The girl’s lips were a thrilling +crimson, and yet the mouth bore a look of suppression, as if too early +it had been acquainted with grief. + +“Yes,” she said, with a sudden laugh that startled him, “it is queer +here. I am queer myself.” + +Heriot smiled, though he was taken aback. + +“You’re a child,” he said calmly; “you haven’t found yourself yet.” + +“Me? I never was a child,” she said, and her eyes darkened as if some +inward flame had been extinguished. “No one who’s been Beryl Corselas +all her life could ever be a child.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I mean the convent, and Mother Felicitas,” she said somberly, “and +Andria and me. If Andria had not gone away it might have been better.” + +She looked straight at him, and something in his look reminded her of +Andria. His blue eyes had the same look of self-reliance. His good +looks did not strike her at all; the golden-brown hair and mustache and +the debonair face that had turned many a woman’s head never touched +Beryl Corselas one whit. He looked kind and strong, and she liked him. +That was all. Yet Andria could have told her that in his day Heriot had +been the handsomest, most spoiled man in London. + +“Do you mean Miss Holbeach,” he asked, with perceptible hesitation and +utter surprise, “was ever in a convent?” + +Beryl nodded. + +“I’ll tell you,” she said. “It’s all very queer. If you read it in +a book you wouldn’t believe it. And that reminds me,” she went on, +laughing, “Andria was brought here to teach me, and there isn’t a book +in the house but that funny, old one on the floor there. Mr. Egerton +couldn’t have really cared whether we did lessons or not.” + +“Begin at the beginning,” said Heriot, with the soft voice women had +found so sweet. “I can’t understand, you know.” + +But when she had reeled out the whole extraordinary tale he leaned back +and whistled softly. + +Egerton, whoever he was, must know something of Beryl Corselas’ history +and want her out of the way. No better place could have been found +for a superfluous girl to live than this unknown nook in the Azores. +And no other kind of woman than the late Mrs. Erle could have been +got to take pay for accompanying a kidnaped girl. There was probably +very little mystery in the affair to her; she must know something from +those far-away convent days about the history of Beryl Corselas; which +might also explain why it had been convenient to get her here, too, in +addition to being a pliant tool in the hands of a clever man. And that +the girl had an affection for her was another reason. Heriot knew the +power of a woman over a girl who idolizes her. That the whole thing had +been blind chance, he never thought for an instant. + +“Why do you think he brought you here?”--he kept his interest out of +his voice. + +“I think,” she answered calmly, “to be eaten up. And so does Andria. +But Salome says he made her swear to take care of us. And he did warn +us himself, of course; but I think that was for show, and so does +Andria.” + +“Eaten up!” Mr. Heriot gasped. He began to wonder if the girl were +queer in the head. + +Beryl nodded. + +“You don’t know. You don’t sleep in the house,” she returned. “And, +anyhow, it’s all right now, for they know me.” + +“Who?” + +“The two old jaguars,” she said calmly, “and their kittens. You saw +their kittens this morning.” + +“Know you! Jaguars!” This was worse and worse. The girl was stark mad. +If he had not seen her with the cubs he would have thought it a lie +from the word go. + +“Yes, they do!” she asserted pettishly. “I sing--like this--and they +come. I can make them go away, too. Even Andria is getting to know that +I can.” + +She sat upright and began the queer croon he had heard once before, but +this time he recognized it. It was a snake-charmer’s song, wordless; a +thing to make the flesh crawl on the bones. + +“Where did you learn it?” he asked, cutting her short. He was not +blood-brother to jaguars, and had no wish to have them called in the +open windows. + +“I’ve always known it: I never learned it. I can do anything with +animals. Andria says mother must have been a dompteuse--a lion-tamer, +you know.” + +“It does go from mother to daughter, they say,” he returned rather +faintly. He wondered if this Egerton were, perhaps, her father, and +then--but no man could be so cold-bloodedly cruel as that! “There ought +not to be wild animals here,” he said out of his thoughts. “Are these +jaguars wild?” + +Every vestige of animation left the girl’s face. + +“No!” she breathed more than spoke. “And that’s the only thing that +frightens me. They’re trained; they have a master, and they obey him. +Do you remember I saw a face that morning? Well,” as he nodded, “I +think they are his. I think he tries to set them on to kill us, and +I’ve managed them so far. If I could only get them to like me best; +they would obey me like dogs; but sometimes I can’t get them to come to +me at all. Andria is afraid to let me play with them. One night I went +out, but she came after me and dragged me in. There was nearly dreadful +work that time; I could hardly keep them off her--the cubs, I mean. If +the old ones had been there she would have been killed.” + +“Then she does try to take care of you!” the words escaped him, to his +instant shame. + +“Andria? She loves me! She came out to me when they might have torn +her up. But she isn’t afraid of that thing that hunts with them. It +climbs up the jalousies, and hurries round the house all night, like a +dried-up monkey--only I know it’s a man!” + +“Has she seen it?” + +“I don’t know. But I have, and I’m afraid of it. And Andria gets wild +if I talk of it. She says it’s all a dream.” + +“It’s a damned unpleasant one, then!” thought Heriot, utterly at sea. +If Egerton meant to do away with both women, the lovely Andria was +a fool to be here. If only Beryl was to be got rid of, how was Mrs. +Erle to save herself? As he thought of her she came into the room. She +looked paler and more girlish than he had ever dreamed she could look; +her red-brown hair was coiled simply round her head, and her plain, +white gown was as strange on her as the absence of her rings from her +rose-white hands. + +“Oh!”--she stopped at the sight of him--“Mr. Heriot, how did you--that +is,” lamely, “I’m glad you are better!” + +“I don’t think you are, Mrs. Erle,” said Heriot’s blue eyes. Somehow, +the very sight of her had strengthened the mistrust that was beginning +to weaken. + +“I managed to escape my stern jailer,” he said lightly. “I suppose she +thought my fever was catching, for she locked me in.” + +Andria turned scarlet. He saw quite well who had instructed Salome. She +sat down quite composedly, though she did not look at him. + +“Beryl, tell Salome we want tea, will you?” she said, and, as the door +closed on the girl, turned to Heriot. “It was I who had you locked in,” +she said hardly; “I was afraid you might be tempted out and make your +fever worse.” + +“You were very kind,” the irony in his voice barely visible. “But I may +as well tell you that Miss Corselas has told me all about this queer +business.” + +“And you think I am paid by Mr. Egerton to get rid of her?” she said, +without a flicker of her eyes. “I don’t think I am--yet! But I may be.” + +“I won’t let you do it,” he answered calmly. + +“Neither you nor any one else has a right to say that to me,” she said, +very low. “Because you know my past is no reason I am all bad. And if +I suspect Mr. Egerton a hundred times over, I must remember that he +warned me to keep her out of danger. If he had meant her to run into it +he would have held his tongue.” + +“He warned you, perhaps!” he was behaving like a cad, and he knew it. +But he could not believe in the late Mrs. Erle. + +“He knows nothing of me, and cares less.” + +“Why don’t you take the girl away from here, if you care for her?” + +“How? You forget I don’t even know where we are. Do you?” + +Heriot winced. + +“No,” he said unwillingly; “either Flores or Corvo, in the Azores, but +in an uninhabited part of either.” + +“And I am to drag a delicate girl like that through miles of scrub, +with no money if I do get to a town? If you think I knew what sort of +place I was coming to you are mistaken. He told me this was Bermuda.” + +“Bermuda!” + +She nodded. + +“And I would think he meant us to live and die here if he had not said +he would come back and take me away if I did not like it.” + +“Did he say he would take the girl?” he asked sharply. + +“I--no!” she stammered. “I suppose he meant it.” + +“Yet you ask me to believe you know nothing of his plans?” he asked +politely. “Do you know, Mrs. Erle, I have a great mind to help that +poor child away myself?” + +Quick as light she had risen and stood looking down on him, her face +as hard and brazen as that Andria Erle’s whom he had despised, all its +new-found purity gone. + +“And do you think I would let you?” Her voice was soft as usual, but +for once it was not gentle. “Why should I hand her over to any man, to +suffer, perhaps, as I’ve suffered? Believe me or not as you like, but +I will take care of her, against you and ten like you--against Egerton +himself, when he comes!” + +“You couldn’t, if it came to main strength.” + +“Could you?”--she pointed to his foot that was still bandaged. He felt +her contemptuous eyes on his body that was thin and shaken with fever. +“And have you money that you could send her to England and take care of +her? Supposing she and you ever got out of the scrub! + +“This is my house to all purposes. If I told the black women to put you +out to-night they would do it. And I suppose you know what would come +to you then! You can believe in me or not, as you like,” she said, with +sudden quietude, “but you cannot dictate terms to me, or threaten me.” + +For a long minute there was utter silence in the room. Then Heriot, +very white about the mouth, rose. + +“I have to beg your pardon,” he said. “You are quite right. I am in +your debt.” + +But as he turned to go back to his old quarters and get away from +this woman, she saw that she had only made him distrust her more +determinedly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +TRUSTED TOO LATE. + + +To Heriot’s utter surprise, Salome at seven o’clock brought him a +message that the ladies were expecting him at dinner. It occurred to +him suddenly that second thoughts had convinced the late Mrs. Erle that +a man who had been able to come to her secluded retreat would be able +to get away from it, and that the strange disappearance of even an +orphan girl might be a thing to report to the police. To be the jailer +of a kidnaped damsel would not add glory to the record of any woman. + +Before Beryl neither of the two betrayed their private position. Andria +was quiet, that was all. She let Heriot talk to the girl as freely as +he liked, and, in spite of his prejudice, he saw that she never tried +to stop any disclosures of the terror that haunted them at night. + +It was only when dinner was over that he saw her expression change. A +quick remembrance had come to her. The servants had gone to bed; she +dared not let even her enemy, who might at any minute betray Beryl’s +faith in her, cross that courtyard in the dark. + +Walls were no obstacles to the evening visitors at the house; she had a +quick, sickening vision of a snarling pounce, a sound of worrying, and +then a scream and a crunching and tearing of flesh. And in the vision, +too, something that squatted on the wall and hounded on its dreadful +servants. + +“Mr. Heriot,” she had risen abruptly from the comfortable chair where +her thoughts had been a torment that even Heriot might have pitied, +thoughts of old days that had come back to her as if risen with this +man from the dead, “Mr. Heriot, it’s dark! Do you know you can’t go +back to your rooms?” + +“I never meant to,” he answered quietly. “Did you think that, after +hearing all I have, I was going to leave you two alone to face the +night?” + +To his surprise, it was Beryl who bestowed a somber glance on him; +there was a queer relief on Andria’s face. + +“You ought to have gone!” the girl cried. “You will only be a trouble +here.” + +“I’ll try not to be,” he laughed, in spite of himself. “I can sleep +quite well on this sofa.” + +“If you sleep anywhere!” + +“She’s right,” said Andria. “It will be worse if those beasts smell you +out. You should have gone.” + +But, though she hated him for his unkindness, she was glad of his +company. Even an extra dog would have been welcome in that house. + +“Let us hope they won’t scent me.” He was only half in earnest, +thinking they exaggerated, as women do. + +“I can manage them,” said Beryl softly. “They’re tame, really,” and, +without reason, Heriot’s heart thrilled with pride at the fearless, +almost careless, voice. + +It was torture to Andria to sit in the room with the man who knew her +history and despised her for it. It brought back those London nights +with the supper-room windows open on a moonlit garden, when Andria +Erle, in satin and diamonds, had fleeted time carelessly, reckless +of what men thought of her. She cared now. She would have given all +her beauty to have seen respect in Heriot’s eyes, casual acquaintance +though he was. And the very way he turned his sentences brought back +Raimond, haggard, brown-eyed, gentlemanly, with that way he had of +smiling. + +In spite of herself her heart cried out for the man who had been her +all. To shake off her thoughts she rose as soon as she dared, and +carried Beryl off to bed. + +Heriot, left alone, remembered something. + +Salome, at a word from Andria, had produced cigars. He rummaged about +and found them on a side table. They were Egerton’s, but Heriot was +in no mood to be particular. He had had nothing to smoke in the three +weeks he had been in this queer place. + +He lit a perfecto and leaned back in sweet content as the blue smoke +curled upward. For a little while he forgot everything but the joy of +his smoke, and then the close heat of the room annoyed him. He limped +over to a window and unbarred it, but hardly a breath came in. Without +a thought of the tales of jaguars or their strange master, Heriot +opened the veranda jalousies and sniffed the air of the gorgeous night. + +A honey-colored moon swam in the sky, even the colors of the flowers in +the garden were visible, and the scent of oleander-blossoms rose like +incense in his nostrils. With a sigh of content, he turned back into +the room and picked up the only book it contained. The yellow pages +opened of their own accord at a worn passage, and as he read it he +wondered. + +“As sure as the turquoise attracts love and the amethyst repels it, so +does the beryl bring bad dreams.” + +He turned to the title-page. + +“Jewels--Their Verye Majicke Vertue,” he saw in thick, old lettering, +and went back to the passage he was reading. + +“This is a queer Beryl; I wonder if she will bring bad dreams,” he +thought sleepily, as his cigar burned out. Too lazy to move, he dozed +in his chair, while the lamps burned low and flickered in the rising +breeze. + +A pleasant sound, hurrying, pattering, like heavy rain on a roof, +soothed him dreamily. + +His head rested more heavily on the silk cushions of his deep chair; he +still saw the dimly lighted room, but mistily, as in a dream. + +His eyelids fell at last, his long lashes rested on his brown cheek. + +The hurrying patter outside ceased. + +If any one looked with wild incredulity through the open jalousy Heriot +did not see them; if softly and soundlessly something slipped in and +crept behind his chair he did not hear, or know what curved, crooked +fingers itched to clutch at his throat, and yet were kept from it by a +cunning mind. + +The man was asleep; would stay asleep till--something woke him. + +A minute later Heriot opened his eyes, and leaped to his feet as one +who shakes off a dream at a half-heard sound. + +Had he seen, for one second, a face, jeering and malicious, glance back +at him from the door into the passage? And did he see that door closing +softly now? And did he hear quite close, and coming nearer, quick, +yelping whines, as of beasts hunting? + +Heriot rushed to the open jalousy, tore it to him and barred it; shut +and locked the window into the room. And not an instant too soon, for +something soft, yet tremendously heavy, had hurled itself against his +jalousy; but the good wood held. + +“The jaguars! It was true, then,” he thought almost unconsciously, for +there was no time for thinking when something worse than a jaguar was +on its way to those two defenseless women up-stairs. Regardless of his +lameness, he raced up-stairs. + +There were lights everywhere, and perfect silence everywhere, too. Had +he dreamed that evil, fleering face--that misshapen body, with its +crooked claws of hands? + +A scream, so wild and dreadful in that lonely house that it turned his +blood to fire, answered him. Yet the thrilling note of it was rage--not +fear! + +“All right!” he shouted; “I’m coming!” and ran in the direction of the +sound. + +Andria Erle, white as ashes, her teeth showing as her lips curled +back from them, was half-facing him, as she threw Beryl back through +a half-open door. As Heriot ran to her she banged it to, and shut it +on the girl; and then he saw what sickened him. There were hands like +claws clasped round Mrs. Erle’s bare throat, and a monster that bit +buried in the nape of her lovely neck. + +“Bolt the door, Beryl--quick!” her voice came choked. “Never mind--me!” + +Heriot’s arms shot over her shoulder as she spoke. But he missed the +ghastly thing that clung around her. He jumped to drag it off her, but +it eluded him; with the noiseless spring of a cat it had dropped to the +ground and vanished somewhere in the winding passage. + +Andria panted desperately. + +“Beryl is all right,” she said. “He can’t get at her. Beryl, can you +let us in?” + +“Yes. Oh, Andria!” in anguish, “no! The bolt’s stuck.” + +“Don’t move it, then.” Andria was trembling from head to foot. “Lock +your window. Is Salome there?” + +“Yes, missus! Wait, we’ll get you in.” + +“No!” with authority. “I’m all right; Mr. Heriot’s here. Don’t open +that door, Salome, till I tell you to. Promise!” + +“I can’t open it,” said the black woman with despair. “Oh, Miss +Holbeach! Run somewhere--quick! He’s in; he’ll let dem in!” + +Andria clutched Heriot’s arm. + +“She’s right!” she cried. “Come! See my room. I left a light there, and +now it’s dark!” + +“I’ll break the crazy brute’s neck!” said Heriot furiously. “Let go my +arm, please!” To his anger, she was strong as he. + +“Not without a revolver,” she said imperiously. “Have you no sense? You +can’t do anything but get killed--and then I’m gone, too. Come!” + +Even in his rage Heriot saw she was right. He was in no trim to fight a +madman, with no weapon but his hands. + +In utter silence he ran with her up the lighted stairs and into the +first room they came to. There was a lamp burning, for it was Egerton’s +sitting-room, and by his orders never dark, even in his absence. But as +they entered it they heard pattering footsteps on their trail. + +“Stop!” Andria caught Heriot as he would have shut the door. “We +daren’t. He might get in at Beryl.” + +She seized a hard-stuffed bolster from a corner, and, before he could +stop her, had sent it twice through the window, with a crash and fall +of splintered glass. There was a veranda outside, but no jalousies; +nothing to keep an evil thing imprisoned. With an irresistible force +she dragged Heriot behind a table, whose cloth reached the ground, and +made him crouch there beside her. His arm felt like iron under her +fingers. He was waiting for a fight, and saw nothing in her breaking +the window but an attempt to fly that way, quickly abandoned as useless. + +The hurrying, relentless steps came in, stopped. Then, with a snarling +cry of wordless rage, their strange enemy saw the open window. Like a +flash, he bounded to it, through it; and Heriot, quicker than he had +ever moved in his life, leaped after him. Andria pointed to a heavy +chest of drawers. + +“That!” she cried. “Keep him out!” and, somehow, the two moved the +heavy thing across the window. From outside, without a purchase, it +would have taken a Sandow to move it; but the two, with one consent, +moved quickly from the room. Heriot shut and locked the heavy door +behind them, rejoicing in the iron clamps on the solid wood, but +marveling no longer. + +“How did he get in?” cried Andria; she leaned against the wall, pale +and trembling. + +“Come back to Beryl. It’s all right now.” + +“Yes,” but he did not move. “Turn round,” he said authoritatively; “let +me see your neck! Do you know that brute bit you?” + +His whole manner utterly changed, and he laid a hand on her shoulder, +where her white dressing-gown was torn to ribbons. He felt a shudder +run through her. + +“I didn’t--feel it!” she said jerkily. “I was so frightened for Beryl.” + +Heriot’s face was dark with shame. + +“My God!” he muttered as he saw the deep marks of teeth in the nape of +her neck. “I ought to be kicked. Mrs. Erle, I have to beg your pardon a +thousand times. I’ve behaved like a beastly cad. I--do you know, it’s +all my fault?” + +“Is it deep? Will it be poisoned?” She took no heed of his words, and +he saw that at last there was terror in her face. + +“No!” he lied bravely, sickening at the jagged marks, where the blood +oozed. “Come here! Where can I get some water?” but as he spoke his +quick eye caught a can standing at the head of the stairs, ready to +fill the morning baths. + +“Kneel down, and don’t be frightened, please,” he said gently. “If +there is any poison I’ll get it out.” + +Half-mad with disgust, she did not realize what he meant to do till she +felt his lips on her neck. He was sucking the poison from the wound! + +At first she nearly flung him from her, and then she buried her face in +her hands. There was no one else. Beryl she could not let do it, and +Salome was black. But Andria was whiter than marble and cold from head +to foot. When the sickening business was done, as she rose from her +knees she staggered. + +“I ought to thank you,” but she did not look at him. “You----” + +“I’m not fit to black your shoes,” he cut her short, with a queer sound +in his voice. “For God’s sake, Mrs. Erle, forgive me if you can. I +thought you were on Egerton’s side, and in his pay to get rid of the +girl. And I’ve just seen you ready to chuck your life away for her.” + +“I’m not what you think me. I never was.” She put her hand to her +throat and cried out at the pain of the bruised flesh she touched. + +“I think you are a good woman,” said Heriot, “and the bravest on God’s +earth. I can’t forgive myself. Do you know, it was I let that brute in?” + +From very weakness the tears came in her eyes as he told her how; yet +spoke up bravely. + +“I don’t care. I’m not frightened of the bite if you trust me now. +You’ve seen--you must believe me!” + +Heriot looked at her, pale and wild in her torn dressing-gown, her +beautiful face ghastly. This was the woman he had dared to judge; +and she had dared to risk her life for the very girl he had thought +she meant to betray. And it was he who had really caused that wound +that bled still. He could have gone on his knees in his shame and +humiliation. + +“Come,” he said quietly, “get the others to let you in, and go to bed.” + +“I can’t sleep;” she shook like a leaf, but she followed him. + +Salome got the door open in what seemed an endless time, as Andria +stood outside with chattering teeth. + +“Miss Holbeach!” the woman cried wildly, “it’s daylight! An’ I heard de +engines in de bay. De ship’s got back!” she ran past Andria to the top +of the house. + +The world lay quiet in the hour of daybreak, and Egerton’s yacht lay at +anchor in the gray wanness of the calm water. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. + + “‘Bone of thy bone,’ said God to Adam. + ‘Core of my core,’ say I to thee.” + + +“You’re sure, Salome?” Andria cried. Too stiff and weary to move, only +her eyes looked alive in her pale face. + +“It’s de boat, it mayn’t be him. Oh, my land, Miss Holbeach, dey’s +blood on you dress! He’ll kill me. Honey, let ole Salome see! Whata +done got yer?” + +But Heriot saw she knew. + +“If it is Egerton,” he observed grimly, “he won’t have everything his +own way. He’ll be amenable enough when he finds he hasn’t only women to +bully.” + +Andria started. + +“He mustn’t find you here!” she cried. “Perhaps he has come to take us +away. You must go back to the quarters till I find out what he means to +do.” + +“We can’t go away and leave him here!” said Beryl sharply, pointing to +Heriot. + +“We won’t. If Egerton means to take us back to England we’ll make him +take Mr. Heriot, too. He mayn’t know how dreadful things are here--he +may be better than we think.” + +“He knows, honey,” said Salome pitifully. “Don’t you put no trust in +dat.” + +“You must hide, don’t you see it?” Andria repeated. “This is Egerton’s +house. If he finds you here he can turn you out. And then what help +could you be to us?” + +“He’d have his work cut out,” Heriot returned, almost smiling, standing +straight and tall among the three women. + +“He wouldn’t cut out no more’n he could do,” observed Salome dryly. +“Dat crew on board dat yacht is all cutthroat dagos, dey’d do whatever +he tell ’em, knife you or drown you. I been six years in dis house, and +you mind me--dey ain’t no chance here in a fight for any one but Mr. +Egerton heself!” + +“If you want to help us,” begged Andria, “go into the quarters and +wait. Chloe and Amelia Jane won’t tell, they’re too frightened of him +to speak to him if they can help it.” It was the best way. To see a +strange man here might turn Egerton’s good intentions into bad ones. + +“Oh, I can’t!” said Heriot, with an angry laugh. “I’d rather have +things out with the man.” + +A slim, cool hand was on his wrist as he spoke. + +“Wait and see,” said Beryl. “Please, Mr. Heriot. Then if he means badly +to us you’ll be here to help us.” + +Voice and touch were exactly like a child’s. Heriot flushed as he met +the tawny eyes that were so innocent. + +“All right,” he returned reluctantly. “But if there’s going to be any +delay about taking you away from this you’ll let me know, won’t you?” + +Andria nodded. This girl, fresh from the convent, had bent the man’s +will as all her own worldly wisdom could not do. She glanced from one +to the other with a pang at her heart. Love was a bitter thing. If it +grew up between them how would it end? She bit her lip, remembering her +own love’s beginning. + +Salome had run out into the veranda. She came back now frowning with +excitement. + +“It’s him, he’s back! Coming up de path wid two sailors,” she cried. +“Whatever’ll we do if he sees Mr. Heriot?” + +“He won’t!” said Beryl promptly. “Mr. Heriot’s going into the quarters +to wait and see what happens. Chloe and Amelia won’t tell.” + +“Ain’t no sense in trusting dem niggers. You stay here, and I’ll tell +’em you’re gone--went last night. Dey won’t tell you’s been here when +dey might tell you is here,” she said shrewdly, and she was off and +back before it seemed possible. + +“Come, down de side stairs,” she whispered. “Chloe and ’Melia’s comin’ +up de front ones now to get ready master’s room. Hurry!” + +She dragged him off as she spoke, and Beryl turned to Andria. + +“What are you going to do?” she asked. + +“Look!” said Andria, and bent down. + +The girl drew back with a cry. + +“You got that, to save me!” + +“I got it, anyhow,” grimly. “I’ll show him that and the broken window +in his room where the man went out. I dare him to leave us here after +that. I wonder what brought him back so soon?” + +“He could have been here before. It’s only six days to England. Andria, +do you think he’s come to take us away?” + +“What else?” + +“I don’t know,” said Beryl, very low. “But I think he hates me worse +than Mother Felicitas did. Listen; don’t tell him those jaguars are +tame--don’t tell him I play with the kittens. Let him think we’re +afraid.” + +“I am afraid. There’s no thinking about it.” + +“Tell him about the crazy man, make more of that, for that’s really the +root of all,” Beryl persisted, with more truth than she knew. + +“Why don’t you want him to know the beasts aren’t really dangerous?” + +“They are,” coolly, “as far as he is concerned. Andria, are you going +to meet him like that, all torn and bloody?” looking at the other +woman’s flimsy muslin gown, whose real lace was in shreds. + +“It won’t hurt him to see it, I had to feel it,” Andria answered dully. +“Beryl, did you notice something last night? When that dreadful, +wizened creature came jabbering into our room last night, it wasn’t you +he sprang at, it was I! If he had made for you I couldn’t have done +anything.” + +“I saw,” but to Andria’s surprise she broke into a passion of tears. +“Oh, Andria,” she sobbed, “what’s wrong with me that all strange things +fear me? Am I half a beast, or crazy, like that dumb, jabbering man?” + +But Andria never answered. For once she let the girl she loved cry +to her in vain. She was on her feet, breathless, listening with every +nerve. + +Did every one who came to this dreadful house lose their senses? or did +she in very truth hear a voice she had never thought to hear this side +of the grave? + +Frantic, she hushed the girl who sobbed beside her. + +“Be quiet, listen!” her hand like a vise on Beryl’s shoulder. “There’s +some one else there with Mr. Egerton.” + +A man’s voice, sweet and drawling, came up the stairs from the +entrance-hall. + +“By George! You do yourself well in your country retreat. The man must +have been crazy to sell it to you for such a song!” + +“Perhaps he was,” the answer was dry and significant. “My dear boy,” +Egerton said in his ordinary tone, “did you expect me to keep my ward +in a tent?” + +Andria staggered back against Beryl, whose tears had dried on her +cheeks. + +“I’m faint,” she muttered, “ill. Tell them they can’t see me. I’m going +to bed.” + +The strength gone from her muscles, her feet barely carrying her, she +wrenched herself from Beryl’s hold and crept, more than walked, to her +room. That was Egerton down-stairs, and with him was--Raimond Erle! + +Why was he here? What had brought him? + +She flung herself down on her bed, laughing and crying with incredulous +joy. There could be but one reason, he must have found out from Egerton +that she was here; must have wearied for her as she had for him, and +come himself to tell her that that letter was all a lie; that she was +still his wife, always had been and always would be, world without end. + +“Thank God! Oh, thank God!” gasped Andria Erle, face down on her bed. +She knew now that she could never forget the man who had been all hers, +never look on any other but with indifferent eyes. She could forgive +Egerton for all the mystery that was round her, could thank him even +with that smarting wound at the back of her neck that had brought her +here. She had been but half-alive all these weeks, a ghost of herself. +Now she could rise again as from her grave, and dress herself to go +down fresh and fair when Raimond sent for her. For the first time she +was glad the French maid had disobeyed her and packed the gowns she had +never meant to wear again. + +Not even a thought of all she had to forgive crossed her mind. He was +here, he had come for her; that was all. + +She rose with feverish haste. There was a pale lilac gown he had +liked--“he said I looked like spring in it,” she thought, hunting in +her boxes till she found it. + +She looked like spring indeed when she had it on and remembered the day +he had bought it for her. It deepened her blue-gray eyes into violet, +set off her cream-white skin and ruddy hair. Heriot, the past night, +forgotten as if they had never been, she stared at herself. + +“I’m handsomer than I was,” she thought, with a leaping heart, “fairer, +softer! He will be glad, glad when he sees me. But I won’t go down till +he sends.” + +The soft lilac stuff fell in lovely folds round her as she turned at a +knock at the door. + +“Come in!” she cried; she could not make her voice quiet. “Come in.” + +It was Amelia Jane, carrying her breakfast. + +“I thought you was sick!” she cried. “My soul, I dunno when I see you +look so well.” + +“I’m better--well! Tell me”--the question came beyond her +will--“did--did Mr. Egerton send me any message? Is Miss Beryl at +breakfast?” + +“Yes’m. She an’ Mr. Egerton an’ another gentleman. No, he didn’t send +no message.” + +“Very well,” she said, her voice oddly flat and unmusical. + +“Put the breakfast down, please, Amelia.” + +But when the woman was gone she made no attempt to eat; only sank into +a chair as if her new-found strength had somehow failed her. If she had +been in Raimond Erle’s place, could she have waited all this time? + +“Not one minute of it,” said her starving heart. “Not one minute!” + +The color faded from her face as she sat and watched the clock. Ten +minutes, twenty, three-quarters of an hour--and he had not come, though +breakfast must long have been over. She could not sit still and wait +like this, dared not go down and meet him before the others. + +“I’ll get up and walk up and down. Perhaps by the time I count a +thousand steps he’ll be here! Only a thousand little steps, dear +saints, and I’ll see him, kiss him, be in his arms.” + +She had barely counted a hundred in her wild walk when a man’s step +sounded in the hall, a man’s knock on her door. + +Radiant, triumphant, incredulous of her own joy, she sprang to the door +and flung it wide. + +Every drop of blood in her body seemed to surge back to her heart. +Egerton, tall, suave, middle-aged, stood on her threshold. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +STRANGERS. + + “Thou shalt meet him, but wilt thou greet him?” + “Ah, no.” + + +“My dear Miss Holbeach,” he said, “good morning. I am sorry to find you +not well. I hope my unexpected arrival did not startle you.” + +And indeed she looked ill enough, and startled enough for anything, +as she leaned hard on the door-handle that she might not fall. Every +vestige of color had gone from her face, even her lips were ashy. + +“I’m only faint--I had a fright,” she could only mutter incoherently, +as she tried for the breath that came so hardly, “a fright--last night.” + +“My poor lady,” he said quite kindly. “I see you are altogether +unstrung. I came to ask you to come to my room. I wish to tell you----” + +“Oh! not there,” she cried, with an uncontrollable shudder. “Not there!” + +“May I come in here, then?” he asked courteously. “This is your +sitting-room, I imagine.” + +Andria glanced backward at the door she had so carefully closed that +Raimond Erle might not see her disordered bedroom, where she had thrown +down gown after gown in the search for this one that should please him. + +“Come in,” she said, with white lips, anxious only to get the door into +the passage shut lest Raimond might pass by, and Egerton looked at her +covertly as she sank into a chair, too nerveless to stand. There must +have been wild work here to make this woman look as she did. He had +heard nothing from either Beryl or Salome, who had both been silent and +sullen; but he knew from Andria’s face that she had seen what perhaps +he had meant her to see when he brought her here, but what now--since +his purpose had changed--he had nearly burst the boilers of his yacht +in trying to get here in time to prevent. + +For Andria was right, he had never meant to return, his warnings to +her and Salome had all been a blind; Beryl Corselas, when first he +found her, had been a burden to get rid of, he had not dared to let her +stay in England or let his name be heard in connection with her. Here +in this island he had meant her to disappear for good and all--but, +of course, to his deep sorrow and surprise! He was so careful a +scoundrel that he had acted a part even before the servant who was his +miserable slave and the woman he had engaged because of her probable +unscrupulousness. That he had warned them had been all that kept +Egerton from cursing himself for a fool all the way from England. One +paragraph in a paper had made those sham warnings real. Lord Erceldonne +had sent for his son, and two days after set out in hot haste for his +secret retreat, terrified that his plans might have flourished so well +as to ruin him. + +In the long pause Andria’s slow pulses were loud in her ears; but she +had pulled herself together. After all, it was natural that Egerton +should come first, natural that he should be puzzled how to open a +difficult subject; and of course he must be in Raimond’s confidence. +But when he did speak it was not about the man he had brought with him. + +“Miss Holbeach,” he said slowly, “you said you had been frightened. Do +you mean in this house? Or out of doors? I warned you, you remember!” + +“You warned me, and yet you left me here with a defenseless girl,” she +said almost inaudibly. She cared little now for the horrors she had +suffered; he had come to take them away. Raimond was here; it was all +past and gone. + +“There was no reason not to leave you here,” he lied calmly. “I will +be quite frank with you, there had been a reason; but I learned from +Salome that it had quite disappeared.” + +There was a sort of lethargy in Andria’s soul; nothing mattered now +but Raimond. Yet at the plausible untruth she shook it off. + +“It appeared again the very night you left here!” she cried. “A man +came, a little, wizened man, like an ape, that hurried around the house +and climbed up the jalousies like a monkey. And the next day I saw his +face over my shoulder in the pond, a leering thing that mouthed at +me----” + +“The pond! I told you to keep away from that path,” the anger that was +sincere at last steadied her nerves. + +“I went to get Beryl. She had strayed there.” The governess looked him +in the face with eyes that were magnificent. “I took care that she +never went again. But that’s not all. There are beasts here, dreadful +jaguars. All night long they hunt and sniff about the house, they climb +the jalousies and--I’ve seen their eyes!” with a shudder. “Oh, Mr. +Egerton, take us away!” + +The man had started to his feet. + +“It is what I came to do,” he answered hurriedly. “Believe me, I had no +idea of this. I thought the place was safe--Salome said so.” + +“Safe for white women!” She rose, too, as the scornful cry broke from +her. “I will show you how safe it is. Look here!” She pulled down the +lace and ribbon at the back of her collar. “Look at that. Do you know +there was nearly murder done here last night. I don’t know why there +wasn’t.” + +She bent her head, and at sight of the double rows of deep-crimson +punctures where the piece had been all but bitten out, the man who had +brought her to this evil place was dumb, though a month ago it might +have suited him well enough. She straightened her collar again with +trembling fingers. + +“What did that?” Egerton moistened his lips. “Not a beast? You--you +never could have got away!” + +“A man,” she said quietly, “a man, dumb, and crazy, and strong, so +strong that only God saved me from him. We were standing in Beryl’s +room when he came in on us, running, stooping so low that he seemed +to be on all fours. I ran between him and Beryl and he jumped on my +back. I felt his teeth through my flesh. I ran out into the hall with +his fingers round my throat and shut the door on the girl. Then”--her +hesitation was so momentary that he did not see it--“something +frightened the thing. It let me go and I ran. Did you see there was +a chest of drawers against your sitting-room window? It was I put it +there. I broke the window when I ran in there, and the man thought +I had gone out through the broken pane and followed me. I moved the +chest--locked the door”--her chest heaved at the memory; tears born of +that suspense that was eating at her heart blinded her. “Oh, surely you +didn’t know what you were leaving us to!” she cried. + +“Where was Salome?” He was not given to swearing, but he barely kept in +a furious oath. + +“In Beryl’s bedroom. She saw nothing, knew nothing till I and--that +thing--were out in the hall. She has done everything to keep us safe.” + +“Whereas you evidently think I brought you here to be murdered!” he +returned, a queer look in his black eyes that seemed blacker than ever. +“Well, I can’t wonder if you do! Sit down, please, and rest. I owe you +a very deep gratitude.” + +He bent his head to hide his face, which was not grateful. In his +inmost soul he would have been glad if this foolhardy woman had behaved +like a good, sensible coward. It would have cut the knot that galled +him night and day, though it would have cost him a fortune. Perhaps not +that, he would have been in a position to seek other girls with money. + +“It’s a long story,” he cut off his thoughts hastily, since what was +done was done, “but I must tell it to you to explain. Might I smoke? +You don’t mind? Perhaps you will have a cigarette yourself?” + +“I? No, I never smoke,” she said, with annoyed surprise. + +Mr. Egerton broke out into that hoarse cackle of a laugh that always +jarred on Andria’s nerves. He had noticed cigar smoke heavy in the +shut-up drawing-room the very instant he had entered the house +at dawn; had seen the butt of one of his own cigars reposing in a +flower-pot. And now the governess’ hasty lie amused him even in his +annoyance. A cigar, too, of all things! + +“Many women do smoke, even cigars,” he said urbanely. “I beg your +pardon if I thought you had the habit. It seemed quite possible.” + +Then he did know about her past when the few women she had known smoked +like chimneys! She never remembered having told Salome that Heriot must +have cigars; she only wished Egerton would go on. Would he never get +to Raimond Erle? She looked at his face and imagined it pleased him to +tantalize her. + +“What does it all mean?” she asked. “Though I suppose it doesn’t matter +if we are going away.” + +“It does matter. I don’t want you to think me a murderer,” he said, +so gently that it brought back to her another voice which each minute +seemed an hour till she heard. “But I must go back a long way to make +you understand. Twenty years ago I saw this place first. I was yachting +and found it by chance. The house stood exactly as it does now, but it +was surrounded by magnificent gardens, was full of servants and luxury. +There were only two people in it, a retired planter of forty, and his +daughter. She was the most beautiful person I have ever seen, but +that,” hastily, “was not my affair, nor, if her father could help it, +any one else’s. I saw then the man was mad. He told me he would shoot +the first man who wished to marry his daughter, had brought her here +out of the world that she might live and die unmarried; a girl who was +more beautiful than any woman alive! + +“‘He would not have her suffer as women suffered,’ he said. ‘All +men were cruel, she should not be at the mercy of any.’ She was his +idol. His only other interest was wild animals. He had a regular +menagerie--lions, a tiger, jaguars--and he and that girl would +play with them as if they were lambs. It used to make my blood run +cold to see them. She would sit among the jaguars crooning a queer +song”--Andria’s hands that lay on her knees clenched with the effort +not to cry out; did he know how dreadful a thing he was telling her? +did he mean the madman’s daughter was Beryl’s mother?--“till the beasts +came fawning round her like a kitten. Oh, I know it sounds like a +fairy-tale! But I saw it.” + +Only her innate caution, her habit of distrust, kept her from a quick +disclosure. Long afterward she knew she had saved her life by holding +her peace. + +“Well, I went away! The girl was nothing to me,” he continued, looking +not at Andria, but his half-smoked cigarette, so that, being a woman, +she knew the girl had been everything to him and he nothing at all to +her. “I came back again two years afterward--and I would not have known +the place. The beautiful gardens were a tangle of creepers and weeds, +the servants were all gone; the animals dead from starvation in their +enclosures, all but the jaguars, that had broken loose and foraged for +themselves. The man I found at last, ragged, thin, half-naked, and at +first he would not speak to me; would only jabber at me without words.” + +“Then it was he!” she gasped. + +“Wait,” he nodded. “He was dumb, mad, but by and by his madness cleared +a little and he told me what had happened. A stranger had come to the +island; it was the old story that I need not dwell on”--reflecting +hastily that it was one this woman probably knew from cover to cover. +“She defied her father and ran away with him in a native boat. The man +dismissed his servants and sat alone in his misery, and then heard +that all his money, which had been in Brazilian bonds, was lost. He +had not a penny to go and seek her through the world. He forgot, as I +said, even his animals; almost forgot the use of his tongue, for only +at intervals could I make him talk. Well, I was sorry for him!” What +vindictive light lit his eyes to her sharp vision! “I liked the place +and bought it for a toy, merely that the old man,” he continued slowly, +“might be free to go and find his daughter who had deserted him.” + +The words were so gently spoken that it took all her cleverness to +grasp their meaning. He had tried to set a madman on the track of the +woman who had refused him and the man she had loved. Her eyes dilated +with abhorrence, and yet his next words came so smoothly that she did +not know what to think, and there was no one to tell her how cunningly +he was mingling the truth with lies. + +“You would have pitied him, too; he had aged twenty years in the two +that had passed. All he wanted was to find his daughter, yet when I +gave him money he was too crazy to go. He threw it before my eyes into +that pond you spoke of and went off to some lair in the woods with +his jaguars.” He did not say how pitifully inadequate had been the +purchase-money, nor that the lawful owner had been hunted away by men +with guns. “In all the years I have been coming here I have only once +had any evidence that he was alive”--that once would have made any +other man long for the grave that he might hide his shame there!--“and +Salome, who has been in charge here for six years, swore to me when I +brought you that the place was safe. I am more shocked and horrified +than I can say that you should have been in such danger from that +lunatic and his animals. To-morrow, if you like, I will have my yacht’s +crew scour the country till we find him.” + +“Let him be,” said Andria pitifully. “Besides, if we are going away! +And we shall be quite safe with you in the house”--“and Raimond!” she +added in her mind, the thought of him bringing light to her eyes, color +to her lips. + +“Yes, exactly,” he agreed quickly, though he had no idea of sleeping +in the house or letting the man he had brought with him sleep there +either. That madman would tear him limb from limb if he could; Mr. +Egerton knew only too well that the very sight of him would rouse +boundless fury in the dumb thing that ran up and down the deserted +gardens whence his delight had fled. He would never dare to stay in the +house knowing that his crazy enemy had ever been able to enter it. + +“How did he get in?” he asked. + +“I don’t quite know,” she stammered. “I was up-stairs.” + +She had forgotten all about Heriot stuffed away in the servants’ +quarters till now. She had it on the tip of her tongue to avow +everything, but something furtive, dishonest, in Egerton’s face stopped +her. + +“Better wait,” she thought. “I can tell Raimond first. He will know +what to do.” + +And though Egerton had explained far more than he had imagined to her +all was not clear yet. As he rose to go she rose, too, and looked at +him. + +“Why did you tell me this was Bermuda?” she asked suddenly. + +“From inadvertency, at first--the house is called Bermuda. Then because +I feared you would rebel against being banished to an uninhabited part +of the Azores. I fancied you had not been accustomed to--dulness!” and +at the covert meaning of the words and the lie that began them, she +caught her breath. There had been no inadvertence in his mention of +Bermuda, first or last. + +“I wanted Beryl out of England, you’re right!” he added, as if he knew +what was in her mind. “I pitied her. I had no wish to see a long arm +stretched out from the convent to claim her, for of course she has told +you her story. I hope to see her happily married, not dragging out +existence in prison, all but the name. And I knew no other place to put +her. But that,” with his queer laugh, “will be remedied now.” + +Something in the assured expectancy of his voice woke a dreadful +thought in Andria Erle. Like a flash the glamour fell from her eyes, +she put two and two together. He meant to see Beryl safely married; +he had brought Raimond Erle to this place; the things dovetailed with +horrible accuracy, though she could not see what Raimond had to do with +Egerton. + +“You mean----” she said; she could hardly speak. + +“I mean one never knows what the day may bring forth,” he answered +lightly. “If you look from your window you may understand.” + +She had no need to. Their voices, Beryl’s and Raimond’s, came up to +her gaily where she stood. Had she been deaf not to have heard them +before? + +It was as if a gulf of darkness had opened under her feet, yet she +would not flinch if pride could keep her steady. Raimond--did Egerton +mean it was for her sake he had come? + +Egerton, watching the hot color come and go in the governess’ face, +wondered he had never seen how beautiful she was. She would be a +dangerous rival for that half-fledged girl down-stairs. He hoped there +were not going to be any troublesome complications. + +“You are not coming down to-day, you said!” he suggested. “Perhaps you +are right, and it would be well to rest.” + +She was ready to say she would go down now, this instant, when she +remembered he was her master; that governesses did not always come to +the table with guests. + +“Perhaps it would,” she answered, and the coldness of her voice pleased +him. + +“I have not mentioned you, at least your name,” he had the grace not to +look at her, even though he had no idea she and Erle had ever met; “I +thought, perhaps, you would prefer not to meet strangers.” + +“No,” and by good luck he did not see her face, “not strangers, though +there is no earthly reason you should not mention my name,” for +Holbeach would mean nothing to Raimond. “I will go down when you send +for me.” + +As the door closed behind him she caught at the table to hold herself +up. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, and her nostrils pinched as she +breathed. From the scented shade of the oleanders below her there +floated up a man’s laugh, low and sweet. Agony racked her as even she +had not known it could without killing her. + +“Strangers,” she said in a dreadful whisper, “he and I!” + +Her face convulsed out of all beauty, she ran to the window and looked +out behind the jalousy. In the garden, tall, handsome in a haggard, +hard-bitten way--and oh, God, beloved!--lounged the man who had been +her husband for five years. It took all her will to crush back the +cry on her lips. She knew from his face it was not for her he had come +back. He had forgotten. + +“Then why is he here?” she asked herself. But she dared not answer her +own soul. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +BEHIND THE CYPRESS BOUGHS. + + +“Andria!” a soft tap came at her locked door. “Let me in. Why haven’t +you been down all day?” + +“I was busy,” Andria answered, shutting the door behind Beryl. She had +been busy, indeed, and if Egerton had seen her now he would have had +no fears that her beauty might be a snare to any man’s feet. The pale +mauve gown had vanished with all the others that littered her bedroom; +in the plainest black gown she owned, Andria stood, tall and pale, her +eyes sunken, her mouth drawn; it was as if she had aged ten years. + +Beryl sat down on the table, a bright rose spot burning in each cheek. + +“I wish you’d come down. I don’t like it without you,” she said +restlessly. “Isn’t your throat well enough?” + +“I don’t know. I’d forgotten it. Why do you want me? Don’t you +like--him?” for her life she could not say the name. + +“Who? Mr. Egerton. I’ve always loathed him,” Beryl said angrily, “and I +always shall. If it were not for being with you, I’d rather he’d left +me in the workhouse!” + +“No”--hesitating--“the other?” + +“I don’t know. No, I don’t think I do! I liked him when I was with +him, but I hate him when I remember his eyes. He looked at me as if I +were something to eat,” she said pettishly. “No, I don’t like him. He +frightens me.” + +“How?” incredulously. Any other than Beryl she would have turned from +contemptuously if they had dared to criticize Raimond Erle. “What do +you mean?” + +“I don’t know exactly. But he wanted me to go out in the yacht with +him this afternoon, and I said I wouldn’t without you. I wouldn’t go +anywhere alone with him.” + +“Without me! You said--Beryl, quick, what did you call me? Not Andria?” +white as death she stood over the girl. + +“No. I did slip and say Miss Heathcote, but I corrected myself and said +Miss Holbeach. Why do you look like that? He didn’t notice. You don’t +mean he knows you?” + +“Not now,” said Andria, holding herself hard. “He did, once. What did +he say when you slipped on my name?” + +“Nothing. Half-shut his eyes like some people do when they smell a +nasty smell.” + +“You’re more truthful than polite.” + +“Well, you asked me, and that was exactly how he did look. Mr. Egerton +swam into the conversation with something about ‘Miss Holbeach being +my governess and an excellent woman,’ and Mr. Erle looked comfortable +again.” + +Andria did not wonder. “An excellent woman!” No words could have been +found that would have better set Raimond at rest. + +“Did he say any more?” she asked wretchedly. + +Beryl turned crimson. + +“No, he--he’s a beast, and I hate him!” she said passionately. “He said +he was glad I did not produce you at meals; learned ladies took away +his appetite.” + +“I won’t interfere with it; he needn’t agitate himself! Beryl, dear, +don’t speak of me to him; don’t tell him my Christian name, and don’t +let Heathcote slip again. I knew him once. I don’t want him to know I’m +here. At least,” hastily, “not now.” + +Every pulse of her longed to meet him, but not before Egerton and +Beryl. If she was to go to England in the same ship she must see him +first, but it should be no chance meeting before strangers. + +“I won’t say a word about you,” and, with a rare caress, she flung her +arms round Andria’s neck--“if you say not. Are you afraid of him, too?” + +“No!” said Andria sharply. “I can’t meet any one I ever knew till I’m +better--that’s all. See how ugly and swollen my throat is.” + +“I hate you being hurt for me. I wish it had been me that was bitten!” +Beryl said, with more force than grammar. + +“Did you tell him about that?” + +“No, I didn’t! I don’t believe he would have listened if I had. He only +talked nonsense.” + +“Do you mean he made love to you? Bah! Don’t answer me,” she cried, “I +was a fool to ask. He would make love to a girl who kept pigs, if she +were pretty.” + +“I don’t want him to think I’m pretty!” said Beryl, ruffled as a cat +stroked the wrong way, utterly ignorant of the way she was betraying +her own thoughts. “What have you done about Mr. Heriot? Have you told?” + +“No; I--waited!” answered Andria, with a ghastly smile, knowing she had +waited for what would never be. “Beryl, come here, look! There go Mr. +Egerton and--his friend--down to the shore. What for, do you suppose?” + +“Didn’t you know? They’re not going to stay here. They’re going to dine +and sleep on board the yacht and come back in the morning. And Mr. Erle +isn’t his friend--he’s his nephew. That’s why I came; I thought we +might go”--flushing--“and speak to Mr. Heriot. Didn’t you get anything +out of Mr. Egerton about our going away? And did he say anything about +that dreadful man, and the jaguars?” + +“Yes,” said Andria, as if she talked in her sleep. “I’ll tell you +by and by.” She leaned from the window looking after the man whose +shoulders and walk she would know among a thousand. He knew nothing +of her being here. Beryl’s slip of “Heathcote” had been to him only a +disagreeable coincidence, reminding him of things he wished to forget. +Then, what had brought him? + +“Beryl!” It was as if another person had spoken aloud in her ear. +“Egerton means to marry him to Beryl!” + +She could think of no reason why, and yet she was sure. And why not? +For all she knew, Beryl Corselas might be any one’s daughter, and +whatever her secret history was, Egerton must know it. + +“He’ll never do it, never! Whether I’m Raimond’s wife or not, I’ll +stop it,” she thought, wild passion at her heart. “I’ll tell anything, +everything. Mr. Heriot will back me up----” + +Beryl pinched her. + +“What are you dreaming about, with your face all screwed up?” she said. +“Let’s go and see Mr. Heriot. How those two men do loiter! If they’re +going, why don’t they go?” + +Andria stared at her. Beryl--Raimond--Heriot--what a tangle it was! And +would Heriot back her up? He knew nothing of her but that she had been +called “the Lovely Andria,” and had been thought to have fastened like +a leech on Raimond Erle, dragging him to that financial ruin which had +certainly overtaken him--though not through her, Heaven knew! And when +Heriot saw Raimond here, he would never believe Andria was not in the +whole scheme, let it be what it might. + +“I don’t care what he thinks!” she reflected swiftly. “Nothing matters +to me but Raimond. And I may be wronging him. Egerton may be trying to +keep me out of his way.” + +She turned impulsively to Beryl. + +“Stay here,” she said impetuously, “wait for me. I don’t know what to +do. I must go and think.” + +But it was not to think that she ran out into the gardens, brushing +by Salome, who tried to stop her in the hall to say something--what, +Andria neither knew nor cared. Only one thing was in her mind--to find +out why Raimond Erle was here, if not for her. Why should she believe +Egerton; who had lied to her before? + +The front door was in full view of the two men, who stood talking +still just where she had first seen them. Andria ran to a disused side +veranda and dropped down on a flower-bed. She wanted no one to see +her, least of all Beryl from her window. She vanished into a tangle of +overgrown bushes that Beryl called “the cat’s walk.” It cut the long +road to the shore--that instinct told her the two men would take--at +a right angle, and then ran parallel with it almost to the bay. There +would be only a yard of impervious thicket between her and Raimond, if +she got there in time to keep pace with him as he walked down the wide +road. + +She did not care as she ran that it was nearly sunset, and that those +teeth that had marked her neck might not be shaken off twice; she was +not even breathless with her breakneck pace as she reached the angle +of the path. She need only reach it, and whatever Raimond spoke of she +would hear. + +“It’s low--contemptible!” she thought grimly, “but I don’t care. I must +find out what I can, and----” the thought broke off unfinished. They +were coming! + +White-faced over her black dress, the governess, “that excellent +woman,” crouched behind the thicket of black cypress that was all that +stood between her and the man who had been her husband. + +And, sharpened as her senses were, she never dreamed that two yards +in front of her stood some one else, equally quiet, but from widely +different motives. + +Raimond’s voice--how the woman’s heart burned in her at the rich note +of it!--came on her ears. + +“You do hurry so unmercifully,” he was saying, “even down to that +confounded ship of yours. Why wouldn’t you stay up there and sleep in a +decent bed? Would you mind waiting one instant? My cigar’s gone out.” + +“Light it and be good enough to come on!” returned Egerton sharply. +“It’s nearly sunset, and I have no desire to get fever. You can talk on +the yacht.” + +“Oh, damn the yacht! That cook has the same menu every night. I wanted +to see what your niggers would give us for dinner.” + +Andria heard a match struck, then another. + +“Take my box,” said Egerton irritably, “and if you must dawdle here, +tell me what you mean to do. Isn’t the girl handsome enough for you, +or--you’re not still thinking of that wretched woman in London!” said +Egerton suspiciously. + +“Her? Oh, Lord, no! To be candid with you, I’d had enough of that; +I wasn’t sorry to be well out of it. She was a good-looking woman, +though! But I was tired of that house in Pont Street.” + +“You told me the truth when you said you weren’t fool enough to marry +her?” + +In the dead silence the woman they spoke of heard the man she loved +puffing at a cigar that would not draw; more interested in that than in +the question on which her life seemed to hang. The screen of trees was +thick, but if either man had seen the face behind it he would not have +known the white mask of agony. Would Raimond never answer? When he did, +it was with a laugh, and the governess, poor fool! winced. + +“I was mad enough for anything--at first! When I took her away from +Lady Parr’s,” he said coolly. “But I drew the line at that, more by +good luck than good management. At first I thought the marriage legal +enough, but then I found the man who did it was only a student--no +more ordained than you or I, though he’s since become a priest. Oh, +I’m perfectly eligible, my dear sir,” with another slight laugh. “But +though I see excellent reasons for my marrying this particular girl, +I’m not in much haste. She looks too much of a tiger-cat, for one +thing! Now, the late Mrs. Erle had faults, but she was never more +gentle than when she was in a furious rage.” + +“What became of her?” asked Egerton shortly. + +“Don’t know, and don’t care. I don’t see why you should, either, +when you were always at me to get rid of her. But that’s beside the +question. What you don’t seem to see is that you can’t hurry this girl. +She shies off if I look at her. You’re always too nippy. You shoved +her off here to get rid of her, and then tore your hair because you’d +done it. Let me remind you, it was I put you on her track in the first +place; without me, you’d never have put a finger on her. You chose to +treat me as a fool, and sneaked her off here. Then when you see that +a certain Spanish grandee is dead and--oh, don’t interrupt me; there +is not a soul about--has left all his money to a certain lady or her +heirs, and that those heirs are being advertised for, you fall on my +neck and beseech me to save your credit and your acres. Well, it suits +me well enough! I fancy the girl. But I’m going to do it in my own way. +So far, I beg to tell you, you’ve made a mess of it, in yours.” + +“Raimond!” the man’s voice was furious. “Don’t play the fool, don’t +dare. You don’t know all that hangs on it. It’s not the money only, +nor even the succession, it’s----” his voice dropped so low that even +Andria, whose very soul was listening, could not hear. + +“What!” cried Erle, startled for once. “But she dare not tell, there!” + +“No; we’ve got her in our hands in a way--but only in a way. +She--Mother Felicitas, they call her now,” with that uncontrollable, +jarring laugh of his, “has long claws! She will want the money, too, to +go to the convent--and the Lord knows she’ll have to pay well for her +seat in heaven!” + +“But why,” said Raimond, stupefied, “if you knew about her all along, +didn’t you have her out of the convent long ago?” + +“With publicity--back debts to pay up--to take you or leave you as +seemed good to the half-fledged brat! No! And I couldn’t have got her. +If you will have it, I’d been taken in. That woman held her over my +head till I found her--and I didn’t know about the money till I got +back from here. Before that, if I’d claimed her, I’d have brought out +old stories, ruined myself, ousted you or saddled you with a penniless +wife.” + +“Whereas, now, I’m made or marred by what a pale little devil with +cat’s eyes chooses to answer me,” replied Raimond coarsely. “Well, +there’s no choice! I’ll marry her if she says yes to my somewhat mature +charms. If she says no, I fail to see what’s to be done next!” + +“Then,” said Egerton angrily, “you’ve less sense than I imagined. Why +do you suppose I hired a yacht with money I haven’t got, and brought +her and you to this God-forsaken hole? If she says no, she can live and +die here. She’ll never get back to England, and she doesn’t know who +she is in any case. I should fancy it was simple as A B C. We’ll lose +the money, but we’ll save the rest.” + +Raimond Erle for a long minute said nothing. The wretched listener who +shrank appalled behind the screen of cypress could not see that he was +looking the other man up and down. + +“Well,” he remarked at last, “you must have been a daredevil when you +were young! But I quite agree with you. There’s only one character +in which your protégée can be taken to England, but you must give me +a little time to play the game. Come on out of this,” with sudden +distaste. “I don’t know why, but I feel as if there were devils behind +every bush in your secluded retreat.” + +“There’s one; oh, there’s one!” said Andria Heathcote, who knew now +that she had never been Andria Erle, though she had hoped against hope +even when she was turned out on the world with ten pounds. “I’ll ruin +you--ruin you! If there’s a God in heaven, you shall never have Beryl +to torture as you tortured me!” + +A thousand slights, a thousand dreadful positions he had put her in +where she must hold up her head till women called her brazen--aye, and +men, too!--came back to her. One kindly word, one pitying regret for +the woman he had once been mad for, and she might have played into his +hands for no other reason than that he had spoken of her softly for old +sake’s sake. But now--she could hate him now! + +Blindly, not seeing or caring where she was going, she stumbled +forward on the rough path, and round the very next bush nearly fell +against--Heriot! + +Pale, quivering from head to foot, she stood quite still. For a moment +she could not speak for the ungovernable fury of rage in her that he +should have heard her shamed. + +“You listened!” she cried at last. “You heard.” In the last low rays of +the sinking sun he stood before her bareheaded. + +“I slipped out for some air,” he said, very low. “I stood here because +I did not want them to see me till I knew what you had done. Yes, I +heard.” + +If he had dared to pity her she would have stood like a stone, but +now something in his voice reached the heart that felt frozen in her +breast. She broke into such a dreadful sobbing as he had never heard. + +“I knew it before,” she cried; “though I wouldn’t believe it. Even when +he turned me away, I wouldn’t believe it. I thought I was his wife. He +shall never have Beryl--never, unless he kills me to get her!” + +“Come back to the house. It is too late to be out,” was all Heriot +could find to say. He turned away that he might not see the shame and +agony in her distorted face. + +“He whispered,” she cried, distracted. “I couldn’t hear. Why, besides +the money, does his uncle want him to marry her?” + +“His uncle!” Heriot exclaimed. He was glad as he had not often been +that he had heard all that had been said, or not for a hundred oaths +from her would he have believed this woman knew nothing of the dirty +work Erle had on hand. And he had wronged her enough by judging her. +If it had not been for his self-righteousness she would have told him +everything long ago. “That wasn’t his uncle. That was his father, Lord +Erceldonne! He is not Egerton at all.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE CRY IN THE STARLIGHT. + + +“Erceldonne!” the world swam with her. + +For how many years had that name been her terror, its owner her evil +genius. Sometimes it had been clear even to her blinded eyes that his +anger was used as a pretext for not acknowledging her, and again she +had known when he had really put pressure on his son, and nothing but +a dogged, cross-grained temper had kept Raimond from giving her up. +And here she was taking his money, the paid servant of the man who had +ruined her life; for if it had not been for the fear of disinheritance, +Raimond would have married her openly in the days when love was young. +And Erceldonne---- + +To Heriot’s horror, she broke out into a harsh scream of laughter. +What would Erceldonne say if he knew the very woman he had been at his +wit’s end to get rid of had been brought by his own accord under his +very roof? She turned to Heriot, wiping away the tears born of that +horrible, mirthless laughter. + +“What a merry-andrew patchwork it is!” she cried. “‘Three blind mice, +see how they run’--now you come in, and then Raimond and the others; +we’re all in the dreadful round. And by and by the farmer’s wife will +come and cut all our tails off! Why don’t you laugh?” she cried wildly. + +He might have answered with perfect truth, because there was nothing +further from his mind than laughter. Here in the fast-growing gloom of +the cypress thicket, where Andria’s face was already but a patch of +white against the dark foliage, they were half a mile from the house; +and he knew now what the dangers were in this place after nightfall. +The very man who had brought two women here had not cared to stay and +face them. + +“What a fool I was to lie low!” he thought angrily. “If I had appeared +at first everything would have had to be open and aboveboard. Now, I +can’t come out after slinking away as I did. I wonder why I listened to +that child?” + +But he knew quite well why he had listened. From the very first day her +slow, soft voice, her strange eyes, had bewitched him. It was for more +than Andria’s sake that he was aghast at the cold wickedness of the man +who was pleased to call himself Egerton. + +“Come home, come back to the house!” he said sharply. “We’ve only +got to-night before us to settle what we must do;” but in his mind +there was, of course, only one thing to be done. He must reckon with +Erceldonne in the morning. + +He dared not even talk as he hurried his companion up the path. His +foot was stiff still, though his strength had come back to him; but no +man’s strength and his bare hands were going to avail anything against +a madman and two jaguars; and the woman at his side would welcome death +as a friend. + +If he had been alone he would have returned to the house with his hands +in his pockets--he could only die once, and life was not so sweet to +a broken man that he should worry about it. But with this silent, +listless woman on his hands, Heriot’s heart was in his mouth at every +strange shadow in the ever-deepening dark. When they were free of the +woods he felt easier. The good stars shone down on them as they reached +the open garden and drew near the house, and a quick compassion ran +through him for Andria Erle, whose only refuge was under the roof of +her enemy. + +“Look! What’s that?” he said quietly. “Let me go first.” + +“There’s no need,” returned Andria lifelessly. “If you mean that black +thing in the shadow by the steps, it’s Salome. She’s waiting for me; +she saw me go out.” + +The woman came to them swiftly, her finger on her lips. + +“Don’t speak,” she said softly; “Chloe’s in de dining-room. Oh, my +Lawd! I didn’t know where you was both got to.” + +“Send her away,” whispered Andria, with sudden passion. “Tell her +you’ll wait on me, anything!” She would go mad if she had to sit +through dinner alone, if Heriot must hide when there was so little time +to make a plan. + +“I’ll tell her and ’Melia Jane dey must iron dem two white dresses for +Miss Ber’l to-night. Dey won’t be no more’n time, and when dey gits out +in de wash-house,” she said shrewdly, “dey’ll be skeered to come in +again. Dey’ll sneak up-stairs to deir beds.” + +“Anything, only be quick!” Heriot should stay where he was till he +heard all she had to say; all the dreadful tale Egerton had let out +about Beryl, without knowing that she was putting two and two together. +“Lock them out, Salome,” she added feverishly. + +“Yes’m! You come into de house, de two of you. Just you sit in de +drawing-room an’ don’t speak till I tell you dey’s gone.” + +Heriot had almost to push Andria in. It seemed as if she courted death +out under the stars. + +When he had bolted the heavy door noiselessly, he followed her into +the dark drawing-room. What was Salome doing that she was so long? He +heard her voice in the back of the house; not raised in authority, but +wild with astonishment and fright. Before he could draw breath, the fat +black woman had thrown open the dining-room door, her shapeless figure +grotesque against the lighted dinner-table as she stared into the gloom +where the two sat. + +“Oh, missus,” she said, “missus! And dem niggers never told me.” + +“Told you what?” cried Andria. Heriot, with that open door in front of +him dared not speak. + +“Little miss is gone out. Dat man, de tall one, wid de marks o’ de +devil’s claws round his eyes, he come back for her. He said you was +waiting for her down at de shore, you was both going to dinner on de +yacht. An’ she’s went wid him, after last night. Dey’ll be et.” + +Heriot let out an astonished oath. If it had not been for that stupid +lie about the governess and his private knowledge, it might have seemed +natural enough that Beryl should dine on the yacht. But Andria’s wits +were quicker, and she knew Raimond Erle. + +He had been bored with his father’s society, and must have come +straight back by the short cut. The girl was handsome. Even without +getting her on board the _Flores_, a starlight walk with her would +pass the time. That lie about the governess had been told when she +refused to go with him; it was the first thing he would think of. She +knew how obstinate he was about anything he might take in his head. He +knew nothing about the dangers of the island; if he did, recklessness +and a revolver would make him laugh at them. A beautiful girl, whom he +must make love to for reasons he had seen fit to exclaim at; a night +warm and silent, heavy with flower scents, the soft stars ablaze in +the sky!--his discarded wife clenched her teeth. Not anything on earth +would have balked Raimond of his evening walk. + +“But I will!” she cried to herself, wild and bitter in her rebellion. +“I, that he shamed and turned out,” she fumbled blindly on a table in +the dark. + +“I must go,” she said, with something cold and dreadful in her voice +that Salome took for fear, like her own. “If he said I was at the +shore, I’ll be there. There will be time by the short cut.” + +“Oh, don’t you do it! You won’t do no good,” cried the black woman. +“Mr. Egerton he’ll take care of little miss--if ever she gets to de +boat!” + +“He’ll take such care of her that she’ll never come back,” Andria +muttered. + +Yet it was not fear for the girl that was in her heart, but the +jealousy that is more cruel than the grave. No one knew as she did what +Raimond could be when he chose. She did not believe for one instant +that any girl could resist him. She was past Heriot like a flash, +regardless of anything but those two walking down to the shore in the +scented night, under the gorgeous stars--a man and a maid. + +“Hold on!” Heriot was at her side. “Did you think I wasn’t coming? +Though I don’t see what good either of us can do if she’s gone on +board the yacht. What’s that?” + +His hand, swinging against hers as they walked, had touched something +cold and sharp. Before she knew what she was doing it was in his grasp, +not hers. In the starlight he saw what it was. + +“This will do to fight the jaguars with,” he said coolly, pocketing the +lean, ugly dagger just as if he had not seen her face in the square +patch of light from the dining-room door as she ran past him. “I’ll +attend to that, if you’ll catch your charge. Hold on, that’s not the +way!” + +“It’s the way I’m going,” she replied savagely. + +She began to run as once before she had run down that path; every turn +of it seemed familiar to her, even in the veiled light. She took no +more thought for Heriot than if he had been a dog; he had the dagger; +let him take care of himself. + +Round the great boulders, through the thickets of flowers, she fled +as one possessed; hatred at her heart, jealousy tearing her. Heriot, +stumbling over the tough, trailing vines, missing the dim track a +hundred times, was soon far behind. The more he hurried, the less he +got on. He had taken the dagger from her because he had seen red murder +in her eyes, yet now he almost wished she had it. He knew from instinct +that there was more abroad in the woods than Raimond Erle and the +girl he had decoyed away. Yet not a sound reached him as he doggedly +followed the governess. He gave a sudden, contemptuous laugh at himself +for being mixed up in such a wild-goose chase--and at Erle, who had had +to cajole a girl to go with him by a lie! The next instant he laughed +no longer. + +He was out of the wooded path on the open shore. Before him was the +dark figure of Andria Erle, standing motionless; as he came up to her +she pointed dumbly. + +The moon had risen, and perfectly distinct on the calm waves of the bay +was a boat with a solitary figure in it, a man rowing with a quick, +ill-tempered stroke. + +“She left him. She hasn’t gone with him!” Heriot exclaimed. “But where +is she?” + +“I don’t know,” answered Andria, with chattering teeth. What would have +seemed nothing in another place was eery here, after the strange story +of that other girl who sang to animals. And yet her heart was lighter +as she turned away. It was something, at least, that Beryl had not gone +to the yacht. + +But now that her passion of rage and fear was dead, she dared not go +back to the house by that path she had been warned not to use in broad +daylight. It was by the long way that she hurried Heriot to the house; +yet it was he, not she, who was nervous about the girl who had gone +back alone. If Egerton’s tale were true, neither the madman nor his +dreadful familiars would hurt Beryl; but still Andria winced when they +reached the house and found she had not come in. + +“What shall we do?” She sat down on the door-steps sick at heart. + +“Go and look for her. At least, I will. You stay here,” but he had not +gone twenty yards when he recoiled. + +“Did you call?” he cried sharply. + +“No one did,” but through her words there came the echo of a faint cry, +low and wailing like a lost soul. + +Heriot, running as if he had been shot out of a gun, made for the +moonlit woods. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +THE MADMAN. + + +He might well have run at that cry, for nothing but sheer terror had +forced it from Beryl Corselas. + +Half from real dislike of the man, half from wanton mischief, she had +dexterously slipped away from Erle and vanished like a spirit into an +opening in the thick bush. Full of laughter, she had run and doubled +like a hare, while he crashed after her through the scrub, till, angry +and crestfallen, he had flung himself into his boat and departed. + +Breathless, Beryl sat down on a convenient stone and chuckled. + +“How cross he was! And that was a horrid lie about Andria expecting +me. But he has lovely eyes, and he is--yes, he is amusing! But I don’t +think I like him. I don’t like men at all,” she said, with sudden +gravity. “I hate Mr. Egerton, for I don’t believe a word he says, and +Mr. Heriot treats me like a child. Mr. Erle doesn’t do that.” She got +up crossly and began to saunter homeward. She was almost sorry she had +not gone with Erle in spite of that lie. It was dull at home, where +Heriot seemed only to care to talk to Andria. + +“I never would have stirred a foot with Mr. Erle if Andria and Mr. +Heriot had not gone off and left me like that,” she thought, with +an unreasonable lump in her throat, her short-lived joy at having +outwitted Erle all gone. + +It was pitch-dark in the woods as she began to walk back to the house. +She had run and doubled so that she was not too sure where she was, and +an uneasy feeling came over her that she was not on the right path. +There was a queer rustling, too, in the bushes, and she listened, her +heart going like a frightened bird’s. + +“It must be my cats,” she thought determinedly, and with a voice that +was not too steady she began her queer calling croon. But not a +stealthy footstep sounded anywhere; no yellow-green eyes looked from +the bushes; no cubs bounded from the black underbrush. Instead there +fell in the wood a sudden, deathlike silence, far more threatening to +the girl than the sight of those beasts who were tame for all their +fierce looks. + +“The man!” Her heart gave a rending bound. “That crazy, jabbering man. +And he’s hunting me!” + +Wild with terror she looked round her, and had no idea which way to +run. She was lost, alone in the trackless scrub; it was so dark she +could not even see where she walked. And only one thing could keep the +cats away if there were in sound of her call--their master’s voice that +was stronger than hers, meaningless jabber though it was. + +In desperation she pushed straight before her, tearing through the +thick bushes; stumbling, great drops of perspiration on her face from +the airless heat. As she crashed forward, making noise enough to wake +the dead, her ears caught above all the sounds of crackling branches +and tearing vines that slight, slight rustling, as of feet that were +keeping pace with her, very close beside her. + +She turned sharply and burst through a screen of bushes, to find +herself standing by the clear pool she had seen one morning. The moon +shone down as bright as day, after the dreadful darkness of the woods +the clear sheet of water looked like home; and then she screamed, a +long, wailing shriek that had turned Heriot cold. + +At her side, almost touching her, was the apelike thing that had bitten +Andria to the bone. The next instant its long claws of fingers were on +hers. In utter despair she shut her eyes and waited for the horror that +was coming. Would the thing tear her limb from limb? + +But except for that hand on hers it was not touching her, and as she +stood, sick and stony with fear, a hoarse voice spoke to her. + +“Dearest of my soul,” it said in Spanish; “dearest of my soul.” + +With a cry of astonishment she opened her eyes. The man was not dumb, +then, nor utterly dangerous! For he was down on his knees by her, +kissing the hem of her garment. The soft language she had learned by +stealth in the convent came back to her like a flash. + +“Who are you?” she cried. “What do you want? Why do you frighten us so?” + +“You have come home; come back to me!” The voice was the voice of an +old man, the kneeling figure pitifully thin and ragged. “I am the old +man who loves you--don’t you remember me? It was I gave you that ring!” +He touched the green beryl on her finger pleadingly. + +She stared at him; yet she dared not say she had found the ring. + +“You frightened me, you hurt my governess last night,” she cried +angrily. “Go away and let me alone!” + +“I did not know you liked her. I thought she was his servant,” the old +man whimpered. He began to beg her pardon a hundred times. + +“I to frighten you, I that love you!” he cried. “I will never touch a +hair of any one that belongs to you. I’ll never leave you again.” + +“You must go away--and never come back,” cried Beryl, stamping her +foot, seeing no meaning in the words Andria would have understood too +well. + +The thing crouched at her feet. + +“Little dearest, I will go,” said the broken old voice, and tears of +pity came to Beryl’s eyes. “But if he comes,” it was fierce again, +“call me and I will send him away. He shall never steal you again.” + +“Beryl! Where are you?” The sudden shout was stern and yet anxious. +“Answer me.” + +Heriot’s voice. What should she do? She looked at the crazy face beside +her, in an instant all the humanity had been wiped off it as the man +scrambled to his feet. + +“I will call my cats,” he whispered, with the leering grin that had +terrified Andria. “They will claw him.” + +“No!” she said hastily. She stooped and put her hand on those bent, +repulsive shoulders. “No. Listen--this man who’s coming is my friend, +look at him well. When I call you, you and your cats can claw--but +never him nor my governess. If you hurt them I’ll never let you see me +again.” + +He winced pitifully. + +“My soul is yours,” he said. “I will not come near the house nor let +the cats come--till you call us with the song I taught you. I will keep +away from the house. But, _querida mia_, do not go with him again! This +time I will be quicker, and save you.” + +“Go!” said the girl in a frantic whisper, hearing Heriot breaking +through the bushes. “Go, till I do call you.” + +Almost as she spoke Heriot sprang out into the open space. Was he +dreaming, or did he see beside the girl in her white gown a crouching +thing like an ape? + +He ran to her, round the pool. There should be an end of this thing +that hunted women! Mad or sane, the man deserved no more mercy than a +venomous beast. But as he reached the girl he stopped short. She was +absolutely alone. + +“Run to the house!” he cried. “That brute’s behind you, and I’m going +to finish him once for all. Did he hurt you?” he cried savagely. + +She lifted her face, and he saw she was crying. + +“No, no,” she said as gently as Andria might. “Nothing hurt me. +And--there’s no one here!” + +“But I saw him,” replied Heriot grimly. “And I heard you scream.” + +She laid a quick hand on his arm as he would have passed her. + +“There’s no one here; if there was, he’s gone,” she said. “I did not +mean to scream. Did I frighten Andria?” + +“What was it?” he insisted almost roughly, for he was certain he had +seen that crouching, wizened figure at her side, though there was no +sign of it now, nor even a leaf stirring in the warm moonlight. + +Instead of answering she looked him in the face with the moonlight +full on her strange, tawny eyes till they looked like wells of light, +deep and golden. Something in them seemed to strike him like a blow. +Yesterday they had been a child’s eyes, careless, almost shallow. +To-night--Heriot’s heart began to pound. The girl had come into her +birthright of womanhood, of a marvelous witchery that would be a snare +to the feet of men. + +“What made you scream, Beryl?” and this time he did not speak as to a +child. “Tell me.” + +“I lost myself. It was dark. I meant to call, and I suppose I +screamed.” She could not tell the truth, for the old shame that was on +her that beasts and strange creatures loved and obeyed her. + +“Why did you leave Erle?” though Heaven knew it was no business of his! +“You were in his charge. What did he mean by letting you come back by +yourself?” + +“He couldn’t help it,” she said, with a laugh in her eyes. “I led him a +dance, you know. He went away disgusted, for he couldn’t find me.” + +“Do you like him?” asked Heriot. There was a curious look in the +handsome face that had seldom darkened for any woman’s words. + +“I don’t know,” said Beryl, with provocation. “When I find out shall I +tell you?” + +There was the faintest stir in the thicket, and suddenly Heriot knew +that whatever the evening’s adventures had been she did not mean him to +know them. + +“Oh, I!” he said lightly; “just as you like.” He led the way up the +path in silence till they reached the open ground and could see the +house. + +“I’ll watch you safely in,” and he took off his cap; “you’ll be all +right from here. Good night.” + +“Aren’t you coming to dinner? They won’t be back.” + +“No!” he returned, for to be hidden in Erceldonne’s house and eat his +bread any longer was impossible. + +“You had better. You won’t see us much longer,” she said coolly. “Do +you know Mr. Egerton’s going to take us away?” + +“If----” he stopped himself. It was no business of his. If she chose to +marry Erle, regardless of his past and Andria’s, that was her affair. +Till Andria told her, he had no right to. + +“If what?” + +“Nothing,” he said awkwardly. + +“You are treating me like a child again, just as I had begun to like +you!” she cried pettishly, and the very childlike ring of her voice +appealed to him. Yet he stood utterly silent. + +If he, a broken man, a penniless adventurer, should make love to a girl +who eavesdropping had told him was an heiress, the thing would not be +called by a pretty name. He did not care two straws for the mystery +about her if only she were the waif she seemed. + +“Yet after all,” he thought swiftly, “even a broken-down devil like me +would make her a better husband than Erle--supposing he’s free, which +I don’t believe! Because she may have money and I have none am I going +to hand her over to the first roué who wants her? By George! I’m going +to do no such thing.” But even he dared not tell her what he knew about +Raimond Erle. + +In the moonlight she stepped to his side like a lovely ghost, and as +she brushed him in passing, a quick rapture ran through him. There was +no sense in reasoning, he loved her--for life and death and the world +to come. At a word from her he would sweep Erle and his father from her +path like straws. He would not tell her the trap she was in, she must +choose for herself freely and without bias. But he would not let her +go. If she should learn to love Erle--and Heaven knew why, but many +women did--what would she feel when Andria made the scene she was sure +to do? + +“Why don’t you speak?” she broke out petulantly. “I know what you’re +thinking--that if Mr. Egerton is going to take us away you’re going +to start off through the bush to-night and try for the town there is +across the island! You’re going to wash your hands of Andria and me.” + +“What else can I do, if you’re going back with him?” and his voice was +utterly grim. + +“You can go with us.” + +“In the first place I wouldn’t go, and in the second they wouldn’t take +me. No; if you’re going in the yacht I should be off to-night, if it +weren’t for leaving you and Mrs.--Miss Holbeach to that crazy brute I +let in last night.” + +The girl recoiled as if he had struck her. Heriot cursed himself for +having haggled at Andria’s name. But it was not that. + +“Oh,” cried Beryl, with a sob of shame, “he won’t come! He’ll never +come any more, nor his cats, either. Don’t speak to me, don’t ask me +why, Andria knows,” she was crying bitterly, “that all queer animals +and things come to me. And I met him to-night, and I did scream, though +I told you a lie! He was so old--and so pitiful--I couldn’t let you +hurt him. But he was there all the time I said he was gone.” + +“Darling!” said Heriot softly. “Little brave darling, don’t cry.” He +put his arm round the bowed shoulders as gently as a woman, and with as +self-forgetful a tenderness. He knew no other girl would have pitied a +man who filled her with terror, who had bitten like a beast before her +eyes only last night. + +“Don’t cry!” he repeated. “And why do you mind that animals trust you +and miserable things come to you? I loved you for it the very first day +I saw you.” + +“Mother Felicitas said I wasn’t human! I was half a beast,” she sobbed. +“And it makes me afraid of--who I am.” + +“Beryl, look at me,” said the man softly. + +She stopped crying; just in time, if she had known it, to keep her sobs +from jealous ears close by. + +“Do you know,” Heriot said, “why things like that trust you? Because +you love them and have no fear of them. I would give half my life to +have dumb animals come to me as they do to you. Don’t you know that no +wild thing will come to any one who isn’t so good that they know it?” + +“No!” she whispered. + +He nodded gravely. + +“There is something else just as true,” he said very low. “I love you, +too,” he stooped his handsome head and kissed her hands. + +At the light touch of his lips she shivered. + +“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. For his life he could not speak above +his breath. + +“You can’t!” she cried. “No one does but Andria.” + +“Look at me,” he repeated more gently than ever, and as she raised her +eyes the sweetness and truth in his overmastered her. “Tell me, can’t +you love me--only a little?” + +“I don’t know;” but she had loved him madly, jealously, since the very +day he came. “I don’t know.” + +“I think you do.” He had seen her eyes. “Beryl!” + +She clung to him suddenly. + +“They would murder you! Salome said so. Oh! take me away from this +place--from Mr. Egerton.” + +“I’ll try!” said Heriot soberly. And suddenly the task before him +flashed out in its true colors. He realized that unless he could be +outwitted Erceldonne would kill the girl before he let her get away. + +“You can do it if you want to!” Somehow she was disappointed, taken +aback. The slow words that were so much better than a rash promise had +chilled her almost to distrust. Before he could answer she had broken +away from him and was scudding across the grass to the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE LAUGH IN THE DARK. + + +A weakness like the lethargy that comes before death had bound Andria +hand and foot. Where she had sunk down on the door-step she stayed, +caring nothing for the dark shadows of the garden, or the beasts, and +worse, that might be hidden in them. + +Raimond had left Beryl and gone to the yacht--that was the only thing +really in her thoughts. But he would not be so balked a second time. It +would be better if death came and took her where she sat, found Beryl +in the lonely woods, for it would cut the coil around them both, the +coil the girl understood not at all--the woman too well. She bowed her +head on the cold stone door-steps, too hopeless to care how the matter +ended. + +The moon rose and poured a flood of light on the lovely, desolate +figure, almost lying on the steps with hidden face. Her misery, her +shame that another had heard, had numbed the woman’s wits. Raimond was +done with her, would care no more for her claim on him than for his +last year’s neckties. If Beryl fell in love with him she might not +care either. Andria could not think past that, except to be sure that +she would never leave the island, even if she chose to go in the yacht +with Raimond and the girl who was to stand lawfully in her own unlawful +shoes. + +A sudden touch roused her. Salome, like a black statue, was sitting +beside her. + +“I been down in de woods,” she whispered. “I seen him kiss her. She’s +coming now. Oh, missus, dey’ll be murder!” + +“Seen who?” fierce, suddenly alive in every nerve, she sprang up. Had +she been mistaken, and it was not Raimond she had seen rowing away! +“For God’s sake, Salome, who?” + +“Mr. Heriot,” but she sprang up, too, at the dreadful laugh that came +from Andria. “Don’t do like dat for de land’s sake!” she exclaimed. +“Dey ain’t never no good come from dat kind o’ laughin’. And I tell you +he must go out o’ dis to-night. Mr. Egerton he tell me Miss Ber’l gwine +to marry dat nephew he brung. What’ll he say when he finds out?--for +she’ll never marry him now, dat I tell you!” + +“Oh, Salome!” the white woman seized the black one’s hand, more +relieved than if she had brought her the riches of the world. “What a +fool I’ve been. I never thought of that. Hush! Here’s Miss Beryl now. +But--she’s alone!” + +Yet as she looked at the girl’s face in the warm moonlight she knew +Salome was right. The indifferent child of yesterday was gone. This was +a woman, and surely, surely, she would fight as women do, tooth and +claw, for the man she loved. + +“Where’s Mr. Heriot?” she asked softly. + +“Coming.” She hesitated. “Andria----” + +“I know,” a wave of pity came over her for the girl whose wooing would +be so stormy, and then a cold terror. Salome knew Egerton--she knew +Raimond--neither would hesitate in this lonely island at anything +that would put out of the way the man and woman who threatened their +schemes. She looked up and saw Heriot approaching as carelessly as if +the terrors of the place did not exist, and the foolhardy thing they +were all doing came over her. + +“Come in; it isn’t safe to sit here,” she cried, and as Beryl broke +from her at the coming steps she turned to Salome. “Take her in and put +her to bed. Make her eat something,” she whispered. “I’ll talk to him.” + +Salome nodded. + +“Make him go,” she breathed. “Get him out o’ dis. Dey’ll murder him if +dey finds out. It ain’t no use his wantin’ to marry her nor trying to +fight for her. Dey’ll just walk plunk over him, and all she’ll ever +know is dat he ain’t come back some morning.” + +She shambled off after the girl, but there was tragedy in her working +face. + +From old, old times she had known that there was no way but giving in +with Egerton. If the girl were meant for his nephew he would have her +in spite of ten Heriots and without an open refusal. + +“Come in,” repeated Andria, as Heriot stood irresolute in the doorway. +“I think we must all be mad to stay out of doors after last night.” + +She spoke with an irrepressible shiver; he looked so handsome and +debonair, and the odds against him were so great. + +“I’d rather not go into Erceldonne’s house,” he hesitated, “but there’s +so much to say. And you can’t stay out here.” + +“I don’t think you can either,” he said dryly. + +Then Beryl had said nothing! But there had been no time. And after all, +why should he trust their safety to a madman’s word? + +“Perhaps so,” he returned irrelevantly, entering and fastening the +door. “Look here. I--I wonder if you’ll think I’ve behaved like a +blackguard? I don’t know. I mean to marry that girl, and I haven’t one +farthing to rub against another, while she--you heard what Erceldonne +said about her?” + +“You told her so?” + +“Not about the money, nor anything but myself. I--oh, it’s been a mad +evening! Do you know she saw that crazy old man and spoke to him?” + +“Then she did scream!” said Andria sharply. + +“Yes: but when I got there she had tamed him as she tamed the jaguars. +He could have killed her, but instead she says he promised not to hurt +us any more.” + +Andria turned swiftly away from the lamp that he might not see her face +as Egerton’s story about the madman came back to her. The remembrance +of all it must mean chilled her to the bone. + +“Begin at the beginning,” she temporized. “How did she get away +from----” she could not say the name. She sat silent as he obeyed. If +Egerton’s story were true, that jabbering lunatic’s daughter must have +been Beryl’s mother! And yet, how could she tell it to Heriot? + +A queer, dull passion rose in her and seemed to choke down the words +she would have tried, perhaps, to say. Heriot was all that really stood +between Raimond and Beryl--let him find out her history for himself. + +“Besides, I don’t believe it!” she thought, and knew she lied. She +scarcely dared look up lest he might ask if she knew who the crazy +creature was that haunted the place. + +“Mr. Heriot,” she said quickly, “you’re in earnest about Beryl?” + +“Yes,” he answered very quietly, but she saw his mouth tighten. “What +right Erceldonne has to her I don’t know, but it isn’t any better than +mine. As for her being rich,” with a quick, sweet laugh, “when I get +her away from here I’ll never inquire about her fortune.” + +“Or her people?” She could not keep in the dangerous question. + +“I don’t care who she is as long as she’s my wife.” But she could not +salve her conscience with the answer; she knew he would care. “Once +we’re out of this, and I’ve settled with her delightful friends down +there”--with a motion of his head toward the harbor. + +“You can’t settle with him!” said Andria quickly. “Do you mean you are +going to meet them in the morning?” + +“I fail to see any other way,” he replied, laughing. “Why?” + +“Do you know what facing them would mean?” There was an indescribable +flatness in her voice. “None of us would ever get away from the island, +except perhaps Beryl, and what would become of her I know better than +you.” + +“He wouldn’t marry her against her will,” he said shortly. “And as for +carrying her off, he couldn’t keep her. There is a law in England.” + +“There’s no law for the dead--I mean you and I could never rescue her, +for we--they would never let us leave this island alive! You, because +you love the girl; I because----” but she could not go on, and he knew +well enough that a deserted and discarded woman would get short rope +from Raimond Erle. + +She was right, of course; an open struggle would be madness. Erle +and Erceldonne he might manage, but the yacht’s crew could easily +overpower a man who had no revolver. And yet he ached to try the fight. + +Andria looked at him, with hot, smarting eyes. + +“Twenty to one,” she said slowly. “Three of them you might account for, +with my dagger, and then you would tell no tales! And Beryl, married to +Raimond, would kill herself.” + +“What else can I do?” + +“Go away,” she said very gently. “No, don’t look like that!” for he was +staring at her as if she had lost her senses. “You think I would play +into Raimond’s hands if you did? You don’t know women! If he had loved +me still I might have been his willing tool, I’m bad enough for that. +But now”--her voice sank to an ugly whisper--“I’m all hatred for him; +when I think of him I burn like fire. I only live to thwart him, to pay +some of an old score. Oh! talk of something else!” she cried, with a +sudden wild outbreak. “It is nothing to you that I wake at night and +long to kill him with my hands.” + +Heriot turned his eyes away from her ashy face. Once he would have +laughed at believing in that Andria Erle whose name had been a byword, +but he trusted her now. If he had trusted her before this night all +might have been safely away by this time. But as it was he knew her +broken heart and her broken pride would fight a better battle for the +girl he loved than all his strength could do. + +“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “You have a plan?” + +Andria nodded. + +“I want you to go and find a village and get a boat. You are the only +one who can do it. But you must go alone, for if you took Beryl and me, +even if we reached a town Egerton’s steamer would be there before us +and cut us off. He knows every inch of the island. He’d guess where we +were going--that is, if there’s a town to get at, as Salome says.” + +“There must be,” he answered quickly. “This is either Flores or Corvo, +I don’t know which. But on the eastern side of each there’s a town.” + +“Across the mountain?” + +“Yes. Santa Cruz in Flores, Rosario in Corvo; either would do. But I +think this is Flores. We left Fayal for Grasiosa and were blown off +our course by a southeast wind. The boat must have gone to pieces on +the southeast point of Flores--there was too much east in the wind for +Corvo.” + +“Then we’ll suppose we’re on the southwest side of Flores. How far +would it be to Santa Cruz?” + +“Ten miles, as the crow flies. Twenty or more, allowing for the +mountain and no track. I could be there to-morrow.” + +“And get a boat and sail back. You could slip into some little bay and +come for us at dawn the day after, if you’d had a fair wind. I’ll bring +food, and we could hide in some tiny inlet the yacht would never notice +if they sailed round the island till doomsday. Then when they get tired +and go, we can sail to Fayal. How far is it?” + +“A hundred and fifty miles or so. You wouldn’t be afraid in an open +boat?” + +“I’d take her away from him if we had to go on a raft,” she said +hardly. “Come and eat now, and then you’d better go. Have you a +compass?” + +“I don’t want one. I can go by my watch and the sun. You don’t think +they’ll try to take you both while I’m gone?” + +“They won’t try to take me, and I don’t think they’ll dare to hurry her +so. Raimond will take his time, even in making love. And he won’t find +her very kind, if she’s promised to marry you.” + +“She hasn’t, in so many words.” + +“It doesn’t matter,” Andria answered wearily. “She means it. Come and +eat; you must be on your way before daylight. You’re not afraid of the +man and his beasts?” + +“I’m afraid to leave you alone here for two days,” he said shortly. “I +tell you plainly I don’t like it.” + +She had opened the door into the dining-room where her neglected dinner +stood cold on the table. Under the bright light of the hanging lamp she +turned on him with a wild passion that there was no gainsaying. + +“Listen to me!” she cried--and if her face was ghastly, over her black +gown her red-brown hair shone like fire and her eyes swayed him, for +all their weariness and red rims--“listen to me. The girl is yours, +but the man is mine! It is my quarrel, and I will settle my debts for +myself. If you stay you may kill him before you’re killed yourself, if +it comes to main force; but do you think it is death I want for the man +who’s killed all the good in me? I want more than that. I want him to +live, with all his schemes ruined; to suffer as he has made me suffer; +to starve as he turned me out to starve. If he gets the girl he will +have to kill me first--I, that was bone of his bone! But it won’t come +to that. I’ll put him off. I’ll make Beryl make time; I’ll tell her +my secret that has ruined me, body and soul. But there won’t be any +need before you’re back,” and with a sudden listlessness she sat down +at the table. “Eat his meat and drink his wine; it will be as good a +weapon against him as a revolver,” she said, with an evil look in her +half-closed eyes. But he knew it was not she, but what a man had made +her, that had taught her that look. + +“I’ve no money,” he began shamefacedly. + +“I have. Salome’s wages,” and she drew a roll of gold out of her +pocket. “Salome’s wages for Erceldonne’s work!” but her laugh made +Heriot wince. + +“I’ll go now!” he said, pushing back his plate. “Tell her!” + +Andria could only nod. + +She was helping Beryl to freedom and happiness, and to what was she +helping herself? Only to the just payment for her broken life. Even +Mother Benedicta could not blame her. + +“So,” she said, very low; “the dawn is coming. But be quick. I can’t +promise to protect her for more than three days.” + +“I’ll be back in one--at dawn to-morrow.” + +Andria sprang to her feet. + +“Hush!” she whispered. “Did you hear anything?” + +Heriot shook his head. + +“You’re done up, tired out,” he returned gently. “There’s nothing--not +a sound!” + +For sole answer she put out the light. He felt her hand on his wrist as +she led him in the dark across the room and out on a disused veranda. + +“Go this way, and be quick, quick!” she cried in the same toneless +whisper. “It’s the only chance to save her now.” + +She watched him as he ran across a narrow belt of moonlight and +disappeared in the blackness of the scrub. Then, noiseless in her +stocking feet, she searched every inch of the wide veranda round the +house. + +There was no one there, no one in the garden. Her wrought-up nerves +must have deceived her, and it had been fancy that she heard out +of the darkness of the veranda behind the dining-room Egerton’s +uncontrollable, cackling laugh. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +A SEALED PACKET. + + +Reassure herself as she might, Andria fairly fled through the empty +passages to Beryl’s room. + +“I’m worn out,” she thought; “I’m beginning to imagine things. It +couldn’t have been Egerton’s laugh I heard, for he wouldn’t dare come +here at night--and he couldn’t have known he’d any reason to watch us.” +But argue as she liked, some sound had shaken her nerves till she dared +not strike a light lest some watcher outside might see. + +“Beryl,” she said, standing by the girl’s bed in the dark, “Beryl!” + +“Hush!” said a voice, “I’m here,” and Andria made out a white figure +by the window, and groped to the girl’s side. “Something woke me, I +thought. Andria, I thought I heard a shot! Where’s Mr. Heriot?” + +“A shot!” Andria turned cold, till she remembered she had watched him +safely out of sight and not a sound had broken the stillness. “You +couldn’t have,” she said, bringing all her common sense to her aid; +“you must have been dreaming! He’s gone away, Beryl. I made him go.” + +“Gone! Where--what for?” she stared in the dark. + +“I sent him. I was afraid to let him stay. Beryl, we’re in a dreadful +place. His going was the only chance to save us.” + +“What do you mean he’s to save us from?” cried Beryl, stamping her bare +foot. “If there’s anything to save us from he’d better be here.” She +was wild with misery. That was what his half-hearted answer had meant, +and he did not care enough even to bid her good-by. + +“He couldn’t do anything here. They’d kill him if they found him. Do +you know what I heard to-night?” + +But the girl did not answer. She was putting on her clothes in the dark. + +“Why did you send him--what for?” she asked harshly. + +“I sent him to a town--he says there is one--to get a boat and come +back and take us away. It’s all we can do. Egerton isn’t Egerton at +all, he only calls himself that, and he means to carry you off and +marry you to Mr. Erle or leave you here to die.” + +“I’ll never go with him. Why did you send Mr. Heriot away? There’d be +time after we’re left here to run away in a boat.” + +“There’d be no time for anything, for Heriot and me.” But the words did +not touch the girl. For the first time a distrust of Andria seized her. + +“You sent him away because he loves me!” she cried. “I don’t believe +Mr. Erle wants to marry me. I’ve believed everything you say, like a +fool, and I don’t even know why you call yourself Holbeach. For all I +know your name may be Heriot. He knew you when he came here.” + +“My God!” said Andria Erle. No blow of her life had ever hurt her like +this one. She pulled a sealed envelope from the bosom of her dress and +thrust it passionately into Beryl’s hand. + +“Look at that, and you’ll see my name,” she cried, “and may God forgive +you! I swear before Him that Heriot is not and never was anything to +me.” + +Something in the utter agony of the voice broke through the suspicion, +the jealousy, of Beryl Corselas’ heart. + +“Andria, Andria!” she cried. “Forgive me! I don’t want to know who you +are, I don’t care, except that you’re my Andria. I’m wild; if Heriot +loved me he wouldn’t have gone, and he may have gone to his death. I +must go out and find the old man and his cats. I’m frightened what they +may do.” + +“Not love you--Heriot! He loves you enough not to care that you’re----” +she stopped. She could not tell and there was no chance now, for the +girl was past her like a whirlwind. + +If she had known, she could have found a better way, and now it might +be too late. These very jaguars she had kissed and stroked might even +now be tearing Heriot’s flesh out on the hillside. With a throat that +was dry with fear for him, she stood in the garden and quavered out her +strange, crooning song. She believed Andria, and yet, oh! if Heriot +would only come back and swear to her that he loved her! + +The moon had set, and in the hushed darkness that comes before dawn the +woods lay silent and terrible. Trembling and desperate the girl crooned +on, and presently from far away there came a low, wailing cry. It was +so far off that she shook for fear she was too late. Staring vainly +into the darkness in the direction Heriot must have taken, she almost +cried out as a cold hand touched hers from behind. The old man, bent +almost double, was at her feet, his dreadful pets behind him. + +“Where have you been?” she cried, agonized loathing in her voice. “What +have you done?” + +“Little dearest,” he answered submissively, “you told me to go and I +went. I was asleep; my cats were tired, for it is nearly dawn.” + +“Have you seen any one?” her strong young hand gripped him fiercely. +“Tell me!” + +“No one.” + +“Oh, listen!” Beryl said, tears of relief in her hot eyes, for the +man spoke quite sanely and there was truth in his voice. “I told you +to-night you must not hurt that man who came to me----” + +“We have not touched him, _querida mia_,” he answered, cringing under +her hard grasp. “Was that why you called?” + +“No,” she sobbed. “Try to understand. I sent him to the town--there is +a town?” + +“Yes,” he muttered, “a town of cruelty, where animals are beaten until +they die, and men laugh at you if you ask for bread.” + +“Well, he’s gone there, to get a boat and come back for me. You must +catch him and bring him back now. Tell him if he loves me he must come +back, but not to the house. You and he must hide near it, for that man +in the yacht wants to carry me off.” + +The dawn had come on them as she spoke, and in the sudden, wan light, +she saw his face flush with sudden fury. + +“Do you understand?” she cried sharply. “You must make him hide, or we +shall all be killed. But you must be ready to fight for me when I call +you.” + +“Fight!” the crazy old voice rang out with a sound that made the two +great beasts behind him bristle up and lash their tails. “We will kill! +My cats will kill. We would have fought for you last time, but we were +too late. Now you have come back he shall never get you again.” He +began to leer and jabber at her until, brave as she was, she feared +him. Would a thing so crazy ever distinguish between Heriot and another? + +“If you save me you shall never leave me again,” she said very slowly, +and with that same touch with which she made the jaguars obey her, she +laid her hand on his wrinkled, repulsive forehead. + +“_Querida mia!_” he stammered, and for the first time he met her eyes. + +“See,” he said painfully, “I understand. This is your lover in the +woods, but you will not leave the old man for him. And the black-eyed +one shall not steal you as he did before. We, your lover and I, will +hide near the house with the cats. When we are there you will hear my +cats laughing, laughing loud, till the black-eyed one’s blood turns to +water. And when you call us we will come. We will not let him get you.” + +“Not me, nor the woman with red hair.” + +“I bit her. I will never bite her again,” he shuffled with shame. “I +will go now.” + +“Wait!” she cried. “Can you speak English?” + +“English?” he clenched his hands. “No, no English! It was English took +you away.” + +“Then take this,” she pulled the beryl ring off her finger, “and tell +him to come back. He must know Spanish enough for that.” + +“At noon we will be back. My cats will sleep there in the shade,” he +pointed to an oleander thicket. “But first they shall laugh till you +hear them.” + +He turned and ran, bent so low that he might have been a beast like the +sinuous, spotted things that followed him. Almost before she could draw +breath they had all disappeared in the scrub. Oh, it was an ill-omened +messenger to send! And yet Beryl was certain that to let Heriot go +would mean his coming back to an empty house--or worse. + +“Did you find Heriot?” said Andria, when the girl returned, pale and +soaked with dew. + +“I didn’t try.” She turned her face away as she told what she had done. + +“Andria,” she whispered, wan in the first sun rays, “I wish I knew who +I was! For I can’t help thinking I--I remember that crazy man’s face. I +can’t be anything to him. Oh, tell me I can’t!” + +Andria could not answer. For pity could not tell this girl who played +with jaguars that her mother, the madman’s daughter, had done the same. + +“You dreamed it,” she faltered, “you could never have seen him. You +were too little when you came to the convent to remember anything,” but +as she lied she turned away, sick at heart. + +Erle would marry the girl for his own ends. He would not care one straw +for the madness in her blood. But if she found out, would she ever let +Heriot call her wife? Child as she was, Andria knew that was beyond her. + +“Aren’t you going to take what I gave you?” she said, pointing to that +big envelope on the floor. + +“Yes,” replied Beryl deliberately, “but only to remind myself I was a +beast. I won’t open it. I’ll keep it. It’s none of my business why you +call yourself Holbeach.” + +Even then Andria could not bring her shame to her lips. Beryl should +never know if she could help it. If not, she had the envelope; it would +save her if Heriot were not back and Raimond got her. He might swear +till he was black in the face and his own handwriting would damn him. + +“We may just have a scene and be left here,” thought Andria, “but +somehow I don’t think so.” She looked from her bedroom window with +weary eyes and saw there was no sign of any one coming off the yacht. +“I wish I knew just what they meant to do.” + +But it would have comforted her very little if any one had told her +that Brian Heriot had known these two hours past. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +THE HAND OF FATE. + + “Thou sleepest? Awake! + What darest thou get for her sake?” + + +Mr. Egerton stood in his cabin on the _Flores_ making a hasty toilet. + +His thin face was savage as he shaved, and his hand shook as if from +bodily fatigue. + +“Why the devil doesn’t Raimond come?” he thought, and gashed his cheek +till he swore aloud, though at the same instant the door had opened on +his son, a disheveled object in silk pajamas. + +“You’d better sit down and wait a moment!” said the newcomer. “Have a +drink?” + +Erceldonne mopped his bleeding face. + +“Have the goodness not to drawl, I hate it,” he said angrily. “You +can’t be as indifferent as you pretend after the night’s work!” + +“I’m not. I’m much less indifferent,” he said, with a short laugh. “I +begin to have a hankering after that little devil, now since she’s been +sharp enough to deceive you. I believe if you threw a girl into the sea +she’d come up smiling in some man’s arms!” + +“It wasn’t the girl. It was that damned governess. But how the man ever +got here----” + +“Doesn’t matter now, that I can see,” answered Egerton, with a shrug. +“You’re sure it was the governess? I thought you said she was old.” + +“I said she was an excellent woman,” replied Egerton dryly. + +“All the same. But Mattel said he saw the girl in his arms. Heriot’s! +And the last man in the world to----But it doesn’t matter.” + +“I didn’t believe Mattel, like a fool! Or we could----” + +“We couldn’t have done any better. I thought it was all up when I heard +you laugh and saw the light go out. I was in time, though. But, by the +Lord, if I’d known it was Heriot I don’t think I’d have done it!” + +“You would have turned out Erceldonne penniless, I suppose, and let him +walk into your shoes! You’re sure it’s all right?” + +“Yes, I tell you!” said Raimond, with sudden vicious savagery. “Let it +alone!” It was the son who was pale now, not the father. + +“Curse Mattel and his prowling on shore,” he added, biting his +mustache. But the girl he had been willing to marry for her money--and +something else--had suddenly grown desirable to him since another man +had found her fair. She would be hard to get, too, judging from the way +she had slipped from him to Heriot--and nothing but the unattainable +was ever coveted by Raimond Erle. If Andria had not been too faithful +he might have been at her feet still. + +“If it hadn’t been for Mattel,” said Erceldonne practically, “we’d +never have known there was a man on the island. If Heriot kissed the +girl he would have married her.” The past conditional came curiously, +but to the listener it sounded natural enough. + +“For God’s sake, wash your face!” he said, with womanish disgust, or +perhaps because it was not so long since he had cleansed a like red +stain from his hands. “And throw away the water. Mattel might think +things if he saw it was bloody. He didn’t follow us, I suppose!” + +“Mattel is a Maltese thief, who daren’t think or do anything,” but he +was careful enough to follow his son’s advice. “No one knows anything +but you and me,” and his hand grew unsteady again as he thought of the +awful danger he had dared last night for the sake of Raimond--Raimond +and Erceldonne. + +Beryl Corselas had builded worse than she knew when she had bidden +the madman and his dreadful servants to keep far away on the night of +all nights when they might have defended her. But all Erceldonne had +thought was that luck was on his side still. + +“I suppose there’s no reason to stay on here,” said Erle, with a glance +of loathing out the port-hole. “I’ll do what I can with the girl and +we’ll take her and the governess off to-night. I can make love to her, +if I must, at sea.” + +Erceldonne nodded. He was himself again. No one would have known him +for the man of two hours before. + +“The sooner the better,” he returned briefly. “Before they have time to +wonder why he doesn’t come back.” + +“Let him alone!” cried Raimond, with that black rage again. “If you +keep harping on him I’ll chuck the whole thing. I don’t care a damn for +the succession, it’s only the money--and that won’t make me stand your +conversation!” + +“Then you’d better tell the girl so,” said Erceldonne dryly. “Do you +suppose she is going to avoid the subject?” + +“I know it. She thinks we don’t know anything about him,” replied +Raimond grimly. “She won’t dare give herself away. And once married to +her----” he laughed, and Andria might have known why. + +But Andria, for once, was wearied out. It was no more than eight +o’clock and she knew Raimond never faced existence till eleven. It +seemed safe to sleep, and sleep she must, or she could not think or +act. If Salome came in softly and darkened the room it was without an +idea of the mischief she was doing, nor how Andria Erle would wake. +Beryl, with a strange color in her cheeks, a strange brightness in +her tawny eyes, was freshly dressed and out even as Andria closed her +eyes. From pure humiliation she had put that thin, sealed packet in her +pocket, but she was not thinking of it now. Up and down the garden she +stepped with a quiet fierceness that might have been learned from the +jaguars she played with. There was no sign of the crazy old man, let +her call and search as she would; no sign of Heriot, and her heart grew +full of fear. + +Yet there seemed little cause for terror. + +If she had thought to see Egerton and his son come hurrying up from the +yacht to carry her off she was mistaken. Neither of them appeared. + +She wondered wretchedly why Heriot had left her. Surely not because +they said she had money; it meant nothing to her, instinct told her +little to Heriot. Why did he not come back? + +She was afraid of these two men who had come with lies. Why should +Erceldonne call himself Egerton to a girl to whom neither name meant +anything? It came over her sharply that an obscure Mr. Egerton might +leave England unobserved in a yacht, while Lord Erceldonne’s departure +would have been chronicled in all the papers. + +“Whatever he means to do with me, he’ll do it secretly,” she thought, +trembling. “But oh, if I could only hear the cats scream! I must just +wait. Only wait.” + +But though she waited till the sun rose high and the hours passed at +noon, she was waiting still. + +And it was so that Raimond Erle came up from the shore and saw her; +standing straight and tall in the blazing sun among the gorgeous +flowers; young, lithe, magnificent with her dusky hair and her golden +eyes, and that strange color on her cheeks; a woman any man might +covet. And for the first time he cared nothing for the thing he had +done. + +Every bit of color went from her face as she saw who it was, though she +had known the step was not Heriot’s. + +“Well,” she said defiantly, “what do you want?” + +“Only to say good morning. You’re not going to run away again, are +you?” for she had moved restlessly under his eyes. + +“I don’t want to run away. Why should I?” she replied, with a slow +glance of dislike she had not known the trick of yesterday. “I want to +talk. When is--Mr. Egerton--going to take us away?” + +“To-day, if you like. But don’t talk here, it’s too scorching. +Come into the house.” There was nothing but his own comfort in the +suggestion, but his glance said it was hers. + +The girl shaded her eyes and looked once round the empty garden, the +stirless noontide woods. There was not a soul. + +“Come in, then.” She had caught her breath curiously. She led the way, +not into the house itself, but up by an outside stair to the veranda +that opened off Andria’s bedroom. From it she could see the faintest +signal from the hillside down which Heriot must come, if he came in +time; would be within call of Andria, sleeping like the dead behind her +closed shutters. + +Erle looked at her. + +She had a crushed hibiscus blossom in her hand that was not so crimson +as her mouth. He would get her by fair means or foul, if it were only +for that and her tawny eyes. + +“So you’re anxious to get away?” he said slowly, but she hesitated +instead of assenting. + +“I don’t see why I was brought here at all!” she returned at last, +frowning. + +He smiled. + +“Don’t you? I do. Look at me, don’t you remember me?” + +“Look at me!”--with what different eyes another man had said those very +words! + +“Remember you!” she retorted. “No; how could I?” + +But she shivered. The man was lying, as Andria had warned her he would +lie. + +“Think!” he said. “Have you forgotten one evening at Blackpool station? +And a frightened girl who stood there without anywhere to go? Because I +remember, if you don’t.” + +But like a flash it had come back to her. His white duck clothes made +him look different, but it was the same face she had seen. And she +remembered there had been no pity in the man’s eyes as he watched her. + +“You do remember!” he said. “Well, don’t be angry if I tell you +something. I went away and you haunted me. I couldn’t forget you. +When I heard of the girl found starving in the wreck I knew it was +you. I sent my father to get you from--the woman”--with a momentary +hesitation, since he had never known exactly about that part of the +business and dared not invent--“who had adopted you. It was I who +suggested bringing you here,” he continued calmly lying. “I knew +convent arms are long and you weren’t safe in England. But if you want +to go back you can, though it’s a living grave, a convent, for a +beautiful girl,” he spoke dreamily, and so impersonally that yesterday +she would not have noticed the flattery. + +“Why did you care?” abruptly. “I was nothing to you.” + +“I wanted to help you live your life,” he said, with a queer shrug. +“That was all. Oh! you are a child still. You’ve seen nothing. Not +diamonds, nor satin gowns, nor balls where the music gets into your +blood and you know half the men in the room are mad about you.” + +“To that life?” said Beryl slowly, for Brian Heriot had told her none +of these things. Yet she searched the empty hillside once more with her +eyes. + +“That, and more. I don’t know why I cared you should be saved from the +convent, but I did. You can go back, as I said, if you like.” + +“No!” she said, with a shudder, remembering only the cruelty of Mother +Felicitas and nothing of the kindness of the other nuns. “They said I +had no name, that I was a charity child. Am I? If you know anything +about me, tell me!” she could not keep back the question, though she +knew it was useless, but the slow, insolent answer turned her blood to +fire. + +“You are Beryl, and you have golden eyes. I don’t know, or care for +anything more.” + +“You do know who I am!” she flashed out at him, “else why would your +father trouble with me? If he is your father and not your uncle, as you +said.” + +His face changed ever so slightly. Well, Heriot was paid for talking! + +“I know nothing but that I have done my best to help you from that very +first night I saw you,” he said, very low. + +There was a passion on his face there had never been on Heriot’s, but +she was not old enough to know that passion in a man is the very last +reason for a woman to trust in him. And the sudden softening of the +haggard lines round his mouth, the widening of his eyes, made her for +the first time wonder if, after all, he were speaking the truth. + +“Where do you want to take me?” She was staring at him with great, +fascinated eyes. If he had been like this yesterday she would never +have run away from him, unwarned as she was then. + +“Back to England--to London--to the world. Why should you be buried +here?” he said slowly. + +“But you said it wasn’t safe,” she faltered. “The convent----” + +“Can’t recall you if you’ll let me take care of you,” he answered, with +his voice utterly caressing. “Will you?” + +For the first time she saw what he meant, what he had been meaning all +along. And it was just what Andria had said. With a start of fright she +sprang up. + +“Do you mean you want me to marry you?” she cried, wide-eyed, and, +without her will, Heriot’s face sprang to her memory. + +She was so beautiful as she stood aghast and trembling that the man +lost his head. + +“Yes,” he said, “just that!” and before she could move had caught her +to him and kissed her madly. + +She could not cry out because his lips crushed her mouth, but the +stifled moan would have brought any other man to his senses. She fought +against him till her lips were free. + +“I hate you,” she stormed. “Why did I ever listen to you when +Andria--ah!” she screamed at the top of her voice. “Andria!” + +If she had stabbed him he could not have let her go more suddenly. + +“What do you mean?” he said. “Who is Andria?” + +But it was another voice that answered him from behind his back. + +“I!” said Andria Erle, standing like a ghost in her white dressing-gown +between the open green shutters of her bedroom window. + +Raimond Erle turned livid. + +It was Andria; Andria who was the governess, who had been engaged to +take care of the only girl in the world she should never have met! + +He saw once more the pale face, the red-brown hair of the woman he had +called his wife--and the only emotion it brought him was furious hatred. + +He looked from her to Beryl and back again and knew what he must do. + +“And who,” he said calmly, “are you?” + +“No one,” she answered steadily, “now! Shall I tell you who I was?” + +Her eyes blazed at him, standing at the window of the very room where +she had thanked God he had come back to her. The man shrugged his +shoulders. + +“No,” he said, “stand back! I will tell you what you were, and are. A +woman who is no fit companion for an innocent girl, who is here under +false pretenses and a feigned name.” + +His quick ear had caught footsteps coming up the stairs, and as Andria +caught her breath at the words that were true enough in their way, +Raimond Erle turned to his father. + +“So this is your governess!” he cried, before she could speak. “Do you +know who she is? A woman who was the talk of all London--a woman no +girl should so much as see!” + +“Raimond!” She had been his wife for five years, or she thought so; +small wonder she cried out as if he had struck her. She reeled where +she stood. + +“Take the girl away,” said Erle savagely. “Don’t you understand?” + +But at that cry of his son’s name Lord Erceldonne had understood indeed. + +It was this woman and no other who had enslaved Raimond for five years, +and the very irony of fate had brought her here to ruin him. + +“Andria, what does he mean? What does he know about you?” + +Beryl had sprung between the two men and flung her arms round Andria’s +neck. But the woman stood cold as marble. + +“Come!” said Erceldonne, between his teeth. He laid his hand on Beryl’s +shoulder and she tore it away. + +“Andria, speak to me, don’t mind them!” she cried. “I believe in you. +I don’t care what they say, Andria, darling.” + +Erle’s discarded wife caught her in her arms and stood back, knowing +that the time was come. + +“I am what you made me!” she cried to the man whom once she had loved. +“I will take care you have no other girl to torture as you have +tortured me. Oh, I know why you want her, why you changed your minds +about letting her die here!” She came a step nearer to Erle, still +holding Beryl clasped in one arm. “But you forgot me!” + +Her breast heaved as if she could not breathe. She kept her eyes on +Raimond’s face and never saw Erceldonne as he slipped behind her. + +There was no stopping the tongue of a furious woman, but if Beryl heard +her story the game was up. And without the girl, ruin stared him in +the face. Dead or alive, they must have her, and there was no driving +Raimond when he had the bit in his teeth. He would have her quick, not +dead, in spite of all the discarded women in London. + +“Come,” he repeated, with a voice he tried to make shocked but only +made angry. “This is no place for you. And as for you, madam,” to +Andria, “we will leave you to the society of your friend, Mr. Heriot. I +may say that what I saw last night shocked and pained me inexpressibly.” + +He took Beryl by the arm, but she struck back at him wildly, with all +the strength of her young arm. For an instant the man staggered; the +next he had caught his son’s eye. + +“Settle it,” he said, with an ugly word. And with hands that were +strong as steel he forced the two women apart. It was done so +dexterously that neither had time to make a sound, but the girl turned +on him viciously, wrenched away from him, and fell backward down the +wooden stairs. As she fell she screamed, but another cry covered it. + +Half an hour afterward Raimond Erle came quietly out of a house that +seemed strangely still. There was blood on his hand and he wiped it +away with fastidious care. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +A MURDER IN THE DARK. + + +“Salome, I am going to shut up the house and take all the ladies away! +They have gone down to the yacht already. Pack your things, and be as +quick as you can, the three of you. I don’t want to waste any time in +getting off.” + +The servants’ quarters were on the other side of the house from +Andria’s shaded veranda; the three women had heard nothing as they +sat chattering with the doors shut to keep out the noontide heat. Yet +Salome leaped to her feet with a sudden foreboding, as she saw her +master open the door. + +There was a look on his face she had reason to know, and as he spoke +her own grew ashy. Yet to Chloe and Amelia Jane his matter-of-fact +words were joyful tidings indeed, and scarcely uttered before they were +gone to gather their belongings. But Salome stood just as she was when +she sprang up and saw her master’s face. + +“Go!” he said sharply. “I’ve no time to wait for you.” + +“Where’m I going?” she asked sullenly. “Where’ve I got to go?” + +“Where you like, but out of this and away from me! I’ve no further use +for a servant who harbors men in my house in secret.” + +So he knew! Salome’s face grew a shade more gray. + +“He’s gone!” she said. “He went last night.” + +“He’s gone, but you’ll go, too!” he answered, with a meaning not lost +on her. “Get your things.” + +“Master, master!” her voice came strangled as she threw herself at his +feet. “I can’t go nowhere, you know dat.” + +“It’s no concern of mine. I’ve hidden you long enough when you betray +me. You can come or stay, or drown or hang, as you like. Thank your +stars I don’t send you back to Jamaica! You fool, who’s to know you in +England?” + +But she had seen his eyes as she scrambled to her feet. There would +be no England for her. She knew too much to leave, and too much to +tell where he was going. A dark night, a high wind and a heavy sea, +and--even her miserable life was dear to her! + +“Dat’s true, dey’s no one’ll know me in England,” she said softly; too +softly if the man had been his usual acute self. She turned quietly +away and followed the other women. + +Her master’s heart “beat quick and thick, like a madman on a drum,” as +he stood in the scorching courtyard. No one could get to the big house +without crossing the paved yard, which no one should do. Raimond, with +his white sleeve rolled up till an ugly stain was hidden, had carried +Beryl down to the yacht. Her fall had stunned her, and she hung heavy +like the dead in his arms. What he had begun in Andria’s room the +crazy man and his jaguars would finish, when the house lay empty and +deserted, with no one to bar the doors. + +Erceldonne turned with a sharp word as the three black servants came +out, each with a bundle on her head. + +Something had quieted Chloe and Amelia Jane, or else it was the dreaded +presence of their master that lent speed to their feet as they hurried +down the path before him. Salome had never opened her lips as she +gathered up her clothes. She walked before Egerton with a slowness that +maddened him, for he dared not precede her. The great door of the house +stood open as they passed, and she saw it. What man in his senses would +go away and leave his house open, for the things that haunted the place +to ravage? Yet she said nothing as they went on in the blazing sun. + +There was not a sound anywhere; not a breeze even, when they reached +the corner of the path and saw the open bay before them, with the boat +waiting at the shore and Chloe and Amelia Jane already in it in their +haste to be gone. Yet even Chloe and ’Melia Jane leaped to their feet +at the sudden strident howl that waked the noonday hush. They had heard +that cry before; in the night it had broken their dreams, but in the +broad daylight it brought the terror of death on them. + +From far up behind the house it rang, something between a wail and a +scream, but full of a hideous menace, a ravening fierceness. Before +Erceldonne could draw breath, it seemed as though hell had broken loose +behind him. Sharp, snarling cries ran under that awful, ceaseless +wailing, and each second were louder and louder. + +“Run!” cried the man, with white lips, feeling in his pocket for the +revolver that was not there. “Run!” + +But Salome, like a black statue, stood in his way. + +“Dey smells de white blood,” she said politely. “De meat fur de +jaguars’ wedding.” + +With a furious word, Erceldonne sprang past her. He was brave enough, +but not for the terror that runs scenting its prey in daylight. He +tripped and fell headlong over the bundle she threw in front of him, +but before she could seize him he was up on his feet and running +wildly. In the hideous uproar that came nearer and nearer, Salome +laughed. + +“Run, run!” she screamed aloud. “You ain’t going quick enough; dey +got de heels of you!” She bowed and swayed in horrible derision, as +he stumbled, recovered himself, and tore on. The next instant she had +taken to her heels and was running faster than Erceldonne himself. But +not to the boat. Something yellow and white had flashed by her, hunting +silently, without a sound. By instinct, she ran, she knew not where; +and as she ran she shrieked. + +The Italian captain of the _Flores_ had been a cutthroat from his youth +up, and now made an excellent livelihood by hiring out his yacht and +asking no questions. But even he was pale as he stood on the bridge +and took the boat away from that accursed island. That there should be +wild animals in so desolate a place seemed natural enough to a man who +knew nothing of the Azores except the name; yet he had never seen even +tigers so fierce as to hunt men in broad day. And hunt they had. Mr. +Egerton had saved his life by a bare fifty yards, and the screams of +the black servants, who had been too fat to run, rang in the captain’s +ears still. + +No wonder the signorina had been carried on board half-dead, or that +the two colored women crouched, weeping, on the deck. + +“The place is accursed,” he said sharply to his first officer, who +would have liked to stay and hunt the strange, fierce beast that had +stood snarling at the very water’s edge and disappeared like magic as +he drew his revolver. “If Mattel had not been a son of the devil he +would not have got off in his skin last night.” + +Mr. Raimond Erle drew a long breath of relief as he sat with his father +in the saloon and heard the steady sound of the screw. He glanced at +Erceldonne, seated opposite him, and aged by ten years by that flight +down the glaring hillside. + +“That was a damned lucky escape,” he said slowly. “I didn’t +half-believe in your beasts before. But they’ve done well by you now!” + +“How?” + +Erceldonne’s breath came unevenly still. + +“Do you ever read the papers?” but his own hand shook as he lifted his +whisky and soda, for, for form’s sake, the two sat at luncheon, waited +on by the servants, who could not understand a word they said. “Well, +it will be an item: ‘Strange and Terrible Story From’--we can find a +place. But it will go like this: + +“‘News comes through Reuter’s Agency’--and they shall get their +information in some very natural way that can’t be challenged--‘news +comes through Reuter’s Agency that the Honorable Brian Heriot, +heir-presumptive to Baron Heriot, and his wife have been killed while +jaguar-hunting in--South America? The late Mr. Heriot was at one time +well known in London society, and his wife, who perished with him, was +a whilom celebrated beauty, known, for want of another name, as “The +Lovely Andria.” The present Lord Heriot is unmarried and the title will +devolve on the Heriots of Maxwellton. No particulars of the tragedy +have yet been obtained by our correspondent.’ There, that will explain +the sad tale we have to tell our charges, and everything will be +perfectly open and aboveboard!” + +The whisky had warmed him. He never flinched at the thought of how +Andria Erle must die. + +“Have you no sense?” cried Erceldonne angrily. + +“We dare not set any rumors going.” + +“Public press--nothing to do with us. Some Englishman is certain to +have been killed jaguar-hunting--South America is a big place, and his +name will do for the first unidentified fool that gets eaten. Put a +thing into people’s heads and they’ll think it.” + +“That won’t explain the girl knowing of it!” + +Raimond leaned across the table and spoke so low his father could just +hear. + +“The girl is my affair,” he said slowly. “You made a fool of yourself +with your island and your governess, and your fright of an old woman +over whom you knew you had the whip-hand the instant you found the +girl. If it hadn’t been for your crazy friend and his jaguars we should +have been up a tree. When Beryl’s my wife we can find out who she +is--and no reverend mother can get her away then!” + +“How do you propose to make her sign the register? I’ve no reason to +suppose you can make a marriage under a false name any more legal than +the rest of the world!” said his father cynically. + +“That’s my concern,” answered Raimond fiercely. “You’ve managed this +business so far, and you’ve made a mess of it. If it hadn’t been for +you carrying off the girl like a pirate in a dime novel and getting the +only woman you had reason to fear for her governess, there would have +been no trouble. The girl was coming to me like a tame bird when that +red-haired devil opened the shutters! As it is, she heard nothing to +matter; your ‘excellent woman’ had evidently kept a close tongue in her +head. But thanks to you, I’ve a hard job instead of an easy one. I tell +you plainly that if she were not as beautiful as women are made, I’d +let her go to the devil--or Mother Felicitas!” + +“And her money to the convent and Erceldonne to the hammer--or you and +I kicked out!” + +“Exactly.” + +The brief courage of whisky had died out of him; he was suddenly cold +in the hot, close cabin. To Andria he gave no thought except that a +millstone was gone from about his neck. But from Brian Heriot, who had +been his friend, he could not get his thoughts. + +That blind shot in the dark, that long carrying of a burden under which +he had sweated, though his father had helped in the task; that sudden +light of the match the latter had struck as they lifted a man’s body +for the last time to cast it down a rocky gully that reeked with a +strange, wild scent--the man who had fired the shot turned sick as the +match burned out, for, in its flickering light, he had seen the face +that would not leave his memory. + +In his amazed and horrified recognition of the man who had been his +friend, he might even then have tried to save him, but his very start +of astonishment sent the body the faster into that black gully. What +happened next he scarcely knew. It was all a dream of mad panic, with +himself and Erceldonne flying through the night till dawn came and +found them in their boat. + +There was no one on watch on the deserted deck, not even Mattel knew +when they returned, careful body-servant though he was. It had taken +all Raimond Erle’s nerve to put on his night-clothes and lie down on +his bed. He had been acting, acting ever since, except for those few +minutes alone with the woman who had risen as if from the dead to balk +him. + +He had feigned nothing there, only given rein to his fury till, with a +last jerk of his wrist, his work was done. And he was tired of feigning +now. + +“Listen!” he said, with outspoken brutality, “once for all. If you so +much as name him to me again, I’m done with you. You can sink or swim, +as you like. I will never have him spoken of in my hearing.” + +For answer, a girl’s voice rang out from a shut cabin near-by, high and +shrill as voices are in delirious pain. + +“Brian!” it called. “Brian, where are you? Heriot, Heriot!” + +For a moment the man trembled, and then the very rage of hell came over +him, that it was Beryl who called on Heriot and not Andria. + +So it had been for her sake that Heriot was on the island! For a moment +he grinned like an angry dog; and then he saw the servants gazing at +him in scared amazement, and forced himself to laugh. + +“Let her call,” he said to his father, in the English they could not +understand. “She’s got to call louder yet to wake the dead!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +THE DEATH-TRAP. + + +In the wild panic that had overtaken her, Salome ran on and on, +crashing in bewilderment through the thick scrub without knowing or +caring where she was going. Fat as she was, she got over the ground +with marvelous speed, till she tripped on a tough vine and fell +sprawling. + +The jar and shock brought back her senses. At first she shook where she +lay, lest the beast she had seen might leap on her and tear her life +out, not caring if she were black or white. But as the minutes passed +and nothing stirred anywhere, the stout colored woman scrambled up, and +stood quivering and panting. + +She could hear nothing, though she listened with all her might; those +horrible, snarling cries no longer made the woods ring. Stupefied, she +felt her arms and legs, as if to make sure they were whole, and then +slowly and falteringly began to make her way back to the house with the +instinct of a lost dog. + +“Dey got him dat time, sure!” she thought, stumbling through the hot, +dark undergrowth, a ludicrous fat figure in stained white clothes, +crowned with a frizzy mop of hair that would have humiliated her, could +she have seen it. + +“I’ll go back to de big house; if dey ain’t gone I kin hide, and dey +can’t lock me in so I can’t get out again. And I ain’t got nowhar +else to go. Dese woods ain’t wholesome at night; black meat and white +looking mighty like in de dark!” + +But as she came cautiously out on the hillside and could see the bay, +she flung herself down behind some bushes and crept on all fours into +thicker cover. + +The yacht was going. She could see it rounding the point. + +“Glory, glory!” said the woman soberly. “Dey’s gone. I kin go up to de +house and get rested, and to-morrow I’ll tramp through de woods to dat +place Mr. Heriot’s went to. I guess I kin take in washing wid de best +of ’em, and dey ain’t no one going to know me, neither. ’Cause a man +dat’s inside a jaguar ain’t goin’ to talk--and der ain’t no one else!” + +She walked on wearily to the great hall door, and was just closing it +behind her when, from the hillside behind the house, the dreadful cry +of a hunting jaguar brought her heart to her mouth. With frenzied haste +she bolted the heavy door and the lower windows; but there came no +sound of padded feet in the garden, no soft, heavy tread against window +or door. Only that wailing cry rang out insistently, as if some beast +called to its mate in vain. + +Salome, safe in her fortress, had time to listen; and knew in another +instant that it was no beast that called. The imitation was good enough +for Egerton, but not for Salome, who knew the real thing. + +“’Pears like de end o’ de world!” she said to herself; but, with the +end of Egerton, her heart had an end of fear. “Dat crazy man’s on top +dis time, but de Lawd be praised, I ain’t out on no sea dis day! Oh, my +poor ladies, my poor ladies! But you’re free dis minute same as me. De +master’s dead!” + +She said it with a shudder, for the beast that had passed her with +long, noiseless bounds had not gone so quickly that she had not had +time to see the dreadful teeth in its red, drooping jaw. + +From very force of habit, she turned and went round the house, +inspecting each bolted door. She must sleep in here to-night, for she +was too shaken to cross the courtyard with that snarling whine ringing +in her ears. + +She was dizzy, too, with her long run in the heat, and she climbed +up-stairs painfully. It would feel safer to sleep up there, but her +trembling legs would scarcely carry her. + +The room at the head of the stairs had been the governess’, and the +exhausted Salome turned into it, only to sink on her knees with a groan +of superstitious terror. + +The governess had gone. Then, who was this who lay like a log on the +floor, face down? + +“Lawd, Lawd!” moaned Salome, her eyes all whites in her ashy face. +“Missus, missus!” + +But the white thing on the floor never moved. Only the rising afternoon +breeze came through the open window and lifted the long locks of loose, +ruddy hair, and through the silence came that endless, blood-curdling +wail of the madman outside. + +Inch by inch the black woman crawled nearer, her eyes standing out with +terror. + +If this thing on the floor should leap up and spring at her, as ghosts +and haunts were well known to do! + +But it never stirred. + +With the last remnant of her waning courage, Salome stretched out a +shaking, black hand, and then recoiled with a yell of sheer horror. It +was no ghost, but the governess herself; but, whether dead or alive, +the servant could not tell. Her weariness all forgotten, she lifted the +quiet body in her arms, and saw why it had lain so motionless. + +On one temple was a dark bruise, a deep, oozing cut, such as might +be made by the sharp edges of a man’s signet ring. And a man’s +handkerchief had bound the slack wrists together; a man’s clumsy, +hurried hand tied a thick, wet bath-towel over the unconscious face, +and knotted the cord from the curtain cruelly tight around the slim, +bare feet. + +There were scissors on the toilet-table, and it took Salome no time to +cut the double-knotted towel from Andria’s head and face. But it took +minutes before the almost suffocated lungs did their work again. Salome +was frightened as she dashed water on the swollen, crimson face. + +“Set up, my lamb!” she cried quickly, when the first struggle for +breath was over. “You ain’t hurt. Wait, ole Salome’ll cut your hands +an’ feet loose!” + +To her unutterable joy, Andria began to move. Presently, she lifted her +hand to the cut on her head, but it fell again, limply. + +“Dat’s right,” said Salome, fanning her, “dat’s just right. You’s +coming round, honey. Lean against Salome!” She looked down at the face +on her knee, and the torn, white dressing-gown, and poured eau de +cologne with a lavish hand on the bare, white throat. + +At the pungent scent of it, Andria’s eyelids flickered. + +“Beryl,” she said, “Beryl.” + +Salome nearly dropped her. + +“Ain’t she here?” she cried, and something in her voice roused Andria +more than all the restoratives in the world. “Oh, missus! Ain’t she in +her room?” for if they had not taken one, surely they had not taken the +other. + +Dizzy and sick, Andria clutched at her. + +“They took her,” she said thickly, as if her throat hurt her. “Salome, +where are they? Why do you look like that?” She raised herself till she +could see the dark face. + +“Oh, missus, dey’s gone!” Salome cried wildly. “Dey’s gone in de +steamer, all but him; and he’s et. De jaguar done got him.” + +She pointed out the window. “Hark at dat!” she whispered. “De ole man’s +singing ’cause master’s dead.” + +“Gone!” Andria got somehow to her feet, and nearly fell with the pain +in her swimming head. “Quick, when--did they go?” It hurt intolerably +to speak, but the dizziness was passing. + +Salome told her, but to the story of Egerton’s race with death Andria +hardly listened. Raimond had got Beryl, and would have killed her to do +it. + +Mad with rage at seeing her, he had struck her down on the floor; and +then, for fear of what she might come to herself and do, had tied her, +hand and foot, and left her to the jaguars. She was a woman, and too +faithful. There is no sin on earth a man resents so much. + +“Go look through the house!” she cried, holding her aching head and +feeling her hand, wet with her blood from the cut Raimond’s ring had +left. But she knew the search was useless. And Egerton’s death was +neither here nor there. He might have been murdered before his son’s +eyes, but Raimond would not let the girl go on account of it. + +“I fought so badly,” she thought, in wild self-reproach. “I made him +furious. And I knew, if he were angry, he would stop at nothing. Oh, +Beryl, Beryl!” + +Sick at heart, with the knowledge of what lay before the girl when +Raimond should tire of her--for a legitimate wife can be neglected as +well as another when her novelty palls--she leaned against Salome, +utterly motionless and despairing. + +“If I’d a gun,” said the woman, suddenly and savagely, “I’d kill dat +ole man out dere! Standing yelling at de house like a meowing cat.” + +“Which man?” but, as if new life had sprung in her, Andria sat erect +and listened. The cry that was enough like a jaguar’s to deceive most +people, rose across the stillness, and the sound of it made the slow +blood come into her pale cheeks. + +Just so, Beryl had told her, would the old man make his cats cry when +Heriot and he came back. But for Beryl Corselas they had come too late. + +“Salome!” Andria exclaimed, and for the first time there were tears in +her hopeless eyes. “It’s Mr. Heriot, he’s come back! Come, help me. We +must go out, or he won’t know we’re alone.” + +“Go out--and it gettin’ on to sundown! Lie down, my lamb,” said Salome +coaxingly, “and rest your head.” For the poor soul could only think the +blow had taken her mistress’ wits. + +“No, no!” said Andria. Between laughing and crying she poured out all +that Salome did not know, and saw, even then, that the woman did not +believe her. “You can stay here,” she ended. “I’ll go. You know the old +man won’t hurt us now.” + +“Not wid little miss at our backs, p’r’aps,” said Salome grimly. “How +do you know he won’t say we’ve took and killed her? Where’d we be den?” + +But she followed Andria down-stairs, helped her across the garden, too +stanch to leave her alone, though great beads of sweat rolled off her +forehead in her fright. + +“Mr. Heriot!” Andria called, leaning against Salome’s terrified bulk. +“Mr. Heriot!” + +But nothing answered, till, in the sudden silence that had fallen as +those beastly cries ceased, her own voice echoed back to her from the +wooded hillside. + +“Heriot, Heriot--Heriot!” it mocked, thin and clear; and died away. + +With a sob that choked her, Andria remembered that to call the old man +she must croon like Beryl had done, and she could not remember the +weird tune, or sing it if she could. + +“Stay here,” she said. “I must go to them.” + +But Salome’s heart was white. + +“Might as well die as be scared to death,” she answered, with +chattering teeth, and, with her arms round the swaying figure of her +mistress, she walked on--to death, for all she knew. + +“Mr. Heriot!” Andria called again, as they reached the outlying fringes +of the impenetrable scrub. The old man’s name--if he had one--she did +not know. But as she thought it, he stood before her, come out of the +bushes as if by magic. + +Salome groaned as only a black person can. But Andria saw the man’s +face, and, for the first time, there was no fleering mockery in it. In +the low sunlight he looked not the madman she had fought with in the +night, but an old, miserable creature, wizened and bowed, and clothed +in rags that were strangely clean. And yet she recoiled involuntarily +against Salome as he ran to her, bent forward in the old way, so that +his lean, knotted hands almost touched the ground. + +To her utter amazement, he fell at her feet and kissed the hem of her +gown. The next minute he stood up and began to talk very slowly in +Spanish. What he said she could not tell, but she knew it was a string +of questions. She touched her own breast with a quivering finger, then +Salome pointed, as his wild eyes met hers, with utter despair, to the +sea. + +He understood her, for his face grew fierce, and his cry of mad rage +turned her cold. To her ears, he seemed once more to be jabbering +at her, but, to her wild surprise, Salome answered him. Salome, an +ignorant black woman, a minute ago palsied with fright, had gone boldly +to his side, and was talking swiftly enough in a strange bastard +Spanish. + +The old creature hid his face in his hands with a pitiful, smothered +cry as he heard. Then he turned to Andria with what--if she had known +it--were miserable wails for pardon, wretched gratitude that she had +at least tried to save the girl whom his crazed brain still took for +another. + +Salome, the respectful, shook Andria as if she had been a child. + +“Missus, he won’t hurt us! I told him all we knows, and he say to come +to his place in de woods. Mr. Heriot dere wid him. And he say his cats +is tame, ’cept when he makes dem hunt. You hear him call out when I say +master’s dead? He say: ‘De vengeance o’ God!’ Just dat, over and over. +Missus, de black work dat I knows been here ain’t nothin’ to what’s +been done to dis poor ole man!” + +“Why is Mr. Heriot in the woods?” cried Andria. “Ask him.” + +“Because dey shot him; shot him like dey’d shoot a dog!” she answered +bitterly. “Come, missus, come! We got to get him to de big house before +dark.” + +Great tears pouring down her black face, she walked on, not daring to +tell that the old man had said Heriot was dead. + +It had seemed a long, rough way last night in the dark to that rocky +gully for the two men who sweated under their burden, with eyes +everywhere for the dangers they must dare if Heriot’s end were to be +sure. It was a risky thing--for the throwers--to cast an insensible man +down into a jaguar’s den, and they ran for their lives afterward for +what seemed miles--would have run vainly if chance had not taken the +old man and his beasts to sleep elsewhere. + +But it was really no distance, even for a woman swaying with pain and +dizziness, by the smooth, narrow track the old man took. There was no +room for two to walk abreast, and the black woman put her strong hands +under Andria’s arms from behind and steadied her, for pain made her +reel. + +In between two high rocks they passed, and then squeezed through a +narrow passage that wound and burrowed like the dried-up brook it was, +between two high cliffs. Over their heads the blue sky showed like a +narrow ribbon; the dark air of the passage felt like a cellar, and, +with each step they took after the crazy man, a strange, wild smell +grew pungent in their nostrils. + +“It’s de cats,” began Salome disgustedly, and then yelled in Andria’s +ear, and nearly threw her down with her start. Something had touched +her skirts, and over her shoulder she saw at her very heels, what +seemed an endless procession of wild beasts, walking softly in her +footsteps. + +“Oh, my soul!” Salome yelled again, and scuffled wildly to pass Andria. +“Dey’s got me.” + +The old man turned with a grin. + +“Be quiet, woman!” he said, in his guttural Spanish. “Those are my +sisters and brothers and their children. They will not touch you till +I say--kill!” but at the word the nearest beast gave a whining snarl, +and Salome, with one bound of terror, passed their master, nearly +squeezing him to death, and out of the passage into a round, open space +like a quarry that narrowed up into the rocky gully, where last night a +murderer had thrown his victim. + +But Andria cared nothing for Salome or the jaguars. Straight opposite +the rocky wall of the queer place was undermined into an overhanging +cave, and under it, rolled in a ragged blanket, was the motionless +figure of a man. + +“Heriot!” she sobbed, and ran to him. But he did not open his eyes, as +she knelt beside him, and the hand she seized in hers was stone-cold in +the hot, close air. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +MOTHER FELICITAS. + + +“Ah!” + +It was an indescribable sound, and it stopped sweet-faced Sister +De Sales in the serious business of laying out her neat little +account-books. + +Mother Felicitas sat in her straight-backed chair in her own parlor +and gripped the table in front of her, as if only by holding fast to +something could she keep from drifting out on the great sea of death. + +She had not been herself since that strange disappearance of Beryl +Corselas. A constant, agonized fear that ate at her heart had made even +her agonized nerves give way, her step that had been noiseless, heavy +and uncertain, her pale skin like parchment stretched over bone. And +this morning she had heard that which wrung a cry from her stiff lips, +though she was not alone to bear her terror. + +“Dear mother, what is it?” cried Sister De Sales, flurriedly rising. +“You are ill--suffering?” + +For the reverend mother’s face was more grayish-white than the +whitewashed plaster of the parlor walls. + +Mother Felicitas nodded speechlessly. But for all that sudden pang +at her heart, she moved her hand jerkily, so that it covered an open +letter on the table. + +“Water--a faintness!” she managed to say. But when Sister De Sales got +back with water and wine the reverend mother was lying back in her +chair. + +The sister was a simple soul, and saw only that the Mother Superior’s +ill turn was over; not--what the dead Mother Benedicta would have +seen--that a certain pale-blue, gold-embossed note that had been +conspicuous enough among a batch of business-letters had disappeared +from sight. + +It was the day for going over the week’s accounts, and Sister De Sales +was wont to dread it, in spite of possessing a good head for figures, +so sharp were the reverend mother’s sunken eyes and so keen her instant +detection of a penny out in the balance-sheet. But to-day she would +willingly have seen her books all proved wrong if only the superior +could have strength to do it. + +“You are not well, dear mother; you would see the doctor if I sent for +him?” she said timidly, looking at the gray pallor of the hard face. + +Mother Felicitas roused herself. + +“No, sister, no!” she said, with a sort of panic, and forced her manner +to its old authority. “It is nothing. I am not so young as I was, and I +forget it, perhaps. But we will leave the accounts till to-morrow. I--I +will rest now.” + +She made no demur as the anxious sister placed a stool under her feet, +but at the gentle coaxing to drink some wine she frowned harshly. + +“No, no! Go,” she said, “and let me rest. Those things, as I said, can +wait.” + +Sister De Sales withdrew, softly, aghast. Never in all her convent-life +had she known any duty postponed “till to-morrow.” The reverend mother +must be very ill, indeed. She would see Sister Agnes; between them they +might make Mother Felicitas see reason and a doctor. The excuse for her +sudden faintness was but the unselfish desire to spare others pain. +“Not so young as I was,” she had said, and Sister De Sales, stout and +forty-five, knew that she was the elder of the two by a year or more. + +Yet behind that closed door it was an old, old woman who dragged +herself to it and shot the bolt. It had taken all her self-control not +to scream at Sister De Sales to be silent with her foolish talk about a +doctor. She would have no doctor to speak learnedly to the next in rank +of an overworked body and a troubled mind. + +“I won’t have any doctor,” she said to herself, as she sank on her hard +chair again. “I’m not dying--not yet! I can’t die,” she whispered with +a shudder. “I should see them all standing round my coffin, I should +hear their astonishment. Sister De Sales, who thinks I am a saint; +Father Maurice, the new chaplain, almost crying because I had withheld +my sins from him in the confessional.” Her face grew strong again as +she thought where they would bury her--in unconsecrated ground. + +She was a clever woman; she knew even in her wretchedness now that of +all the convent not one nun had a personal ambition but herself. She +had felt the gentle piety round her stifling often enough, though she +had managed never to show it. There had been reasons for her to leave +the world, but even here in seclusion she had worked and strained for +the power she had reached--worked half for safety, that there might be +no one over her, half to find peace for her miserable mind. + +Well, she had had her way! She ruled the convent as no one before her +had ever done. The community had never been so rich, so respected; +the nuns, if they did not love her, held her in awe for her saintly +austerity, her ceaseless industry--and here was what it had all come +to. Every one of those good and gentle women, who were saints, indeed, +would shrink from the holy mother raised above them if her secret +history were revealed. Alive, she would be excommunicated; dead, she +writhed in her chair as she thought of the hushed astonishment, the +shocked amazement of the little world she ruled. + +“No, no, no!” she said to herself. “As I have lived I will die and be +buried; no one shall ever know. But I can’t die yet.” + +She stretched out her hand for the wine she had refused, and drank it +eagerly. No woman in the world had lived a harder, more self-denying +life than she. Was it all to count for nothing now, just for the want +of a little resource, a little more courage? + +“No one shall know,” she said again, as the wine brought some warmth to +her slow blood. As she lifted her eyes they caught the inscription of a +picture on the wall. + +“‘Death and the Judgment.’” The words struck her like an actual blow, +but she never lowered her startled eyes. + +What she had done she had done. She was willing to bear the brunt of +it, but not the shame of humiliation before the nuns, who revered her +in their pure and gentle hearts. + +“‘Death and the Judgment,’” she thought, but she dared not say it +aloud, when, for all she knew, Death might be at her very elbow, and +for the Judgment she was unprepared. + +Yet no idea of a tardy repentance, a confession at the eleventh hour, +entered her fevered mind, as she drew that terrible letter out of the +folds of her habit. She had fought her own battles; she would fight +them once more, and then die, if she must, in the odor of sanctity. She +thrust away the thought that this strange horror at her heart was the +beginning of repentance. Almost she felt her own strong self again, as +she deliberately opened and reread the letter that had shaken her nerve +till she cried out. + +Yet it was only a civil, well-meaning letter from one woman to another. + + “Mrs. Fuller presents her compliments to the superioress of St. Mary’s + Convent, and begs to inform her that she knows nothing of the missing + pupil of that institution who was supposed to be traveling on the + Continent in her care. Mrs. Fuller was both surprised and horrified + to find that unscrupulous persons had made use of her name to deceive + the matron and guardians of St. Anne’s Workhouse. The unknown woman + who carried off the girl under Mrs. Fuller’s name must have been + fully cognizant of her movements, as she had certainly spent the + winter abroad with an invalid niece. Mrs. Fuller begged to assure the + superioress of her deep sympathy in her anxiety for the young girl who + was lost, and also to inform her that she had set a detective to work + to trace out the wretches who have made so wicked and cruel a use of + her name. As yet no clue had been found to their identity.” + +A second note was enclosed in another hand, and it was this that +had brought the reverend mother low, though it was but a rather +disconcerted epistle from a well-known detective to his employer, +regretting that so far he had discovered nothing. + + “I may mention as a curious coincidence,” ran that paragraph that had + wrung a cry from the wretched woman, “that if the missing girl’s name + is really Beryl Corselas, her discovery is a matter of importance, + as it may throw light on an unexplained case of murder and abduction + which puzzled the whole force years ago, and, incidentally, may + deprive a certain noble family of their estates. But that, of course, + is between you and me.” + +It struck Mother Felicitas that the detective’s letter was not +especially businesslike; but it would have put fresh terror in her +soul had she known why. The man was under a deep obligation to Mrs. +Fuller, had thorough trust--this time misplaced--in her discretion, +and was ready to turn the world upside down to find out the person +who had dared to take such liberties with her name. But as it was, +Mother Felicitas had read enough. She thought of that note written to +the guardians in which she had said that it was on her authority Mrs. +Fuller had taken the girl from the workhouse. + +“I can explain that if I am obliged to,” she thought heavily. “My +lawyer will bear me out that I sent him to make inquiries,” but her +brain went swiftly as she wondered if the workhouse authorities had +that letter--or Erceldonne. + +If he had it, her foolhardiness alone had put it in his hands. + +“He would not dare to use it,” she thought, and wiped her upper lip, +that was wet. “It must be he who has the girl; no one else would be +bold enough. And if he has her, he would not keep her. The money that I +meant----” The pain struck her heart again, and more dizzily than ever +she caught at the table for support. When it passed she could no longer +force herself to think. + +Dim visions passed before her eyes of a boy she had loved; of another, +a half-grown lad, whom she had not known existed till he was brought +home from Eton and coolly introduced to her as Erceldonne’s eldest son; +of a baby girl she had loathed because she was what a fair-haired boy +could never be; of a thing she had done to make a man stand in terror +of her, and for hatred of a woman who had never wronged her. It had +been in that man’s interest to keep Mother Felicitas quiet--if he knew +her secret--all of it!--or not. + +If he knew! + +She groaned aloud. He must have found out something or he would never +have burdened himself with a homeless girl, long ago thought dead and +gone. He must know about the money, and meant it and the girl to go to +his son with the hard, brown eyes, for whose sake another lad had been +turned out on the world to sink or swim as he liked. + +Hand in hand, the miserable woman seemed to see that brown-eyed boy +and that baby girl, though the years had long since made them man and +woman. If they stood so, indeed, Erceldonne could defy her, could +afford to stand aside in silence and let her old sins come to light. + +Looking back, Mother Felicitas could see with what a devilish +cleverness he had always stood aside, trusting to chance and the hour +to do what he dared not put his hand to. Only once had she known him +to show any trace of human feeling--when he took that fair-haired +boy, who had no other real name but Guy, from the third-rate school, +where he was a half-starved teacher, and gave him five hundred pounds +to start for himself in sugar-planting in Jamaica. She knew that was +true, for she had seen the boy’s grateful letters to the man he only +knew as a distant friend of his father. It had been sent to her, she +knew very well by whom, as the easiest way of telling a professed nun. +It began: “My dear Mr. Egerton,” but Mother Felicitas knew that Lord +Erceldonne’s conscience would not require him to tell the truth when +he did a kindness. That memory had softened her heart a little to the +man she hated; it was as well for him that she did not know the bloody +fragments of that uncashed check had lain on a sunny hillside till they +blew away, instead of being cashed at Lord Erceldonne’s bankers. + +“I can’t remember that; it wouldn’t save me,” she thought restlessly. +“I must think of myself.” + +While there was life in her she would make one struggle more; once +more, perhaps, feel the joy of power stir in her and bring a hard man +to terms. + +Some one knocked at the door. To the reverend mother it sounded like +the hand of fate that will not be denied. It seemed to her racked +nerves that it must be Erceldonne himself who stood outside, ready to +cry her shame aloud. It took all her strength to open the bolted door, +and as it swung back the two nuns who waited there stood petrified. + +The reverend mother towered over them, clutching the door-handle and +glaring at them with the eyes of a wild beast. At the sight of their +startled faces she broke into a loud, hysterical laugh that nearly made +Sister De Sales, the timid, turn and run. + +Holding the door-handle, the superior laughed and laughed till the +tears ran down her cheeks. + +“I’m better--quite well!” she cried, that strange laughter ending as +abruptly as it began. “But Sister De Sales is right. I’m not myself. +Next week I will go to the retreat at the convent in Blackpool for a +change.” + +The waters of terror were up to her very chin, but she would wade +through them as she had always done, and get back to firm ground. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +HOPELESS AND HELPLESS. + + +“Oh, Salome, he’s--we’re too late!” Andria, a ghostly figure enough in +her torn white dressing-gown, in which she had lain down to take the +sleep which had betrayed her trust, and with smears of dried blood on +her face, leaned backward where she knelt. “They’ve killed him.” + +“It ain’t de first,” answered Salome grimly, for all her panic of +the slinking beasts that stood round their queer master. She dropped +heavily down beside Heriot, and would have lifted the torn blanket that +covered him, but a quiet word stopped her hand. + +“Wait!” cried the old man. “It is not good that they smell the blood.” +He waved his open hand with a queer circular motion, and the great cats +turned and seemed to pour into the narrow passage in a living stream of +yellow-white fur. + +“I have told them to hunt for themselves,” he said slowly. “They will +not come back till dawn.” + +“Praise de Lawd for dat!” grunted Salome devoutly. She could put all +her mind on the dead man now, and she swept off the blanket that +covered him only to recoil in her turn, for so blood-soaked were his +clothes that she could not tell where he had been wounded. His face was +colorless and quiet over the crimson clothes that had been white; the +woman touched him, peered into his face, and cried out: + +“He ain’t dead, nor he ain’t dying,” she asserted. She undid his bloody +shirt. “De ball must o’ glanced up on de bone. His ribs is broke from +some reason--I dunno what, unless dey flung him down here!” She turned +sharply to the old man who stood silently by. + +“Where you find him?” she asked in the bad Spanish that had been her +mother tongue years ago. + +“She sent me out to get him, and I looked and looked. I came back and +struck a track, wide like that,” measuring with his misshapen hands, +“and blood on the bushes. At the top of the gully it stopped, and +another track began, as if men had run--but light--with empty hands. +And my cats whined and jumped down here. So I found him,” he answered +simply. “It was not deep where he fell like it is here.” + +Andria looked at the high cliff over her head and thanked Heaven the +man who did this thing had been in the hurry that comes of mortal fear. + +“You moved him here! How?” she cried, and Salome repeated her question. + +He took a stone and rolled it over and over. But it was lucky for +Andria she understood only the pantomime, not the words that went with +it. + +“I put him in the shade. Dead things bring flies in the sun, and I +wanted him for my cats if she said I could have him. I went back to the +house and called and called to ask her, but she never came.” + +“Shut your head!” said Salome furiously, but also, with prudence, in +English. “We got to take him home,” she went on; “he may die there or +he mayn’t, but we must carry him. No, you ain’t fit; you’d stumble. +I’ll take de head, and dat ole feller can carry de feet. We’ll lift him +in de blanket.” + +The old man nodded willingly enough when she explained, and Andria saw +that it was even with alacrity that he lifted his end of the burden. +She had reason to know his strength, yet she marveled at it in so +miserable a body. + +Salome’s stout arms were tense, and her breath came hard as she moved +steadily along; but the wizened man seemed to feel neither weight nor +fatigue. + +Slowly and carefully the wretched procession reached the great white +house that stood open in the desolate, red light of the sinking sun. +Salome had seen wounds before, and it was as coolly as a hospital +nurse that she did her poor best with this one. When she had done +all she could she drew back and looked at Heriot lying on the wide, +drawing-room sofa that must do duty for a bed, since it was impossible +to carry him up-stairs. + +“Now you can give him de brandy--just a little taste,” she said. “It +wasn’t no good to bring him to just to wrestle wid me and jar dem +bones.” + +But even the brandy did not rouse him, since there was hardly any blood +left in him. His eyelids flickered, and he swallowed; that was all. +Yet Salome regarded him with a satisfied nod. He had begun to breathe +better already. She waddled off to her kitchen to get something to eat, +and sang hymns while she cooked, talking to herself with ludicrous +effect between the verses. + +“Glory, glory in de shining sky!” she sang, and broke off between tears +and laughter. “He meant to leave dem two fur de jaguars to eat alive, +and he meant to put me in de sea, for I see it in his face. And he’s +dead and gone and et himself! I’m free! I’m free!” and in the midst of +her ecstasy she stopped short at the thought of the girl who was taken. + +“Pray. Miss Ber’l, pray!” she cried loudly, as if the girl could hear +her. “Pray for de grave, for we can’t help you.” + +Outside in the darkness of the drawing-room, Andria lay in a low chair, +too exhausted to think, and felt a sudden, humble touch on her arm. The +old man fell on his knees beside her and began to pour out a torrent of +whispered Spanish. Half of it she knew to be questions, but she could +not answer them, and, dazed, she shook her head. + +With a hoarse cry of hopeless disappointment, the poor wretch leaped +to his feet, and before she could call to Salome, was gone through the +open door. + +Andria sat up and put her hands to her aching head. It might be months +before Heriot was himself again, and by that time what could they do? + +There was a wounded man, herself, a black servant, and a madman to cope +with Raimond Erle, who was already out of reach. With such poor allies +and no money, how could she hope to reach England in time--or ever? +With a gesture of sheer despair, she sank back again and closed her +eyes. The very thing that would keep Raimond and Beryl apart she had +never told the girl. She cursed her cowardice that could not speak out, +that had solved itself by that photograph in a sealed envelope. She +knew she had never opened it by the very way she had been bewildered, +and looked from one to the other. It was useless now; she would not +even look for the thing, that must be lying in Beryl’s room somewhere. +She never wanted to see it again. It was too tangible a reminder of her +trust that she had not kept from cowardly reluctance to speak her own +shame. + +In the dark, hushed room there sounded the faint breathing of the +wounded man and a low sobbing that came from the very depths of a +woman’s broken, desolate heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH. + + +“It’s no use,” thought Beryl Corselas, “nothing was ever any use. +They’ve got us, body and soul, again.” + +She stared at the sea through the open port-hole, as if it would help +her to think. + +How long had she lain in this hot, close cabin, hearing the endless jar +of the screw and the wash of stormy water on the closed port-hole? And +where was Andria? + +“She opened the shutters and pulled me away, and he called her things. +Oh, I can’t remember! But I’m on the yacht again. She must be here, +too, for unless I dreamed it, I saw Amelia Jane in the cabin. I must +get up and find her. Surely, surely they would never leave her behind!” + +She sat up, and did not even notice how steady the ship was, though it +was only that which had revived her. Between a slight concussion of the +brain and being the very worst sailor possible, things had reason to be +hazy to her. But as she looked about for her shoes and stockings the +door opened softly and Amelia Jane’s face peered in. + +“Amelia!” cried Beryl. “Then I wasn’t dreaming. You were here! Where’s +Miss Holbeach? Tell her I want her.” + +The woman’s face changed convulsively. + +“You knows,” she said rudely; “what’s the good of askin’ me?” + +“Answer me! Come in and shut the door.” + +But it was only the long habit of servitude, and perhaps something in +the yellow eyes, that made the woman obey her. + +“Tell me what you mean. Quick!” + +Amelia Jane shrank against the door. + +“You knows dat poor, sweet lady won’t come to you no more,” she said, +more civilly. + +“They left her!” cried Beryl. She cared nothing for the servant’s +changed manner. “Amelia, they didn’t leave her behind?” She flung out +her hands as if to beg the woman to contradict her. + +But Amelia Jane only nodded dumbly. Great tears began to pour down her +cheeks. + +“It was dem beasts you called in,” she said. “But dere’s no more +trouble in dis world for Miss Holbeach. She’s gone clean away from +trouble. De golden chariot’s swung low to fetch her.” + +“Do you mean she’s dead?” Beryl’s eyes were dry, her tones perfectly +even, but Amelia Jane made haste to nod. + +“Who killed her?” Beryl said, with a dreadful matter-of-factness, her +voice very low and steady. But Amelia Jane saw nothing strange in the +question. + +“Dem beasts,” she sobbed. “Dem beasts Salome said was haunts. Dey got +her and poor old Salome. Dey chased master to de edge of de sea; he +save you first, but he ain’t save de others. Chloe and you and me’s +here--but----” she dropped her dark hands with a gesture of despair. + +The girl sprang toward her, a dreadful, tragic figure, in her white +nightgown, her wild, dusky hair streaming. + +“Mr. Heriot----” she said, between her teeth, and, weak as she was, +grasped Amelia Jane’s shoulder and shook her like a reed; “where was +Mr. Heriot?” + +“Gone, too; dey all gone.” Amelia was curiously, cringingly civil now. +“He never got far dat night he went away, for dey found him on de +hillside. Dat was how come dey feared de place and started to take us +away.” + +Beryl Corselas caught her breath hard, so that the woman waited for the +sharp cry, the torrent of tears, that yet she did not expect. And when +no cry came she trembled. + +“Dress me,” came the sharp order. “Tell Mr. Egerton I want to see him,” +and something in her eyes made Amelia Jane hurry as she had never +hurried before. + +“You can’t see him here,” she ventured timidly, looking at the +disordered cabin. “Better come on deck; we’s nearly to de land.” + +“Bring him here!” and Amelia Jane fled for her life at the sudden, +dangerous ring in the voice. + +But it was not Egerton who presently knocked at the door. + +“Come in,” said Beryl evenly, and did not start as she saw Raimond +Erle--only looked him up and down with strange eyes. + +For a moment he could not think what to say to her. There was something +terrible in her face, something like a beast waiting to spring in the +tense lines of her body as she stood opposite him. + +He stepped across the threshold in silence, and he did not close the +door behind him, but she seemed not to notice. + +“Where is Andria?” she said. “Where is Mr. Heriot? How is it that you +and your father and I are alive when they are dead?” + +Then Amelia Jane had told her, as she was meant to do! It is easier to +amplify bad news than to break it. He would strike at the hardest part +first. + +“So you knew he was there!” he said, with a shudder that was not all +put on. “Beryl, don’t look at me like that,” using her name as if he +had used it many times to himself. “I know what you think--that only a +selfish coward could have got away from that island and left a woman to +be killed. But don’t judge me yet.” + +“Answer me!” she said fiercely. “What happened to Andria? You were with +her last!” + +He nodded, but there was no shame on his face. “I was with her last,” +he said slowly, “but--Heriot was with her first.” + +“What do you mean?” She drew a step nearer to him; another, and she +would fly at his eyes. + +“Listen; be patient. I don’t know how to tell you, but if you will have +it----” + +“Go on.” + +He saw the wild blood in her cheeks. + +“It was this,” he answered very low. “That man Heriot had been in love +with her for a long time--may have been married to her for all I know. +Anyhow, he followed her. I suppose she sent for him. I don’t know.” + +“How could she send, when we were told the place was Bermuda?” Beryl +asked scornfully. + +“You were told that for your own safety. There were others besides +Heriot who might have followed you,” he answered somberly. “Oh, I’m not +defending my father! He made mistakes, but he meant well.” He dared +not lift his eyes to the fierce-light gaze of hers, but he kept on +steadily: “The man knew she was there; it doesn’t matter how. He hid in +our house and crept away in the night rather than face us.” + +The girl deliberately turned her back to him. He had his eyes on the +ground--anywhere but on her--and did not see her pull a flat thing out +of her pocket, nor notice the rustle of the thin, foreign envelope that +covered the carte de visite. + +“Look at that if you would doubt me!” Andria had said. She would look +at it now. + +But when she saw and read she was struck dumb. No wonder Andria had +feared to meet him. No wonder she had been livid with fury when he saw +her. No wonder---- + +She wheeled and faced him, the photograph hidden in the folds of her +wide silk belt. + +“I----” but she stopped the words on her very lips. Let him tell all +his lies, let him think her a fool! No one could know better than he +that Heriot was not Andria’s lover. + +“Perhaps he knew you,” she said, with an insolence for which he could +have struck her, though he did not know all she meant. + +“Yes, he knew me. Knew me,” he answered slowly, “enough to know I would +not have my father’s roof--or you--dishonored. But his fear drove him +to his death, and hers, too. + +“When my father came to us that morning on the veranda, it was to say +he had found a man dead, torn to pieces, not ten yards from the house. +And that, if such things could happen, it was no place for two women. +But you were too excited to listen. You were terrified that you might +be taken away from a woman who had no right even to speak to you. You +fell backward down the steps before you could be told of the danger, or +the strange man who had been killed by the jaguars.” + +“How do you know they were jaguars?” + +Not a cry had been wrung from her, though her soul was sick to think +how the madman and the cats had betrayed her. How Heriot--she dared not +think or she would break down in her icy calm. + +“We had excellent reason. You fell--my father told that woman her lover +was dead, and she must come with us and you. She laughed. She said she +would die with him sooner than live with us. She--I took you and ran +with you to the boat. My father called the colored servants and went +back for the stubborn woman up-stairs. But she tore away from him and +ran--ran straight to her death. He saw her torn to pieces before his +eyes, as he saw Salome afterward. + +“The other two women had gone on. They will tell you how they sat in +the boat and saw him but just escape with his life. How they heard +Salome scream.” His face was white and damp as he finished, for what he +knew was a thousand times worse than the lying tale he told. + +Beryl looked at him, and the scornful, accusing words died on her lips. +What did a lie more or less matter when Andria and Heriot were dead? + +“Beryl,” said Erle softly, “try not to distrust me! My father and I +are the only friends you have. You cannot think either he or I would +willingly let such things be. Your--the governess”--he watched her face +now for answering knowledge, for defiance that was not there--“was +nothing to us but a misguided woman. We would have no motive----” + +“What do you mean to do with me?” she said, as if he had not spoken. + +“Take you with us; make your life happy, till you forget the horrible +things you have known. Hate me,” he exclaimed with sudden passion, +casting the memory of his crimes behind him, “if you like, but let me +help you--keep you--love you----” + +Her voice rang in the little cabin. + +“You killed her!” she said, and pointed at him. “You!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +A DREAM OF VENGEANCE. + + +“I never touched a hair of her head,” said the man who had merely tied +her up to suffocate or be eaten. “Beryl believe me! I knew her long +ago, when first she was Heriot’s--friend.” + +“I don’t believe you.” She was clasping and unclasping her hands. +“Oh,”--she drew her breath and faced him like the little devil he had +once called her--“not one word you say is the truth. My cats never +touched her. I--they----” but she could not go on. + +He had made one mistake--one glaring blunder--that made everything seem +the lie. It was when he had linked Heriot’s name with Andria’s to a +girl who had his own damnation in her pocket. + +“I will never believe you--never! You may kill me, too, if you like,” +she added, with a slow malice that made him hasten to clinch his lie. + +“It’s true. The black woman told you what she saw. If I don’t tell you +all I saw, it’s because I want to spare you.” + +But she was not listening. The tireless jar of the engines had stopped; +the yacht was lying quiet on a quiet sea. + +“We’re at home in England,” said Erle coolly. “What will you do?” + +“Accuse you--give you up,” she thought, and said nothing. To be silent +was the only chance of doing it. She wished now that she had held her +tongue, as she felt in her sash her only proof that he might have had +a motive, since Andria was his discarded wife. She must play her game +better than this. If he feared her he would never let her go. “Oh,” +she said, with a pitiful shrinking from the awful task of avenging the +dead, “tell me, swear to me that all you’ve said is true. Then I’ll go +away with Amelia and Chloe and never trouble you any more.” + +“Look!” said Erle, and pointed out the port-hole. There in a boat with +their bundles were Chloe and Amelia Jane. + +“You can’t; they won’t take you. All they want is to get safe on shore. +Let them go, ungrateful beasts! Do you know they dared to say you had +the evil eye?” + +Amelia Jane’s queer manner and terror of her returned to Beryl’s +memory, all of a piece with her hurry to be gone. He was telling the +truth now, and her face grew white and vacant. The black woman had +deserted her. + +She was too stunned to imagine the truth, that they were being hurried +off to join an outbound vessel for Jamaica; they knew too much to be +let stay in England. + +Erle was quick to see his advantage. + +“Let them go,” he repeated, “I do not want any servants who say of you +what you say of me--that it was through you death came.” + +“Through me!” + +“They said--oh, it’s ghastly nonsense! But they said it was you +who could make those jaguars come and go as you pleased; that it +was you who set them on. You see, I am not the only person who is +thought--guilty!” + +He did not say how, when Amelia Jane had owned to seeing Beryl play +with jaguar cubs, it had been easy to put the rest of the wicked +thought in her head, nor who had put it there. But the girl in dumb +agony saw where she stood. She was utterly in his power. He might ask +her where she meant to go, but it was all pretense. She would never get +away from him and his father. + +With a strange quiet she turned from him, but it was the silence of +danger, not of despair. + +“You see,” he said, with the soft voice women had loved, “other people +might be as hard to you as you have been to me, mad as it sounds. Can +I never make you understand we are your only real friends? If we turn +against you----” + +“Yes,” she said, “I hear you. Please go, Mr. Erle. I--I can’t talk any +more.” + +Was the man utterly callous that he did not care that his wife was +killed, that he could lie about the dead? As the door closed behind him +she stood rigid, in raging, biting desire for vengeance. + +“I made a mistake when I taxed him with it,” she thought. “But I know +it’s true, for I saw him wince. Oh, my Andria!” the tears coming at +last to her burning eyes. “I should have stayed by her, held her tight, +never let her go. She warned me what he was like. Why did I ever listen +to him? And what am I, that he wants me--that he means to have me, even +over a grave? Andria--Heriot----” She crushed her hands against her +mouth that she might not cry out the names she loved. + +“You died for me,” she whispered, anguish shaking her; “because I am +what I am; they killed you to get me. That man was right. It was I who +killed you. Oh, who am I, that they drag me with them? That they want +me? I would give”--she stopped short, her strange eyes dilated--“I’ll +give my life, Andria; I have no more!” she whispered. + +Two hours afterward there came a knock at her cabin door. To Erle’s +astonishment, she opened it quite readily and stood quietly before him. +It had grown dark, and the electric light in the cabin dawned slowly +and lit up her face that was white as chalk, but absolutely indifferent. + +“Come,” he said, hiding his surprise, “we are going ashore. Let the +stewardess pack your things.” + +“I have none--not even a hat.” + +“It’s dark and warm; it doesn’t matter. You shall have all you want as +soon as you land.” + +He could hardly take his eyes from the strange beauty of her face. +Transcendental, unearthly, she stood in the pale electric light as one +who sees a vision. The quick thought came to him that she meant to +drown herself as they landed. But, though he kept at her elbow for +fear, she never even glanced at the dark water round the ship. + +Only as Erceldonne spoke to her did her strange calm flicker; hatred +sprang into her eyes as she turned silently away. + +In the boat, on the pier, at the station, Erle waited breathlessly +for her to break away. But she stood like a statue, and never asked +a question--moved when he led her without a sign of dissent. If +Mother Felicitas had seen her face she would have been ready for some +outburst, effective as it was unexpected. The two men merely thought +the shock of what she had heard had cowed her. + +All that night as she sat in a railway-carriage, one thought rang like +bells in her head. The man at whose door two deaths lay should pay for +them. And to do it she must go with him, find out who she was and why +she was desirable. If she tried to run away they would catch her; if +she went back to the convent she could find out no more than if she +were in her grave. She sat with eyes shut till they thought her asleep, +and planned and replanned her revenge; that she might not remember +Brian Heriot and fall to crying for the face that she would see no more. + +They changed carriages at dawn, where, she did not know, nor where they +were taking her. She looked for hours at the flying country and could +not tell, till, as the train stopped, great, black letters on a white +sign-board caught her eye. “Blackpool,” she read in the veiled sunshine +of the February morning, and remembered it was here she had first seen +the haggard, listless-eyed man who had been her evil genius. + +“We change here,” said Erle, rising and not noticing her as he leaned +out of the carriage window to glance at the station, which was fuller +than he liked. But he was reassured by the look of the crowd, who +were excursionists. Neither he nor his father saw her glance at the +lining of the hat they had bought for her when they landed. “Pearce, +Plymouth,” was stamped on it. They had come all the way across England +here; they must have a reason. Were they taking her back to the +workhouse at St. Anne’s? + +She got out as quietly as if she neither knew nor cared, but half-way +across the station she gasped and stood still. + +Opposite her, with her back to her, but unmistakable, was Mother +Felicitas, Sister De Sales at her side! + +They stood, as religious women do, with their eyes cast down; they had +not seen her. + +“Mother Felicitas!” she said, with a horrible fear, not for herself, +but for the vengeance that would slip from her if the superior saw +and claimed her. An instinct like an animal told her she would get no +credence of her tale in the convent. + +“Go on,” said Erceldonne in her ear furiously. “Go on!” + +The girl faltered, almost fell, and at Erle’s wondering exclamation +Mother Felicitas looked up. Her terror was before her eyes! + +For one instant she stood speechless. Before she could move, Beryl +Corselas had been hustled into a train that was already moving out of +the station. + +“The reverend mother has overtaxed her strength,” said Sister De Sales +quickly to a porter. “Water, please, and I will get her to a cab.” + +She was short-sighted, and had seen nothing. If she had, she would +merely have marveled that the reverend mother should lean heavily +against her in sudden faintness at the sight of a runaway schoolgirl. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +A LITTLE GOLD. + + +“I couldn’t help it,” said Andria, “they were too quick for me. I am +slow-witted. I see now it was madness to have sent you away, and worse +to send that dreadful old man after you. He might have saved us.” + +“How long have I been laid up?” Heriot, pretty white and bloodless, +lay propped with pillows on the sofa; he was stiff, and his wound was +painful, but his mind was clear. “How did I get her ring?” for the +green beryl glowed on his finger. + +“Not a week,” replied Andria wretchedly, for by now the yacht must have +reached England. “I told you every two or three times, but it didn’t +seem to reach you.” + +“It all seemed a part of the pain, I thought--‘beryls bring bad +dreams,’” he quoted. “I wish this was one.” + +“The old man must have put the ring on your finger. Oh, if he would +only go away and not sit outside and moan!” + +“Why? What is it to him?” + +Even then she could not tell him. She turned away. “Call the man,” said +Heriot sharply. + +Andria never looked up as the forlorn wretch shambled in and stared +at Heriot with lack-luster eyes. What would he tell? or, rather, what +would Salome make of it in her translation? + +“She is gone,” he said slowly in Spanish. “This time it is forever.” + +Andria started. + +Heriot understood--was answering him in as good Spanish as his own. +Salome stood goggle-eyed, straining every nerve to comprehend. Only to +Andria was it an incomprehensible medley of sounds. + +“What does he say, Salome? Tell me,” she ordered frantically; but +Salome only waved her aside and groaned aloud. It seemed hours as the +words she could not understand went on. + +“It’s a lie, Mr. Heriot!” broke out Salome fiercely. “She ain’t look +like him; she ain’t be like him----” But the words died on her tongue +remembered how the girl had mastered the jaguar as it ravened at the +bars. + +So the secret was out! + +“Salome, hush--wait!” cried Andria frantically. “Mr. Heriot, stop him; +tell me what he says.” + +“He wanders,” said Heriot; his bloodless face was ghastly. “He’s mad; +he’s--my God, he says she’s his daughter!” + +“Then it was true.” Andria covered her face. “I knew; Egerton told +me--let it slip,” she whispered. “But it is her mother who must have +been his child, not she.” + +She thought of the strange moods of the girl, her miraculous power over +animals, of the strain that must be hereditary in her young blood. + +“This is the story,” said Heriot. His face was set. “Erceldonne and +another man came here in a yacht. The second man never came up to the +house, apparently; certainly never had anything to do with the girl.” +(Oh, the pity of that first girl’s silence about the man who truly +never came to the house, but who met her in secret, unknown!) “And +Erceldonne came every day, and the girl would have nothing to say to +him--hated him. One day the old man heard her scream--not once--many +times. He ran down to the shore, and was just in time to see Erceldonne +put her into a boat and shove off with her. He had no boat himself, and +I think he must have had a fit there in the sun. For all he knows after +that is that he lost all his money in Brazilian bonds; he couldn’t +follow her. The servants apparently all left him; he used to sit all +day on the shore with his jaguars--and one day Erceldonne came back.” + +“Well?” said Andria breathlessly, for Heriot paused. + +“He said he never took the girl; that she left the yacht that same +night with the other man--all lies, of course. He landed with men and +guns, shot the jaguars--though two of them got off into the woods +without his knowledge--and, of all things--offered to buy the house +from the miserable father; wanted him to take the money and go and look +for the girl.” + +“De ole man crazy,” Salome burst in, “but cunning--oh, cunning! He says +yes, he sell de place. He creep away into de woods to find his jaguars +dat was left, and he sit and sit again to watch. One day he catch +master, sure!” + +Heriot nodded. + +“Erceldonne gave him money--something adequate--but the poor soul threw +it in that pool. ‘Gold,’ he said, ‘a little gold to pay for much flesh +and blood,’ so he threw it away. But he got no chance at Erceldonne, +for he went off again the next day. God knows why he wanted the place!” + +“He wanted the crazy man to go on the track of the girl and her lover,” +Andria cried. “The other man must----” + +“Beryl,” said Heriot slowly, “is in some way the living image of Lord +Erceldonne. No! Don’t say it; let me finish,” for he knew what was on +her tongue. + +“There were years after that when no one came to the island. Then one +day Erceldonne came back, opened the house and put in it Salome and a +lad of twenty and went away. The jaguars tore the boy to bits.” + +Salome threw up her arms. + +“It’s true,” she cried. “It’s true! I set here and hear dem in de +broad day. After dat he brung Chloe and Amelia Jane, and why, I never +knew. He brung me because--oh, missus, I had a child! I killed it in +Jamaica because it had de master’s eyes. He bring me here and leave me +because--oh!” wildly, “I couldn’t help myself. I was young den, and he +took me for to keep house. I was mad wid de shame, wid de eyes ob de +white child.” She cowered at Andria’s feet as she stood aghast. Was +there no end to this man’s crimes? + +The next moment she put her hand on the black woman. Who was Andria +Erle, to judge her? + +“Poor Salome! Poor soul!” she whispered. + +“He brung me,” sobbed the woman. “He didn’t care whether I live or die. +He say dey hang me if ever I dare leave dis place.” + +Heriot said something under his breath. Jamaica had been his first +abode when he left England; he remembered a queer story he had heard +there about a woman named Salome who wanted to murder her child because +it was white. She and her lover had fled, leaving the dead child where +it lay, and afterward---- + +“Listen, Salome,” he said quickly, “the child was asleep, had slept all +day. You were frightened and shook it----” + +“I shook de life out of it; it died,” she said, with a hoarse groan. +“It died.” + +“It didn’t die,” returned Heriot, with a queer laugh. “A woman found it +and ran with it to the doctor. It had been put to sleep with morphia; +it’s alive now! And so is the chemist that sold the morphia to a white +man. Your master had excellent reason on his own account to retire from +Jamaica! + +“I saw your boy running round selling papers in Kingston, and some man +told me his history. Your shaking couldn’t have killed a boy like that, +Salome, even when he was a baby.” + +She could only stare at him. Then she broke out into incoherent +words--into dreadful laughter. + +“My soul’s clean!” she screeched, “clean! I’m free; I’m free!” laughing +still. She rushed out of the house and leaped and danced in the blazing +sun. + +“Let her be,” said Heriot softly. “The man was an iniquitous devil, but +he’s paid for it.” + +“But Beryl----” Andria’s lips were white. Had the story of Beryl’s +mother put her out of Heriot’s heart? + +“I can’t travel for another week,” said Heriot simply, and a shame came +over her at the matter-of-fact words. “Then we’ll take her away from +Erle somehow.” + +“But--if he’s married her?” + +“He can’t. Don’t you see, she must be Erceldonne’s daughter?” + +“He can’t be--his son! That must be what they whispered,” she was +whispering herself. “Don’t you see that solves the whole thing? Her +money will set them on their feet--oh! the money must be a lie to get +Raimond to marry her. She can’t have any money--and neither have we. +How are we to get to England?” + +“That’s the easiest part,” Heriot added something to the old man who +stood looking from one to the other, with eyes that were frightened but +sane enough. + +He leaped to his feet at the word and ran out after Salome. + +“It’s the succession,” Andria cried, harking back to her own thoughts. +“Raimond will be all right if he marries her.” + +Heriot moved gingerly on his pillows; his face was pale, but his eyes +were shining. + +“I’m going to marry her myself,” he said quietly. “I don’t care if the +devil’s her grandfather.” + +The old man came running in and poured a stream of wet, green coins on +Heriot’s bed. + +They were Erceldonne’s own sovereigns! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +THE BEGINNING OF THE JUDGMENT. + + +Mother Felicitas grew strangely worse at Blackpool. She only stayed for +a week in the quiet convent, and neither rested nor slept till she was +back in her own place. + +But if she had thought to find there a letter from the man she dreaded +she was mistaken. Three weeks went by, and instead of being reassured +by his silence she was more terrified as each day passed without a +letter. + +She had known him well enough at the station. Sixteen years and more +had not changed a line in his face. If his son married the girl, her +history would have to come out--if she were to be a profitable bride. +And Erceldonne could tell it with such iniquitous cleverness that it +would not be he who should be involved in crime or shame. + +Mother Felicitas would have liked to send out messengers to ransack all +England for Beryl Corselas--she had learned easily enough that they had +not taken her to Erceldonne--since, with the girl in her hands, she +could once more have dictated terms to the man who had been too clever +for her. But she had no one to send; would not have dared if she had +had the cleverest detective in England to let him try to get the girl +and fail. + +And if Erceldonne did not write, the real Mrs. Fuller did: She assured +the reverend mother, with great gusto, that every effort was being made +to find the missing girl. + +“It is no business of a stranger’s--an outsider’s!” Mother Felicitas +said, with stony calm that covered fury. “Why does this Fuller woman +make it hers?” + +But even while she asked the question of the bare walls of her own +convent parlors she knew the answer. + +Years ago there had been a hue and cry over the sudden death of a woman +and the disappearance of her child. It was Mrs. Fuller’s friend the +detective that was so hot upon the trail. To solve a mystery that +thirteen years ago had been given up by the whole force would make his +reputation. + +The woman who said to herself that she never repented was perilously +near to repentance now. The dread of shame and disgrace distorted her +face where she sat alone. + +“He means that son to marry her--for the Corselas millions that are +crying for their owners, for the succession that can be assured in no +other way. And the announcement of that marriage under her own name or +her mother’s will spring the mine under me! And I can’t stir a finger. +It’s a month since I saw them with her; it may be too late now. Every +one in England but me may know the missing girl is found.” + +She could not keep her hands still nor her mouth steady. Retribution +was coming to her--punishment for those long years when her whole life +had been a blasphemous lie. She had no hope that Erceldonne would hold +his tongue when the announcement of his son’s marriage brought a stern +order for an explanation from the law of the land; from chancery, too, +that had the Corselas money in trust. There was one point where nothing +but the truth would clear Erceldonne himself, and there was no hope +that he would not tell it. + +“If I could stop the marriage!” almost she said it aloud. + +But she could think of no way that a dying woman in a convent could +balk the will of Erceldonne. + +A sharp clang of the old bell that was just outside the parlor door +made her start. It was Tuesday--visiting-day. She drew herself together +to clap her hands for a lay sister and say that Sister De Sales must +see the anxious mothers of pupils--that she herself was too weary. + +The portress was a new one and not used to her work. Before the +reverend mother had more than lifted her shaking hands a knock came +to her door--a stereotyped convent knock such as pupils gave--not a +visitor’s. + +“Come in!” cried Mother Felicitas, and straightened up in her chair. + +She was nearly ruined, and her power would soon be a byword; but at +least she could still crush a pupil who dared to come unsummoned to her +private room. + +But it was no girl with a grievance who opened the door. On the +threshold there stood a tall and beautiful woman whose eyes were less +gentle than her mouth, and whose red-brown hair---- + +“Andria Heathcote!” said Mother Felicitas, who never forgot a face. + +“Yes,” said the visitor, and involuntarily curtsied, as she had never +dared to enter that room without doing. Yet the next instant she had +coolly turned and shut the door behind her. + +Old pupils often came back to visit the convent; there was no reason +for the return of this one to be more than ordinary, yet the Mother +Superior seemed to lack strength to hold out her hand. Andria, after +the first glance, could hardly look at her. She had been handsome once +in a hard, ascetic way; now her face was but skin drawn over bone, and +her sunken eyes like fires long burned out. + +“You are surprised to see me, reverend mother?” she began gently. She +had never liked Mother Felicitas, but that might have been her own +fault, and the superior was her one hope now. + +“I am not well. I see few visitors,” was the slow answer. “As you see, +there have been many changes even here since your day.” + +“Poor Mother Benedicta!” said Andria, and could not go on. She had no +right to stand in this quiet convent parlor and play the hypocrite to a +woman who might be hard and cold, but was, nevertheless, a saint in her +way. + +“Happy, happy Mother Benedicta,” her successor was thinking +passionately. “Free among the dead!” But she only said slowly. + +“Surprised? No; many girls come back. They think of us sometimes. I +suppose you have married, Andria!” with perfunctory interest, wishing +the inopportune visitor would go. + +“Married!” said Andria, who once had thought she was Andria Erle. “No!” + +The words were almost a cry, and for the first time the Mother Superior +looked at her. + +“Mother Felicitas,” she began, forcing herself to speak out under those +unfriendly eyes. “I have no right to be here, no right to force myself +on any one like you--but one. I am in great trouble. I have been a +wicked woman, but--I am in great trouble.” + +“And you want to come back!” came the answer slowly. Trouble was the +only thing that ever brought them back--to stay! + +“No,” said Andria, looking round her with a shudder; she would eat her +heart out here. “No! Mother Felicitas, I told you I had been wicked--a +fool----” + +“They are the same,” said Mother Felicitas shortly. + +“But I woke up from my dream. I tried to do faithfully the work that +was put into my hands, and--I failed! I have no one to turn to; I am in +despair, yet, perhaps, there is time to save my trust yet, if you will +help me. No one else can.” She held her hands clasped tight before her, +and spoke in a whisper. “Oh! reverend mother, who was Beryl Corselas?” + +The quiet room heaved like a sea before her hearer’s eyes. The black +letters under the picture she dreaded seemed to spring into life, to +speak aloud: + +“Death and the Judgment!” + +Well, Death was coming, and here, against all canons, was the beginning +of the Judgment before it! Yet the superior managed to answer: + +“Is that your trouble?” she said. “It is a very old one, and I know no +more about it than you.” + +“Oh, Mother Felicitas, think! Try to remember,” with sudden gentleness +that was more dangerous than the other woman’s passion. “You knew once. +Long, long ago you told Beryl her mad temper came to her honestly--that +her mother was the same.” + +“I!” The superior was, for an instant, staggered. “If I did I was much +to blame,” she went on lamely enough. “We thought at one time we had +a clue to her parentage, but it proved a wrong one. When she ran away +from us we knew it.” + +“Mother, listen!” said Andria, more gently still. “You don’t know what +hangs on it. Even now that poor child may be trapped into a marriage +she hates--may be----” + +“You know where she is?” + +“If I did I would not come to you.” That quick cry had made her old +distrust wake armed. “But I know who has her. When you know, you may +perhaps remember--something--that may help me to find her. + +“I have been a governess since December, and Beryl Corselas was my +pupil.” + +Mother Felicitas leaned back and gripped the table in the old way. She +could not speak. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +“A BOY!” + + +“Last autumn,” Andria looked straight at the rigid figure in the chair, +“I was in London, deserted, nearly starving. A man who called himself +Egerton engaged me, without a character, to travel with his ward. And +the ward was Beryl. + +“He said we were to go to Bermuda, but he took us to a place the merest +child would have known was not that. A lonely island with one house, in +miles of scrub”--there was no change on the superior’s face; could she +have heard of that island before?--“a house that was locked every night +like a fortress for fear of a crazy man and of wild beasts that hunted +to the very door. He left us there to die, with no one but three black +women to protect us. To die, reverend mother, as a boy died whom he +took there five years before.” + +Death--Death and the Judgment! Mother Felicitas’ face bore no longer +the look of a human countenance. + +“Five years,” she said. “A boy?” + +“He seemed a boy, Salome said, because he was so young in his ways, had +such merry gray eyes and was so gay; but he was twenty. And the jaguars +tore him to bits, as they were meant to tear us.” + +“No, no, no!” and if there can be such a thing as a whispered shriek it +came from the tortured lips of the Mother Superior. + +“I frighten you? It’s too horrible to hear? It was more horrible----” + +“The boy!” Mother Felicitas clutched Andria’s arm as she had been +clutching the table. “The--the poor boy! You said he was called----” + +She had said nothing, but she did not remember. + +“Guy, Salome called him, but I never heard his other name.” + +“Guy.” All hell had opened under Mother Felicitas, but not the hell +she had feared. Pain a thousand times worse than the disgrace she had +dreaded made her groan aloud, and then a very recklessness of fury +shook her, as it might a mother whose only son has been murdered. + +“Go on,” she said, and drew her breath through her teeth. “Er-Egerton +took him there--and he died.” + +“He was killed! Then we came and Beryl could master the jaguars, could +master the madman afterward; they never touched us. But we were left +for worse than jaguars. Egerton came back, and his son, Raimond Erle. +Egerton--I say--but I mean Lord Erceldonne--and they plotted to take +Beryl away and marry her to Erle for her money and something else. +Think, Mother Felicitas! Can’t you remember anything? Who was the girl +that they wanted a waif like her?” + +“I--I never knew!” and then in her terror strength came back to her. “I +tell you,” she cried fiercely, “I know nothing. How could I know, who +have been dead to the world these thirteen years?” + +“The year Beryl Corselas was brought here.” + +It was said musingly, and yet it carried meaning. + +The reverend mother could grow no paler, but her eyes were like living +coals now instead of dead ones. + +“Is that all?” she said. For the moment Beryl Corselas was nothing +to her. She could only think of the boy who had been taken to the +uttermost parts of the earth to be got rid of, from mere wanton +weariness of his face. + +“No, they took--at least Raimond Erle took--Beryl away and left me tied +up with cords, towels, anything, that I might die like the boy. Lord +Erceldonne--oh!” she cried, “Mother Felicitas, Lord Erceldonne is dead. +The jaguars killed him as he meant them to kill us, before something +made him change his plans and want Beryl to go with him and marry his +son.” + +“Dead! When? Speak, Andria.” But if for an instant a fierce hope glowed +in her, the next it died. + +“Five weeks ago, on the island.” + +The Mother Superior dragged herself to her feet. + +“Go!” she said, and her voice was strong and resonant. “Go. You said +well that you were a wicked woman, when you dare to come here with +lies.” + +It was a trap. By a very hair she had escaped it. Erceldonne himself +must have sent this woman here. + +But Andria never stirred. She had been right about what the superior +knew--for Mother Felicitas was afraid! + +“I’ve not finished,” she said as she looked straight into those awful +eyes that seemed to see things that had shriveled them to look on. +“That madman said Erceldonne had taken away his daughter years ago, +that Beryl was this same daughter come back again. He said----” + +“What is it to me?” cried Mother Felicitas. “I know none of them. Why +do you come to me?” + +For a moment a spirit as harsh as her own looked out of Andria +Heathcote’s eyes. + +“You do know,” she retorted, “and you will know more unless you help +me to stop this marriage and save Beryl Corselas. Do you think if +Erceldonne had sent me I should have let out that story about the boy +who was killed on the island that you--know of? And he could not send +me, for he’s dead!” + +She turned to go, but a hand colder than death fell on hers. + +“Wait,” said Mother Felicitas, “wait!” + +She tottered to her chair, and signed to Andria Heathcote to lock the +door. + +She was speaking the truth according to her lights, and the reverend +mother knew it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +THE DARK HOUSE. + + +That Beryl Corselas was not at Erceldonne Mother Felicitas knew. But +that he owned a disused, rat-haunted house in Westmoreland even the +superior had almost forgotten. + +And it had been a very simple business to double on their own track at +Blackpool and get off at a desolate little station in Westmoreland. + +It was pouring rain. Beryl, hurried into a close carriage, had not +time to see the whilom convent “boy of all work” was the driver. They +drove on endlessly it seemed to the girl. Through the rain she could +see nothing but endless, rolling moors. When at last they stopped it +was pitch-dark. Dazed and weary Beryl got out and for the first time +trembled. + +A dark house, without a lighted window, stood before them. Erceldonne +was unlocking the door with a key from his pocket, and as he swung back +the door a close, cold air of emptiness and desolation came out on the +girl. What were they going to do with her? How could she avenge Andria +here? + +She fought down the cowardly thought that at least she would have been +safe in the convent, and followed Erle into the dark hall. The cold air +of it breathed like death and the grave. + +He struck a match and opened the first door he came to. + +“Why is it like this?” he said to his father angrily. “Do you want us +to die of cold and discomfort? Where is the woman?” But before there +was time for an answer a door opened, and against a blaze of light that +made her blink Beryl saw the woman who had taken her from the workhouse. + +“Mrs. Fuller!” she cried. + +“Yes,” returned the woman slowly, “Mrs. Fuller.” + +She was not given to pity, but for one weak instant compassion rose in +her. The next she swept it away. There was no need to pity the girl. +Erle meant to marry her. She drew back as Beryl ran to her. + +“Your dinner is ready,” she said to Erceldonne. “Such as it is.” + +Tone and manner were so changed from the Mrs. Fuller she had known that +Beryl stood astounded. Then it came to her with an awful sinking of her +heart that this woman was in the plot against her, was a part of the +mystery she loathed and feared. There would be no help from her. + +She looked around the room into which Erle led her gently. There was a +huge fire, a mean lamp, a table with meat, bread, and wine. Everything +else was bare and desolate. She was suddenly conscious that this was +her prison, where she might live and die unless she did what they told +her. All her fine dreams had come to this. For she knew by the tinned +food on the table that the pale woman with golden hair had put it +there, and that there was not another soul in the house. + +She sat down and could not eat--only looked up with a start to see Erle +and Mrs. Fuller finish and leave the room. She was alone with the man +who called himself Egerton. + +“Listen,” he said coldly, stretching his feet out and lighting a +cigarette. “My son tells me you say he killed your governess and the +man you and she saw fit to hide in my house. You had better disabuse +your mind of that; and to help you I will tell you who you are--the +granddaughter of that crazy old man on the island. You may break away +from here and tell all you imagine, and if you do I will prove you as +mad as he.” + +He waited for an answer, but she only cowered as if he had struck her. +Somehow it was no surprise. All her life she had been told there was +something about her that was inhuman, horrible. She knew what it was +now--remembered with horror how she had soothed the madman’s cats with +a song she must have inherited the trick of. + +“You see,” he said, “you can do nothing. Your friends, as you chose to +think them, are dead.” + +“I can go back to the convent,” she muttered, for at least she could +hide her head there. + +“You can go nowhere,” he answered coldly. “We did our best to take care +of you, and you repay us with ingratitude. If I were wise I would put +you in an asylum at once before you had a chance to spread your crazy +imaginings. But I will give you a chance. See,” he went on slowly, “if +with solitude and quiet you will perhaps come to your right mind. My +son----” + +“Why did you say he was your nephew?” + +This man could only kill her, and at least she would strike back at him +first. + +“Did I?” he returned coolly. “If you think, you will find it was Salome +who told you that.” + +The memory of that morning flashed back on her. It had not been Salome +who introduced “My nephew, Mr. Erle.” + +“You see,” he pursued, with a shrug, “you cannot remember anything +correctly.” + +“I remember this much,” and a tide of fury swept over her, taking all +her terror away. She sprang up and faced him, with the resemblance +to him more marked than ever. “You knew that island wasn’t safe, but +something made you change your mind about letting me die there. The +evening you went back to the yacht because you were afraid to stay +after what happened to Andria, she followed you. She heard every word +you said to your nephew where you stood behind the cypress thicket--and +Heriot heard, too. You have done nothing but lie to me. Even your name +isn’t true!” + +She shook with passion where she stood over him and for once he lost +his self-control. + +“This knowledge didn’t last long,” he said brutally, for he was not +afraid of the dead, “nor will yours, if you make me angry. Your +governess was a treacherous, infamous woman, who made use of my house +to send for her lover.” + +“She never sent. He was wrecked there,” she could hardly speak for +rage. “Oh, you did well to kill him! In another day he would have saved +us both.” + +Erceldonne’s face was livid. + +“I have had enough heroics,” he said. “No one has murdered any one, as +you are crazy enough to think, and if you were in your right mind no +one would be kinder to you than I. As it is, all I mean to do with you +is to keep you here till you come back to your senses. You’ll never get +away while you rave like this. I told you who your mother was--that +lunatic’s daughter, but I did not tell you who your father was. You +little fool, I am your only relation, your only legal guardian!” + +“No, no!” she cried, and covered her eyes with her hands that at least +she might not see his face when he said he was her father. Yet if he +did it would make Erle her brother, unless he were really his nephew! + +“You’re quite wrong,” said Erceldonne, with his jarring laugh, as he +saw that at last he had made her flinch. “It was not I who had the +doubtful felicity of being your parent.” + +“Then I am----” she faltered; she did not believe his denial of her. +What could she be, who had madness and wickedness for father and mother? + +“You’re no one,” he answered shortly, “while you cling to your crazy +delusions. If you give them up you’ll get away from me and be Raimond’s +wife. But he doesn’t want a crazy one, and you can think that over at +your leisure.” + +An older woman would have realized that whoever she was, she must be +worth having for them to care nothing for her strain of lunacy; or else +that there was a lie somewhere. Beryl was ignorant of the world. + +The old vacancy came into her eyes as she stared at the dying coals on +the hearth. This house was her prison; she would never get away from it +except as the wife of a man who, instinct told her, was a murderer. And +she had let them take her past Mother Felicitas, trusting in her own +strength to bring home crime to men like these. + +In all the world there was no one to help her; those two she had loved +were dead. This was a house the world thought empty. No one would come +here, or hear her if she screamed her life out. She did not even know +where it stood. + +She looked up to see Erceldonne was gone, and Mrs. Fuller standing by +her. + +“You had better go to bed,” the woman said, not unkindly. “You are to +sleep with me.” + +But the girl never answered. + +Oh! why had she not died with Andria? + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +DREAMS. + + +As if she were blind and dumb Beryl Corselas followed Mrs. Fuller +up-stairs to a bedroom as bare as the rest of the house. + +The woman would have talked to her, but she shrank away, conscious that +she was a prisoner, and Mrs. Fuller one of her jailers. She saw another +thing as time went on--that day and night changed places in this house. +There were no blazing fires in the daylight, only smoldering coals that +made no smoke that tell a tale of habitation. And the doors were never +unlocked, nor was she ever alone to try them. + +Mrs. Fuller and Erceldonne were with her turn about. Erle had vanished, +and all count of time seemed to have vanished, too. + +Day after day went by, and Beryl never opened her lips. Her sullen +silence was as hopeless as her pale face, but both got on the nerves of +her jailers. If Lord Erceldonne had dared, with what good-will he would +have put an end to them! + +Raimond had gone to London, and sent back a letter by the round-faced +boy that made his father curse at each day passed with nothing done. +Would he never come back? Was he out of his senses that he did not see +there was no time to lose? Why was he “unexpectedly detained”? + +As the third week crawled by Lord Erceldonne lost patience. Night after +night he paced the gravel, listening for the wheels that never came. +But when the fourth was gone, and the fifth, he dared not listen, for +he imagined wheels in each gust of wind. And the wind blew eerily at +nights over the moorland. + +“The boy is mad!” he said to himself, aloud, alone in that lonely room +down-stairs, when the two women were gone to bed. + +Behind him some one laughed, or was it outside the open window? + +Lord Erceldonne forgot patience. He stared round the empty room, flung +open the thick wooden shutters on the gusty spring night, and called +aloud: + +“Raimond! Raimond! Why the devil don’t you come in?” + +There was no answer. From far away he heard the sound of a moorland +brook that his strained ears had surely turned into mocking laughter. +Yet he drew sharply back from the window, and shut it with frenzied +haste. It was no brook that had whispered in his very ear from the +darkness under the window. + +“Mad, mad!” like an echo. + +“It’s the solitude, the cursed waiting.” He wiped his forehead. “It’s +got on my nerves.” + +For the whispers had been labored, un-English, as if some one repeated +sound, not sense; the voice that of the madman on the island. +Imagination was making a fool of him; the thing was impossible. Yet he +dared not go to bed, and his thoughts even Mother Felicitas might not +have envied. + +The next afternoon, in broad day, he fairly gasped with astonishment, +for his long-looked-for son drove up to the door. Lord Erceldonne, +opening it, could hardly contain himself as he saw he was not alone. A +quiet man, in black clerical clothes, sat in the carriage. + +“Where have you been?” said Erceldonne in a whisper almost soundless, +as his son got out, “Who are you bringing here? You’re mad--to dare!” + +“Shut up,” returned Raimond, shaking hands as if he greeted him. “Open +some windows in this musty hole; make everything look all right. This +is the very man we want, and an old friend of mine,” raising his voice, +“whom I’ve had hard work to find. Father Maurice,” turning quickly, +“this is my father. And he is afraid you will find it rough work +staying in a shooting-box like this.” + +“I have seen worse places,” said the man. + +As he stood on the door-step Erceldonne saw he was a clergyman of the +Church of Rome. Might have seen also that here was a man impossible +to coerce or deceive, a strange friend for Raimond Erle; but Lord +Erceldonne was not the quick-eyed man he had been. Bad dreams had +wrought on his nerves. + +“Raimond’s friends are always welcome,” he said stiffly, “but we are +indeed roughing it here,” and he cursed Raimond silently for having +called the place a shooting-box when there was not a gun in the house. + +And there were no servants! It was enough even to make “an old friend” +suspicious. + +“Why did you bring him?” he said, when the priest had been put in his +own room for want of another habitable one. “And where have you been?” + +“Finding out things.” And now that they were alone his face was haggard +enough. “Do you know there is five hundred reward offered for her? Some +detective’s at the bottom of it, but God knows who is offering the +money!” + +“And you stayed away all this time, knowing that?” cried Erceldonne, +with uncurbed fury. + +“I stayed because I could not help it. I had to get some one to trust, +and I had to scour all England for this man,” little knowing by what +chance he had found him ready to come. + +“Who is he?” + +“He had the honor,” said Erle cynically, “of marrying me to the first +Mrs. Erle!” + +Erceldonne cursed him up and down for a fool. + +“Then why, of all things, do you want him here?” he ended. + +“To marry me to the second. Oh, don’t waste your breath! I know what +you’re going to say, but it will be legal enough this time. He had no +right to do it before. I found out afterward that it was before he had +entered the church. I can hold that over him if he kicks. But he won’t. +He’s sorry for me, because my wife died so soon. He will tie this knot +with true pleasure.” + +“Do you think that sullen vixen up-stairs will have it tied without +raving to him? For I don’t.” + +Erle laughed. + +“I think she will,” he said suavely. “You can’t manage women with +sledge-hammers--unless they love you. That’s where you go wrong! Take +the priest out of the way--anywhere--round the moors, and send Beryl +here to me. But don’t warn her I’m here.” + +Out of doors a mountain mist had fallen, and the damp twilight of it +made him nervous as he waited. There would be no coercing her if the +wet drove Father Maurice back before the work was done. He went to the +window, and fancied he saw the black figures of his father and the +priest dimly visible through the fog; and turned impatiently to go to +this Vashti who would not come. But the door opened before he could +reach it, and even in the twilight he started at Beryl Corselas’ eyes. + +“You!” she said, full of amazement not only at his presence, but at the +changed look of the room, whose windows were unshuttered as she had +never seen them. But it had been a week and more since she had left her +bedroom, and they might well have grown careless. + +“Yes,” he said. “I--dear; what have they done to you while I was gone? +Have they frightened you? You look so pale. I should never have left +you. My father is hasty, unjust! But I’ll take care of you now.” + +“I don’t want you to,” she said lifelessly. Her eyes were on the window +that was open to the fresh air, and she went to it, like a prisoner who +is strange to the light of day. + +Erle took no notice; it was too high from the ground to be dangerous. +He went to the fire, and threw on dry wood till the room was light +as day. There was no sense in mystery or concealment now, since the +thing must be done and published before a week at farthest. After that +detectives could root out what they liked. + +As he turned his back she leaned from the window, and her helplessness +stung her afresh as she breathed the damp, sweet air. She was high +above the ground, there was not even grass to break the fall if she +dared to jump out. There was ivy, but not directly below the window; +its trails swayed at the sides out of her reach. Swayed--she watched it +with vague wonder. Why should it move in the stirless air? Why did the +woody stems creak in the twilight at her right hand? + +A log Erle laid on the fire slipped, and rolled blazing on the hearth. +He kicked it back impatiently, with a noise that must have startled her +in the silent room, for she gave a queer, stifled cry. + +“Confound the thing!” he said irritably, for the log had slipped again. +As he wrestled with it he did not notice her lean from the window +perilously, and stare through the twilight at something that was not an +ivy branch; something that moved, but not with the chill, evening air. + +A lean hand she knew, a hand no one could mistake who had once seen +it, was stretched out to her from the ivy where something clung like a +hat. It pressed a scrap of paper into her outstretched fingers; a voice +whispered in her very ear. But she had no time to hear the low words; +Erle’s light, delicate step was coming toward her. + +Clutching a scrap of paper, she drew back from the window just in time. + +Erle was at her shoulder. And oh! was she mad as they said, to dream +she had seen the lunatic she had left thousands of miles away? Her +heart thumped till she was sure Erle must hear it. How could she get +rid of him long enough to read that paper that seemed to sting in her +hand? + +“What’s the matter?” he said quickly. “Don’t shake like that; I’m not +going to hurt you.” + +He looked over her shoulder out the window, fearful the wet would drive +back his father and the priest; and Beryl’s heart contracted. Had he +seen--been nearer than she knew? + +“I’m cold!” she said sharply, and walked away from him to the fire. If +he had seen, that paper should burn before he got it! But he did not +even follow her. + +“What has my father done to you?” he said, his worn, handsome face +haggard in the firelight. “But I needn’t ask--I know! I was a fool ever +to leave you.” + +“Why? I did not miss you.” She stood before the fire, her hands behind +her back, so that her face was in shadow, while the light played on his. + +“Do listen and try to trust me,” he said slowly, hunting for words that +would terrify her into submission. “You’ve made my father hate you, +because of those wild things you said of me when you were shocked, +frightened, not yourself. He’s a strange man, and takes fancies that +are soon over. His liking for you was one of them.” + +“He always hated me,” she said calmly. + +Erle shrugged his shoulders. + +“That is nonsense. But what I am going to say is earnest, horribly +earnest. My father insists you are not in your right mind, that----” + +“I am the granddaughter of a madman.” She was strangely cold by the +fire. “Well?” + +“He’s going to put you in an asylum,” replied Erle brutally. “He will +send you away to-morrow.” + +Send her away! The house that was her prison seemed suddenly the only +place she could not leave. + +“He can’t--he daren’t!” she cried. “I would tell all I know.” + +“A story of an island, of jaguars, of madness and sudden death,” he +continued slowly. “Can’t you see that story would make any doctor call +you mad? He wants to get you out of his way; he would stick at nothing +to be rid of you.” + +“Let me go there!” she muttered. + +“Where?” He came toward her, his face changing. “Beryl, do you know +what I heard in London? Mother Felicitas is offering a reward for you! +How far would you get before she would have you?” + +“Mother Felicitas!” she recoiled. She had almost forgotten her. + +“A living grave in a convent, or in an asylum, there is not much to +choose.” He watched her standing rigid with fear. “Don’t look like +that!” he cried, as if pity had overmastered him. “You sha’n’t go to +either. I’ll help you; no one shall lay a finger on you.” + +“You!” + +“I know you hate me,” he said softly, “but I--love you! I’ve forgotten +all the cruel things you said, you had had a shock that was enough +to drive you wild. And, hate me or not, I mean to take you out of my +father’s hands.” + +“How?” But she knew. + +“In the only way I can. Beryl, marry me. Come away with me out of this +nightmare.” He was not acting now, for excellent reasons his very soul +was in his eyes. “What have I done to you, but tell you the truth about +a woman who was not fit to be near you? Come to me and forget all that. +You don’t know what life can be. Are you going to throw yours away? If +I could convince my father you are in your right mind I would not tell +you all this, but I can’t. All I can do is to make you my wife, and +then not all the world can harm you.” + +“It is your father who wants you to marry me,” she broke in scornfully. +“Why do you pretend?” + +“My father would get me the earth if I fancied it. And you may believe +me, if he could see you dead rather than my wife, it would suit him +equally well, take it or leave it.” For the first time there was a +threat in his voice. Where did she get her courage, that she never so +much as shrank as he leaned over her? + +“To-morrow you can go to the asylum, or marry me! After to-morrow I +won’t try to save you. For all I care you can do both!” The words were +so easily said, so sinister, that nothing but the scrap of paper in her +hand kept her from crying out. + +“Scream if you choose,” he said, seeing her tightened lips; “there is +no one to hear you. Think, and try, and place, you will see there is no +one to help you but me. Oh, Beryl, is it so hard to trust me! You make +me brutal, because you make me despair of helping you----” + +“Liar! murderer!” she said in his face. For three fierce sentences he +had dropped his mask, and she knew there was no love in him, but only +most evil passion. + +She wrenched away from the hand he stretched out to seize her, and ran +from the room. + +For once her own was empty. Mrs. Fuller was in the kitchen making +ready a decent meal with furious, incapable fingers. Had she been able +she would have poisoned the man who forced her to be a servant in his +house. Beryl knelt by the fire, and unrolled the paper, all creased +from her hot clasp. The next instant she threw it in the fire. It was +all a trap. That hand she thought she knew must have been another’s +like enough to serve, for the paper held only one sentence, in English, +that the madman did not know: “Do all they tell you.” + +Dull, lifelessly, Beryl watched it turn to ashes; saw Mrs. Fuller +come in and lay a white gown on the bed. And Mrs. Fuller was crying, +“Beryl,” and she threw her arms around the motionless girl, “marry +him. Give in. Don’t you see?” she pointed to the bed, “it’s a +wedding-dress,” she sobbed, for she was frightened for herself now. + +“It will do very well,” said Beryl Corselas, with stiff lips, “for a +shroud.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +TAKEN UNAWARES. + + +“You have a chapel?” asked Father Maurice. + +He was an abstemious man; his vile dinner had not troubled him. Indeed, +if he had not been afraid to risk weakness, he would not have eaten a +crust in this house. + +“Yes.” + +The late owners of the place had been Catholics. + +“But it is disused; in sad repair.” + +“It is the only place for a marriage,” said the priest, and Raimond +smiled, remembering the inn parlor in which this very man had married +him to Andria Heathcote. “If you will allow me and provide me with some +candles, I will go and prepare it early in the morning. You wished to +have the wedding at seven?” + +He looked at Raimond. + +“At six. I should have liked you to have seen the bride to-night, +but----” he laughed, “well, she was shy! I could not induce her to come +down.” + +“Yes, yes,” said the priest hastily, and rose, that they might not see +his face. “I will go to my room if you will excuse me. I am tired, and +must rise early.” + +“Your friend may be trustworthy, but he’s damnably unpleasant,” said +Erceldonne, as soon as the priest’s back was turned. + +“It won’t matter what he is to-morrow morning after the register is +signed.” + +But even Erle was not easy about the task before him. + +“Call Mrs. Fuller, will you? I want to talk to her.” + +The low hum of their voices reached Father Maurice, where he paced +up and down his room. Regardless of the damp outside, he opened his +window and leaned out, and if there had been any one to see his face, +something in it might have made them marvel. It was not the face of a +fool, or of a friend of Raimond Erle’s. + +Then he did a strange thing for a priest and a guest. He took off +his shoes, and left the room without a sound. He was gone perhaps ten +minutes, and when he came back there were only two voices in that +murmur from the room below. Mrs. Fuller’s was missing. He went to the +window again and scanned the misty darkness, as if he expected some +one, but nothing stirred. + +“At dawn,” he thought. “I pray I have not acted unwisely. There are +many hours till dawn,” and he sat listening and watching, long after +the house was silent. + +His task was abhorrent to him; he loathed this semblance of doing evil +that good might come, yet he saw no way out of it. When the night +changed to dawn, he went his way to a deserted chapel that stood in the +grounds. + +It was open, and he lit candles on the desolate altar. He was strangely +pale after his night’s vigil, and he watched the growing light with +grudging eyes. + +“Ah!” he said suddenly. He turned away into the moldy vestry and +knelt down to pray. When he came out into the empty chapel a beam of +sunlight struggled through the dusty glory of the stained windows, and +shone like an auriole round him as he stood in his vestments. But to +Erceldonne, who entered at that moment, it looked as if the priest were +bathed in blood. + +Without speaking, he motioned to some one behind him. + +Raimond Erle took a girl’s passive hand and laid it on his father’s +arm; and passed on to the right hand of the altar. + +Step by step, Erceldonne advanced with a terror at his heart for which +he had no reason, since the license was right, by what means his son +best knew. + +The bride, all in white, with a thick lace veil over her dusky hair and +pale face, never looked up as she leaned on his arm; made no sign of +surprise or dissent as she saw the waiting priest. + +Father Maurice, book in hand, never moved as they approached him, but +as they sank on their knees he raised his hand, and his voice thrilled +through the cold chapel. But not in the familiar Latin Erceldonne, who +had been a Catholic when he was anything, expected. + +“‘Behold, I will repay, saith the Lord,’” the strong, clear words rang +out over the kneeling wedding-party. “‘I have laid a snare for thee, O +Babylon; and thou art also taken, for thou wast not aware.’” + +“The Presbyterian will come out!” thought Erle, mindful of the +priest’s history, and never stirred a finger at the magnificent cry of +denunciation. + +But Lord Erceldonne knew better. + +He had seen the priest’s finger that pointed to something behind him; +had turned his head, sprung up, and stood turned to stone. + +The chapel was empty no longer. + +Between him and the sunlight outside the open door, between him and the +desire of his eyes, stood two that were risen from the dead. Behind +them, strange men in plain clothes. To Erceldonne the place seemed +swarming. He could not draw his breath, and he shook from him the +terrified woman’s hand that clutched his arm. + +The strange pause made the bridegroom turn. But even he could not speak. + +Andria--Andria stood there, with her eyes on his. And Heriot held her +hand! Heriot, that was dead in Flores! + +Father Maurice stepped to Erle’s side, and touched him lightly on the +shoulder. + +“Be glad,” he said, “that you have not had time to take another sin +upon you! There stands your wife, whom you deserted and left to die. +Go to her, ask her pardon on your knees. You told her I was no priest; +that I had no right to marry you. I was a minister in the Church of +Scotland, and you know it. You were married as hard and fast as I could +marry you to-day, when I am an unworthy servant of the Catholic church.” + +But Erle never answered. He stood as if he did not feel that hard, +light hand on his shoulder, and stared at the woman who was, after all, +his wife. + +“It’s a lie!” cried Erceldonne fiercely. He caught his son’s nerveless +hand. “Raimond, it’s a plot! The priest’s in some one’s pay!” + +“The priest,” said Father Maurice, “is in the service of God. Lord +Erceldonne, I am the chaplain of St. Mary’s Convent. It was Mother +Felicitas who sent me to find your son, and save an innocent girl.” + +“Mother Felicitas!” But his jarring laugh stopped unfinished. There was +something in the priest’s face, something in the absolute silence of +the strange man at the door, that killed his laughter in his throat. + +“Your Mother Felicitas is a--a--you fool, she was my mistress! She----” + +“She is dead,” said Father Maurice, with a voice that rang. “Her sins +lie buried with her. Her confession is in my hands, her repentance in +the hands of God, her temptations--are put down to the account of a man +whose crimes cry aloud. Long ago, Lord Erceldonne, it seems to you, +you tried to take from an old man by violence his adopted daughter. +Adopted, not his own, as you well knew. Your elder brother saw you, +saved her in one of your own yacht’s boats, and married her. When your +elder brother died, leaving a wife and a young child, who was it sent +a woman to them? A woman, who thought herself your wife, who loved you +till she forgot God in heaven; a desperate, miserable woman, who saw +nothing but that her son and yours was disinherited if that little girl +lived. Who gave her the morphin that killed Lady Erceldonne? Who asked +no questions when the child disappeared and was never found? Who, when +a most unhappy woman came to him with all her sins on her head, laughed +and told her she was no wife of his--that she and her son were nameless? + +“She had done your work. You had no more need of her. But, to keep her +lips shut, you promised to care for her boy, to bring him up away from +you, but happily, as long as she was silent. And silent she was--till +she learned how you kept your promise. How you wearied of supporting +the lad, and sent him to the other side of the world to be killed. + +“You had no thought, Lord Erceldonne, that such a sinner would confess; +that the girl you kidnaped and meant to let die would be your ruin, as +soon as you found out that if she lived her mother’s money would set +you on your feet. You said she was a madman’s daughter, and you knew +all the time she was of the best blood in Spain. A child who was a +born dompteuse, an animal-tamer, who had run away to a circus, whose +owner retired and took her and his animals to his home in the Azores. +Her brother died a year ago; since then, you know best how every part +of the world has been ransacked for the daughter of the lost sister, +to whom he left his fortune. Beryl, she was christened, for a ring her +mother had always worn till she left the circus; Corselas, because +the murdered Lady Erceldonne always hoped to take the child to Spain +and find her relatives. It was under that name, which seemed a fancy +one, that she was left at the convent. That name, which has led to the +unraveling of all. The church’s arm is long, Lord Erceldonne, for you. +For that most miserable woman, Mother Felicitas, her mercy is infinite.” + +“You have no proofs! It is a conspiracy, a lie!” said Erceldonne, but +his lips were white. + +“This is not a court of justice, nor am I your judge,” returned Father +Maurice icily. He beckoned to the men at the door, but some one was +nearer, quicker than they. + +From an empty vestry there ran a strange figure, bent almost double, +that screamed in Spanish as it ran. + +“Liar! You said you knew nothing of her? You swore you had no brother. +You took the light from my eyes with your story of a stranger, and her +shame.” + +Before any one could reach him, the jabbering thing had sprung at +Erceldonne’s back, and stabbed him with that very dagger that had lain +so long idle in his own house. + +A shriek ran through the chapel, but it was not Lord Erceldonne’s; he +lay quiet on the stone floor, face down. + +It was Salome, whom he had wronged, whose life had been hell through +him; and the shriek was savage, exultant. + +“Be silent,” said Andria fiercely. + +As she spoke, the madman flew by her, running and leaping like a +monkey, two of the strange men at his heels. + +What was the matter with Beryl, that she neither spoke nor came to her; +that she never looked up as Heriot laid a hand on her shoulder? Had +they drugged her--was she---- + +Andria Erle ran to the strange figure that was hidden under the lace +veil. + +“Beryl!” she cried, “it’s I, Andria! You’re safe!” + +She put the veil back from the face and stared aghast. + +A strange woman stood before her, painted, hollow-eyed; her head +covered with long locks cut from Beryl’s hair, wound deftly round it. + +“Father! Father Maurice!” cried Andria, in the one breathless instant +before the priest could speak and tell her this strange bride was +part of his last night’s work. She turned and ran from the church +like an arrow from the bow after some one else who had also stared +unbelievingly at the false bride. + +All she thought was that this was not Beryl, and that Raimond had had +a minute’s start of her in the confusion, when all eyes were on the +escaping madman and the dead man on the floor. + +Across the wet grass, in the light of the wet morning sun, she ran, +into the desolate house. Up-stairs, through endless passages, sobbing, +stumbling, calling, she went in wild fear. + +And each door she opened showed an empty room, each passage led to +nothing. + +“Beryl!” she screamed. “Beryl!” and from somewhere heard a sound. + +She was here, then. And she had read Raimond’s face aright. + +“Heriot! Father Maurice!” Andria shrieked from a stair-window, and +dared not wait for their coming. She ran on blindly, and burst into the +room that was Beryl’s and Mrs. Fuller’s. + +There, having waited irresolute a little too long, instead of running +to the carriage Father Maurice had told her would be waiting by the +chapel, was Beryl Corselas struggling hideously with a man, who had +also a carriage waiting with a bullet-headed boy for driver. + +“Raimond!” Andria cried. “Run--they are coming! Let her go.” + +At her voice he let Beryl go; stood an instant, staring. + +“Go!” said Andria, in a dreadful whisper. “Go! Thank God that I am your +wife, and must hold my tongue. It is my shame that I ever loved you.” + +“Andria,” said her husband softly, very easily. “The Lovely Andria!” + +He came toward her, with the long, easy step she had loved. + +“Devil!” he cried, and struck her between the eyes. + +But there was no force in the blow. A girl’s whole weight had caught +him back from behind. He shook it off, and ran down a back stair. Lord +Erceldonne’s son had nothing to stay for. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +THE EXPIATION OF MOTHER FELICITAS. + + +“Andria!” said Beryl wildly, unbelievingly. + +“Andria, they told me you were dead.” + +She had never spoken when the woman she thought dead had run in; pale, +breathlessly, but Andria herself and no ghost. She had only gazed +dumfounded; then leaped with the instinct of an animal, and caught +Erle’s arm as he would have paid his debt to his wife in full. + +“Oh! how did you get here?” + +“I’ll tell you in a minute.” + +Erle’s fist had only grazed her, yet she was leaning helplessly against +the wall. She hated him, despised him, and yet--he had struck her; and +if he had held out a finger instead she would have gone to the ends of +the earth with him still. He was gone out of her sight forever. What +ailed her that she could not be glad? + +“Didn’t know I was coming?” she forced herself to speak. “Didn’t Father +Maurice tell you?” + +“Nothing but that Mrs. Fuller was to take my place and I was to run +to the carriage. We spoke to her out in the hall, and she was like a +child. She did everything he said. She hated Erceldonne, but she was +afraid of him. She had owed him money she could not pay; he had her +note and could have taken everything she had. Father Maurice told her I +would pay everything she owed if she helped me. It was she who thought +of cutting off my hair for a wig. Oh, never mind all that! Tell me what +has happened?” + +She dared not ask for Heriot, lest only one, not two, might have come +back alive from Flores. + +“Look!” said Andria gently. “Salome and the poor old man saved us.” + +Her heart contracted as she thought of the lunatic running over the +moors for his life. He had seemed sane enough till now; had begged +them with tears to take him to England to see the dearest of his +soul again. Had been times messenger to Beryl before they dared come +themselves, and now would finish his life in an asylum, away from the +animals that he loved. + +But Beryl thought of only one thing, one person. Here in the doorway, +behind the priest, stood Brian Heriot, alive. He stretched out his +hands, and she ran to him. At the sight the woman whom love would know +no more turned away. + +“Father Maurice,” she said, “let us get away from this dreadful place.” + +“Wait,” the priest whispered, “they are bringing him in. It is better +for her not to see.” + +“Him!” she stammered, thinking of the man who had run from the house. + +“Lord Erceldonne.” + +He laid a hand on her arm. + +“Mr. Erle has gone,” he said quietly, knowing she would never speak +that name again. “I must stay and arrange matters for the funeral.” + +“But I don’t really understand yet,” Beryl cried out still in the +embrace of Heriot. “You were shot and----” + +“The poor old crazy man you sent saved me. Salome nursed me back to +life again.” + +“The old man!” she cried, with a cry that stopped Father Maurice and +Andria in their low talk. Beryl dragged her hand from Heriot’s. + +“Let me go,” she said, “don’t touch me! I am his granddaughter. It was +no wonder I could manage the cats. I am like him, I----” + +“You are no relation to him,” said Father Maurice quietly. “Your mother +was his adopted daughter; but he had gone too crazy to remember it. She +ran away from him and married Lord Erceldonne’s elder brother. You are +their daughter.” + +“My mother?” she said, in a thick whisper. + +“Died long ago,” he would not tell her how yet, “and you were stolen +and hidden away in the convent. Only Mother Felicitas knew you were +the heiress of Erceldonne. The Lord Erceldonne you knew had never any +right to the title, which is one of the few that descend in direct +line to male or female heirs. You would have been left to die on that +island, but for a fortune left you by your mother’s brother. The papers +were full of advertisements for you; so, you see, you were suddenly +worth more alive than dead. A marriage with you would not only secure +the succession to Raimond Erle, but set him and his father on their +feet as to money. You would not have been told of your parentage till +you were married. A penniless waif might accept without question a +husband whom a viscountess in her own right would refuse.” + +“But Andria! He couldn’t have married me.” + +“Not if she lived. But he thought her dead. It was she, under Heaven, +who saved you. Raimond Erle was married to her by me, at that time a +minister in the Presbyterian church, who had given up my charge because +I could not preach those things I no longer believed. When he heard, +afterward, that I had become a priest of the Catholic church, he made +use of it to tell her she was not, nor never had been, his wife. + +“Wife or no wife, she was a menace to him; he left her to die. The +black servant saved her; the madman gave money to her and Mr. Heriot +which brought them to England; to Mother Felicitas, to me, who had +performed the ceremony Erle dared call null and void.” + +“Mother Felicitas!” she cried. “Do you mean I must go back to her? I +won’t! I’ll----” + +“Mother Felicitas is dead,” the priest said gravely. “But you are +wrong to hate her. She was your friend--in the end. It was she who, +when Erceldonne was found tenantless, thought of this Moorland house. +She, who, on hearing Mrs. Erle’s story, sent for me, the chaplain of +the convent, the only person in all England, by God’s grace, who knew +of her marriage. I went to London and discovered Mr. Erle as if by +accident; I seemed to believe all he told me. And when I came to this +evil house, his wife, Heriot, and the police were at my heels. But I +had no time to tell you.” + +“But Mother Felicitas,” she said incredulously. “She hates me!” + +“Yes,” he answered slowly, “she hated you, but not as you thought. She +was a great sinner, but she died like a martyr. She repented.” + +Even now he remembered with how great a courage. There had been no +half-measures in her atonement; no shielding of herself, or of that +reputation that had been dearer than life. + +He had been as stunned as the nuns when, after a service for the dead +for which she asked him, the Mother Superior had risen in her stall in +the chapel and faced them all--every nun in the convent and himself. + +She was the color of ashes, even to her lips; and she swayed as she +stood. + +She began very quietly; she asked their prayers, their patience. + +When her long story was done, each nun was on her knees. Was the +reverent mother raving, that she should call herself a murderess, a +hypocrite, a blasphemer? That she gave chapter and verse of her sins, +her great humiliation? + +She stood in the silence that was full of hushed weeping, and beckoned +to the convent chaplain, then led the way to the confessional. + +In agony she wrote a deposition, in agony she gave those directions +that had saved Beryl Corselas, and fell on her knees. + +“You will excommunicate me!” she said. + +Father Maurice had raised his hands, and spoken. And as he finished a +great cry rang out to the listening nuns. + +He had absolved her, as One Higher than he had forgiven the dying thief +on the cross. But when he would have raised her from her knees, she was +dead. + +He roused himself now, and looked for a long moment at Beryl Corselas. + +“Pray,” he said gently, “that you may make as good an ending.” Then he +went away, to begin his watch by the dead. + +“Come,” said Heriot softly. “Let us go.” + +And, with Andria’s hand in hers, Beryl Corselas, who was Beryl Corselas +no longer, left that house of crime. + +There is little more to tell. + +The madman who had paid his lifelong debt to Lord Erceldonne was never +found. If he perished miserably on the wild moorlands, his misshapen +bones were never discovered; if with the cunning of madness, he made +his way back to the Azores, there was no one who suggested it to the +police, though perhaps Andria Erle might have been able to, had she +wished. + +Raimond Erle, rather than face bankruptcy and disinheritance, slipped +away to Mexico; and there he died in a gambling-brawl. + +In his stead there reigned Beryl, Viscountess Erceldonne, whose husband +was the Honorable Brian Heriot, next heir to the baronage of Heriot, +for his brother never married. He was true to his word; he never +touched a penny of her vast fortune. She spent it nearly all in helping +the outcast and wretched. + +The sham Mrs. Fuller was a white slave no more. She lived at peace with +the husband she loved--the man whom Lord Erceldonne had sworn to ruin, +and thus had maintained an overmastering influence over her. + +Ebenezer Davids lighted lamps no more. He and his wife left the lodge +at the great gate of Erceldonne, and he prided himself greatly that +it was he who first discovered his present mistress was “the spit and +image of his lordship.” + +And the whole truth about Mother Felicitas Lady Erceldonne never knew. +There is no loyalty like that of religious women. Not a nun in the +convent ever opened her lips, not one but was helped on the narrow path +by the memory of the expiation of Mother Felicitas. + +Salome, faithful still, worshiped Beryl’s child, which was named Andria. + +And Andria? + +At twenty-four no one can say their life is done. + +Andria Erle took up hers and was living it, not a pensioner on Beryl’s +bounty, nor a nun in a convent. + +On the boards of the Queen’s Theater she became an actress whom princes +were glad to applaud, whom great ladies visit. Men laid titles and +fortunes at her feet, but she remained Andria Erle; beautiful, gentle, +and a little unapproachable! + +Time, instead of adding lines to her face, had smoothed the hardness +and bitterness from it. + +But to no one had she ever spoken of Raimond Erle. + + +THE END. + + +No. 1119 of THE NEW EAGLE SERIES, entitled “In Love’s Paradise,” by +Charlotte M. Stanley, is bright and entertaining from the first line +and will keep the reader engrossed until the last chapter is read. + + + + +15c + +is the right price--the fair price under present conditions. + +Therefore, the + +S. & S. Novels + +sell at fifteen cents, no more, no less. + +We have an established reputation for fair dealing acquired during +sixty years of active publishing. + +The reduction in the price of our novels means that we are living up to +our reputation. + + + STREET & SMITH CORPORATION + 79 Seventh Avenue New York City + + + + + _Adventure Stories_ + _Detective Stories_ + _Western Stories_ + _Love Stories_ + _Sea Stories_ + +All classes of fiction are to be found among the Street & Smith novels. +Our line contains reading matter for every one, irrespective of age or +preference. + +The person who has only a moderate sum to spend on reading matter will +find this line a veritable gold mine. + + + STREET & SMITH CORPORATION, + 79 Seventh Avenue, + New York, N. Y. + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + +Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. + +Table of contents has been added and placed into the public domain by +the transcriber. + +The line: “‘Miss Holbeach; thank you!’ He just glanced at” was missing +from the book due to a typesetting error; the lost text was restored +from the original serial appearance in _Street & Smith’s New York +Weekly_, v. 54, no. 50 (September 30, 1899), page 1. + +On page 214, the line “the words died on her tongue remembered how the +girl had mastered the jaguar” appears to be missing words. The original +serial installment for this chapter could not be located, and this is +reproduced here as printed in the book version. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75930 *** diff --git a/75930-h/75930-h.htm b/75930-h/75930-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..acb4fa3 --- /dev/null +++ b/75930-h/75930-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12319 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Her evil genius; or, Within love's call | 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; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +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%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } +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; +} + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.bbox {border: 2px solid;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* 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;} +.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; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent1 {text-indent: -2.5em;} +.poetry .indent38 {text-indent: 16em;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowe5 {width: 5em;} +.illowp52 {width: 52%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp52 {width: 100%;} + +.right-heading { text-align: right; margin-right: 4em; } +.large { font-size: 150%; } +.small { font-size: 75%; } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75930 ***</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp52" id="cover" style="max-width: 121.9375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<p class="center"><b>NEW EAGLE SERIES NO. 1118</b></p> + +<h1><span class="smcap">Her Evil +Genius</span></h1> + +<p class="center"><i>By</i> <span class="large"><b>Adelaide Stirling</b></span> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"><b>POPULAR COPYRIGHTS</b></p> +</div> + +<h2 style="margin: 0">New Eagle Series</h2> + +<p class="center"><b>PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS</b></p> + +<p class="center"><b>Carefully Selected Love Stories</b></p> + +<p class="center"><b><i>Note the Authors!</i></b></p> + + +<p>There is such a profusion of good books in this list, that it +is an impossibility to urge you to select any particular title or +author’s work. All that we can say is that any line that contains +the complete works of Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Charles Garvice, +Mrs. Harriet Lewis, May Agnes Fleming, Wenona Gilman, Mrs. +Alex McVeigh Miller, and other writers of the same type, is +worthy of your attention, especially when the price has been +set at 15 cents the volume.</p> + +<p>These books range from 256 to 320 pages. They are printed +from good type, and are readable from start to finish.</p> + +<p>If you are looking for clean-cut, honest value, then we state +most emphatically that you will find it in this line.</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT</i></p> + +<hr> + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdr">1</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Queen Bess</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">2</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Ruby’s Reward</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">7</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Two Keys</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">9</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Virginia Heiress</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">12</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Edrie’s Legacy</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">17</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Leslie’s Loyalty</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(His Love So True)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">22</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Elaine</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">24</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Wasted Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(On Love’s Altar)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">41</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Her Heart’s Desire</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(An Innocent Girl)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">44</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">That Dowdy</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">50</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Her Ransom</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Paid For)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">55</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Thrice Wedded</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">66</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Witch Hazel</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">70</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Sydney</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(A Wilful Young Woman)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">73</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Marquis</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">77</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Tina</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">79</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Out of the Past</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Marjorie)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">84</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Imogene</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Dumaresq’s Temptation)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">85</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">88</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Virgie’s Inheritance</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">95</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Wilful Maid</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Philippa)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">98</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Claire</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(The Mistress of Court Regna)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">99</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Audrey’s Recompense</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">102</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Sweet Cymbeline</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Bellmaire)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">109</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Signa’s Sweetheart</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Lord Delamere’s Bride)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">111</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Faithful Shirley</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">117</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">She Loved Him</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">119</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">’Twixt Smile and Tear</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Dulcie)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">122</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Grazia’s Mistake</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">130</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Passion Flower</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Madge)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">133</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Max</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">136</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Unseen Bridegroom</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">138</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Fatal Wooing</td><td class="tdr">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">141</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Lady Evelyn</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">144</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Dorothy’s Jewels</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">146</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Magdalen’s Vow</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">151</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Heiress of Glen Gower</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">155</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Nameless Dell</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">157</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Who Wins</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">166</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Masked Bridal</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">168</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Thrice Lost, Thrice Won</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">174</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">His Guardian Angel</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">177</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A True Aristocrat</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">181</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Baronet’s Bride</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">188</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Dorothy Arnold’s Escape</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">199</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Geoffrey’s Victory</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">203</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Only One Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">210</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Wild Oats</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">213</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Heiress of Egremont</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">215</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Only a Girl’s Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">219</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Lost: A Pearle</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">222</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Lily of Mordaunt</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">223</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Leola Dale’s Fortune</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">231</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Earl’s Heir</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Lady Norah)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">233</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Nora</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">236</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Her Humble Lover</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(The Usurper; or, The Gipsy Peer)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">242</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Wounded Heart</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Sweet as a Rose)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">244</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Hoiden’s Conquest</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">250</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Woman’s Soul</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Doris; or, Behind the Footlights)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">255</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Little Marplot</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">257</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Martyred Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Iris; or, Under the Shadows)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">266</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Welfleet Mystery</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">267</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Jeanne</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Barriers Between)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">268</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">272</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">So Fair, So False</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(The Beauty of the Season)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">276</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">So Nearly Lost</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(The Springtime of Love)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">277</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Brownie’s Triumph</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">280</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Love’s Dilemma</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(For an Earldom)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">282</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Forsaken Bride</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">283</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">My Lady Pride</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Floris)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">287</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Lady of Darracourt</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">288</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Sibyl’s Influence</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">291</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Mysterious Wedding Ring</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">292</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">For Her Only</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Diana)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">296</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Heir of Vering</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">299</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Little Miss Whirlwind</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">300</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Spider and the Fly</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Violet)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">303</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Queen of the Isle</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">304</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Stanch as a Woman</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(A Maiden’s Sacrifice)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">305</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Led by Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “Stanch as a Woman”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">309</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Heiress of Castle Cliffs</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">312</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Woven on Fate’s Loom, and The Snowdrift</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">315</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Dark Secret</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">317</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Ione</td><td class="tdr">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(Adrien Le Roy)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">318</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Stanch of Heart</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">322</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Mildred</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">326</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Parted by Fate</td><td class="tdr">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">327</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">He Loves Me</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">328</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">He Loves Me Not</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">330</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Aikenside</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">333</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Stella’s Fortune</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">(The Sculptor’s Wooing)</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">334</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Miss McDonald</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">339</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">His Heart’s Queen</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">340</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Bad Hugh. Vol. I.</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">341</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Bad Hugh. Vol. II.</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">344</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Tresillian Court</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">345</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Scorned Wife</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">346</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Guy Tresillian’s Fate</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">347</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Eyes of Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">348</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Hearts of Youth</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">351</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Churchyard Betrothal</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">352</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Family Pride. Vol. I.</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">353</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Family Pride. Vol. II.</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">354</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Love Comedy</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">360</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Ashes of Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">361</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Heart Triumphant</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">367</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Pride of Her Life</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">368</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Won By Love’s Valor</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">372</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Girl in a Thousand</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">373</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Thorn Among Roses</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “A Girl in a Thousand”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">380</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Her Double Life</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">381</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Sunshine of Love</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “Her Double Life”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">382</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Mona</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">391</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Marguerite’s Heritage</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">399</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Betsey’s Transformation</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">407</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Esther, the Fright</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">415</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Trixy</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">440</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Edna’s Secret Marriage</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">449</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Bailiff’s Scheme</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">450</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Rosamond’s Love</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “The Bailiff’s Scheme”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">451</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Helen’s Victory</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">456</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Vixen’s Treachery</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">457</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Adrift in the World</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “A Vixen’s Treachery”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">458</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">When Love Meets Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">464</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Old Life’s Shadows</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">465</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Outside Her Eden</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “The Old Life’s Shadows”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">474</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Belle of the Season</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">475</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Love Before Pride</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “The Belle of the Season”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">481</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Wedded, Yet No Wife</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">489</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Lucy Harding</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">495</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Norine’s Revenge</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">511</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Golden Key</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">512</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Heritage of Love</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “The Golden Key”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">519</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Magic Cameo</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">520</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Heatherford Fortune</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"></td><td class="tdl" colspan="2">Sequel to “The Magic Cameo”</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">525</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Sweet Kitty Clover</td><td class="tdr">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">531</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Better Than Life</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">534</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Lotta, the Cloak Model</td><td class="tdr">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">542</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Once in a Life</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">543</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Veiled Bride</td><td class="tdr">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">548</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">’Twas Love’s Fault</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">551</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Pity—Not Love</td><td class="tdr">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">553</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Queen Kate</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">554</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Step by Step</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">557</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">In Cupid’s Chains</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">630</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Verdict of the Heart</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">635</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Coronet of Shame</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">640</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Girl of Spirit</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">645</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Jest of Fate</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">648</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Gertrude Elliott’s Crucible</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">650</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Diana’s Destiny</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">655</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Linked by Fate</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">663</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Creatures of Destiny</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">671</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">When Love Is Young</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">676</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">My Lady Beth</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">679</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Gold in the Gutter</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">712</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Love and a Lie</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">721</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Girl from the South</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">730</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">John Hungerford’s Redemption</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">741</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Fatal Ruby</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">749</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Heart of a Maid</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">758</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Woman in It</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">774</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Love in a Snare</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">775</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">My Love Kitty</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">776</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">That Strange Girl</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">777</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Nellie</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">778</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Miss Estcourt; or Olive</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">818</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Girl Who Was True</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">826</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Irony of Love</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">896</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Terrible Secret</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">897</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">When To-morrow Came</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">904</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Mad Marriage</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">905</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Woman Without Mercy</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">912</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">One Night’s Mystery</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">913</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Cost of a Lie</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">920</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Silent and True</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">921</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Treasure Lost</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">925</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Forrest House</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">926</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">He Loved Her Once</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">930</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Kate Danton</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">931</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Proud as a Queen</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">935</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Queenie Hetherton</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">936</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Mightier Than Pride</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">940</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Heir of Charlton</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">941</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">While Love Stood Waiting</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">945</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Gretchen</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">946</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Beauty That Faded</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">950</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Carried by Storm</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">951</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Love’s Dazzling Glitter</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">954</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Marguerite</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">955</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">When Love Spurs Onward</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">960</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Lost for a Woman</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">961</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">His to Love or Hate</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">964</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Paul Ralston’s First Love</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">965</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Where Love’s Shadows Lie Deep</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">968</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Tracy Diamonds</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">969</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">She Loved Another</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">972</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Cromptons</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">973</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Her Husband Was a Scamp</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">975</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Merivale Banks</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">978</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The One Girl in the World</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">979</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">His Priceless Jewel</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">982</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Millionaire’s Daughter and Other Stories</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">983</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Doctor Hathern’s Daughters</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">984</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Colonel’s Bride</td><td class="tdr">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">988</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Her Ladyship’s Diamonds, and Other Stories</td><td class="tdr">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">998</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Sharing Her Crime</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">999</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Heiress of Sunset Hall</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1004</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Maude Percy’s Secret</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1005</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Adopted Daughter</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1010</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Sisters of Torwood</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1015</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Changed Heart</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1016</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Enchanted</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1025</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Wife’s Tragedy</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1026</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Brought to Reckoning</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1027</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Madcap Sweetheart</td><td class="tdr">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1028</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">An Unhappy Bargain</td><td class="tdr">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1029</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Only a Working Girl</td><td class="tdr">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1030</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Unbidden Guest</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1031</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Man and His Millions</td><td class="tdr">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1032</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Mabel’s Sacrifice</td><td class="tdr">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1033</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Was He Worth It?</td><td class="tdr">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1034</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Her Two Suitors</td><td class="tdr">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1035</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Edith Percival</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1036</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Caught in the Snare</td><td class="tdr">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1037</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Love Concealed</td><td class="tdr">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1038</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Price of Happiness</td><td class="tdr">By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1039</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Lucky Man</td><td class="tdr">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1040</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">A Forced Promise</td><td class="tdr">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1041</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Crime of Love</td><td class="tdr">By Barbara Howard</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1042</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">The Bride’s Opals</td><td class="tdr">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">1043</td><td class="tdc">—</td><td class="tdl">Love That Was Cursed</td><td class="tdr">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2>HER EVIL GENIUS;</h2> +<p class="center"><b>OR,</b></p> +<p class="center large"><b>Within Love’s Call</b></p> +<p class="p6 center small">BY</p> +<p class="center">ADELAIDE STIRLING</p> +<p class="center small"> +Author of “A Forgotten Love,” “Love and Spite,”<br> +“A Sacrifice to Love,” etc.</p> +<p class="p2"> </p> +<figure class="figcenter illowe5" id="i1"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i1.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<p class="center p4">STREET & SMITH CORPORATION<br> +PUBLISHERS<br> +79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York<br> +</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="bbox" style="margin: 0 30%;"> +<p class="center"> +Copyright, 1899<br> +By STREET & SMITH</p> +<hr class="r5"> +<p class="center">Her Evil Genius</p> +</div> + +<p class="p6 center">(Printed in the United States of America)<br> +<br> +All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign<br> +languages, including the Scandinavian.<br> +</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="HER_EVIL_GENIUS">HER EVIL GENIUS.</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="center"> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. THE CONVENT PRELUDE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. A FRIENDLESS FUGITIVE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. THE WHEELS OF FATE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. THE LOVELY ANDRIA.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. HER EVIL GENIUS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. LORD ERCELDONNE MARKS THE KING.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. FIRST BLOOD TO ERCELDONNE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. A WOMAN’S DIARY.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. ON BOARD THE YACHT.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. THE HOUSE BY THE SEA.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. TWO WARNINGS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. THE HAUNTING EYES.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. THE PATTERING FOOTSTEPS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. THE EYES OUTSIDE THE JALOUSY.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. A STRANGE POWER.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. IN THE WOODS OF PARADISE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII. OLD SINS AWAKENED.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII. DOUBTING THOMAS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX. TRUSTED TOO LATE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI. STRANGERS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII. BEHIND THE CYPRESS BOUGHS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII. THE CRY IN THE STARLIGHT.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV. THE MADMAN.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV. THE LAUGH IN THE DARK.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI. A SEALED PACKET.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII. THE HAND OF FATE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII. A MURDER IN THE DARK.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX. THE DEATH-TRAP.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX. MOTHER FELICITAS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI. HOPELESS AND HELPLESS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII. AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII. A DREAM OF VENGEANCE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV. A LITTLE GOLD.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV. THE BEGINNING OF THE JUDGMENT.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI. “A BOY!”</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII. THE DARK HOUSE.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII. DREAMS.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX. TAKEN UNAWARES.</a><br> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL. THE EXPIATION OF MOTHER FELICITAS.</a><br> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE CONVENT PRELUDE.</p> + + +<p>The summer holidays had begun and the great convent +school was deserted, all its pupils gone but two, who were +in the alcove belonging to the elder of them, and, as if that +breakage of rule were not enough, were seated on the +small white bed which was counted a crime to rumple.</p> + +<p>The elder girl was eighteen, and after to-day convent +rules would concern her no more, for that very afternoon +she was going out into “the world” to earn her own living +as a governess. She was wild with excitement, and would +have been enraptured with the foretaste of liberty had it +not been for the child who clung to her, sick and exhausted +with stormy crying.</p> + +<p>She looked down on her pityingly, and the reverend +mother could have told you Andria Heathcote was not +given to compassion. Her red-brown hair grew too +strongly on her forehead for that; her full rose lips were +too heavy. Yet something in the very strangeness of the +girl who clutched her had caught at her hard young heart.</p> + +<p>For Beryl Corselas was only a child, and young for her +years at that. It seemed to Andria that the sins of eleven +years old were too seriously taken when they were considered +crimes, and yet her goblin ways were enough to provoke +a saint—or Sister Felicitas!</p> + +<p>“Beryl, look here,” repeated Andria; “don’t cry any +more. I’ll write to you. I’m not going very far away.”</p> + +<p>The child lifted her face from the girl’s shoulder. It +was a curious face, with something almost vacant about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> +it, yet what the lack was no one could quite say. She had +extraordinary eyes, strangely and uncannily beautiful, so +light a brown as to be almost yellow, tawny golden under +the heavy eyelashes, that were black as ink. The warm +whiteness of her cheeks was blurred with crying, paled +with real despair, and the startling crimson of the childish +lips had been hard bitten to check the sobs that might be +heard.</p> + +<p>She pushed away the long cloud of straight hair that +was not black nor brown, but dusky, a cloud of darkness +with no color to be named, from her face, and spoke with +sullen, unchildlike contempt.</p> + +<p>“You won’t write!” Her eyes were like burned-out +coals. “You’ll mean to, but you won’t. You’re always +trying to save other people’s feelings outside, but inside +you never care. You’ll forget!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try not to,” said Andria, with a sudden pang. Was +she really what Beryl said? Did her hatred of giving +pain really make her more cruel in the end? She kissed +the wet cheek.</p> + +<p>“If I do forget, if I am like that, will you promise me +something? Remember that I don’t mean to forget, and +that I don’t, really. Think to yourself it’s just my way, +and that some day you’ll see me again. Will you try, +Beryl?”</p> + +<p>“It’s no use my trying anything without you—in the +house with Sister Felicitas!”</p> + +<p>“Keep out of her way, then! Why are you always getting +into her black books?”</p> + +<p>“Because she hates me. I’m never myself with her.”</p> + +<p>“You are with Mother Benedicta!”</p> + +<p>“I might as well be comfortable with the statue in the +chapel! I see about as much of her.”</p> + +<p>She clung suddenly to the arm that enwrapped her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s you I want—you!” she gasped. “If I’m going +to be good it will be for you. Who else do I like? Just +you and animals—and I haven’t any of them except my +rabbits. And I hate, hate, hate Sister Felicitas!”</p> + +<p>A shadow, tall, slight, and angular, fell on them.</p> + +<p>Andria looked up with a start, since convent tradition<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> +was still strong in her, and she was breaking rules openly. +Sister Felicitas stood in the doorway, black against the +sunlit passage.</p> + +<p>“You’ve no right to be here, Beryl Corselas,” her voice +seemed to float out into the shaded whiteness of the alcove, +calm and cool as frost. “Go away and do your weeding. +Your garden is not a pretty sight.”</p> + +<p>Andria felt the quick shudder in the child’s body.</p> + +<p>“Please, sister,” she said, “let me stay. Andria is going +away.”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing to do with that. But while I am in +charge of the kitchen-garden you must do your share +there. Go at once,” she said very softly, but the downcast +eyes were angry. Andria Heathcote could not be reprimanded, +and Sister Felicitas longed to do it; she was always +making that hateful child rebel against lawful authority. +But to-morrow she would be gone.</p> + +<p>“A few minutes more or less cannot matter to you. Go +to your weeding,” she said scornfully.</p> + +<p>Beryl Corselas sat up, her slim, childish body quivering.</p> + +<p>“I won’t go!” her voice low and passionate. “You know +there are no weeds for me to dig up. I hate gardens. +I wish everything in yours would die, or else choke you +when you ate it—nasty, nasty old onions!” she cried, in a +transport of temper.</p> + +<p>“Beryl!” Even Andria, who hated Sister Felicitas, was +aghast.</p> + +<p>“You can do your weeding or not, that is for you +to say,” said Sister Felicitas, whose face was quite untroubled, +but she was trilling her fingers against her black +habit. “But it is for me to say what will happen to you +if you disobey.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care what you do to me!”</p> + +<p>“No?” Andria knew that far-off sound in Sister Felicitas’ +voice; there was not a girl in the convent whose +nerves did not twitch when she heard it. “Then I suppose +I can send those rabbits of yours to market! It will be +time for rabbit-soup soon.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, no!” The child’s voice was dreadful in its +wild scream of supplication. If there had been any one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> +in the empty corridor they must have hurried to the sound +of it.</p> + +<p>“Not my bunnies. I love them. They’re truly people. +You—you couldn’t be so wicked!”</p> + +<p>“If you can talk such nonsense about your rabbits, the +sooner they are gone the better,” said Sister Felicitas icily. +“No—get up, child! You will tear my habit.”</p> + +<p>For Beryl Corselas was on the floor, clutching at the +immaculate black folds of the sister’s robe.</p> + +<p>“You won’t take them away—say you won’t, sister!” +She paid no attention to the hand that tried to disengage +hers. “I’ll do anything, I’ll work in the garden, I’ll say +I’m sorry——” The miserable voice made a listener start, +but Sister Felicitas only drew her skirts away deftly.</p> + +<p>“That you will be obliged to do,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I’ll beg your pardon now,” sobbed Beryl, “only please +don’t send my rabbits to market! I’ll go and weed—I +truly will.”</p> + +<p>“You make an idol of senseless things. You will be +better without them.” In “the world” the tone would +have been called cruel.</p> + +<p>The child jumped to her feet, her wild, dusky hair +streaming, her face white and furious.</p> + +<p>“If you take them away I’ll kill you!” she cried out, +shaking and gasping. “I hate you! You make me wicked, +and then punish me. I——” She stopped as if something +had turned her to stone.</p> + +<p>In the doorway stood the reverend mother. Mother +Benedicta, who had never been known to visit an alcove, +who was high above the girls and their rulers, was in +front of her, a gracious, stately figure in her black habit +and white bands. There was a curious look on her beautiful, +placid face, enough to stop the tongue even of Beryl +Corselas in a temper. Yet she was not looking at the +child, but at Sister Felicitas.</p> + +<p>“I think breaking rules and sorrow at Andria’s going +has made some one a little hysterical this morning! Is +that it, Beryl? Come to me, my child;” and she put an +arm round the sinner, who stood petrified, as if at the +sight of a saint from heaven. Mother Benedicta’s cool<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> +fingers felt the hot throbbing of the child’s lax hands, and +her face grew sterner.</p> + +<p>“You are sorry for your rudeness to the good sister, is +it not so, Beryl? Yes!” at the dumb nod that was a lie +of despair. “I will see to the child, then, sister. I know +you are busy. Sister Ignatia is waiting for you. She +needs your help.”</p> + +<p>Sister Felicitas’ face grew white.</p> + +<p>“Yes, reverend mother,” she returned quietly, but her +face was not quiet as she left the alcove. To have Andria +Heathcote incite that hideous child to mutiny was bad +enough, but to have Mother Benedicta set aside her authority +was worse. And there had been that in the face +of the reverend mother that told Sister Felicitas that even +rancorous hatred must go softly.</p> + +<p>“Reverend mother, my rabbits!” gasped the culprit, as +the sister’s steps died away. “You won’t let her take +them?”</p> + +<p>“It was not meant, Beryl! The good sister thought +to touch your heart; that is a hard little heart, is it not?” +she said, smiling. “But run away now and wash your +face. Then you can go to my room and wait there quietly +till Andria and I come to you. I will ask Sister Felicitas +to let her onions wait for to-day.”</p> + +<p>But there was no smile on her face as the child slipped +away, radiant with gratitude.</p> + +<p>“It was a pity you had her here, Andria!” she said. +“But it is the holidays, after all—only it provokes Sister +Felicitas, who is always so conscientious.”</p> + +<p>Andria Heathcote was brave enough, but, as a child +had been quick to see, she was too apt to let things go, to +put a good face on ugly matters. Yet now that curious +politeness of hers left her.</p> + +<p>“You heard, reverend mother,” she said quickly. “That +goes on all day long. The child is growing sullen and +strange.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that, Andria?” Mother Benedicta was +not apt to talk so freely, but Andria was going away.</p> + +<p>“Yes, reverend mother! I knew you did not know.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> +And it is true”—flushing at her own boldness—“that the +sister dislikes Beryl.”</p> + +<p>Mother Benedicta sighed.</p> + +<p>“The child is difficult, they tell me, and incorrigibly +idle;” but she said it chiefly to hear the answer.</p> + +<p>“She can speak Spanish, and she works hard at that, +though no one knows but Sister De Sales. School is bad +for her; the girls bully her. Could you not send her home +sometimes, dear mother?”</p> + +<p>“She has no home; did you not know? She has been +here since she was a baby. We do not even know who +she is.” For once the Mother Superior had forgotten +herself.</p> + +<p>“Sister Felicitas knows,” said Andria quietly.</p> + +<p>“What! Why do you say that?”</p> + +<p>“Because”—once launched, Andria was floating well—“I +heard her tell the child that she came by her mad temper +honestly—was her mother over again.”</p> + +<p>Mother Benedicta stood dumb.</p> + +<p>She had heard more than she liked of Sister Felicitas’ +methods this morning, but this passed all bearing.</p> + +<p>“You must be mistaken,” she said, for the honor of the +convent, but Andria saw her breathing quicken. “But I +have been wrong. After this I will see more of the child. +I promise you that much.”</p> + +<p>To think of Sister Felicitas having known all this time +the parentage of Beryl Corselas, which had been the mystery +of the quiet convent lives, was too much even for +her charity. It seemed but yesterday since a woman, +wild, despairing, with the hand of death already on her, +had brought the child to the convent. She had been told +that no baby of three years could be taken, and had sunk +into the nearest chair as if her last hope were gone.</p> + +<p>Mother Benedicta had pitied her, seeing her so ill. +(Afterward she had altered her mind about the illness; +it might easily have been furious disappointment that had +sapped her strange visitor’s strength.) She left the room +to tell a lay sister to bring wine and food, but, though she +was absent only a minute, when she returned the woman +was gone. The window was open on the garden, and in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> +the room sat a pale, yellow-eyed child, in exquisite clothing +that was marked “Beryl Corselas.”</p> + +<p>That was all. Never from that day to this had they +been able to find out anything more, and only that the convent +charter provided for certain charity pupils could the +rules have been stretched to keep the waif.</p> + +<p>Yet kept she was, and now a curious thrill made the +superior tremble. Yet it was impossible. It had been +six months before Sister Felicitas joined the community, +and the woman who had flung the child on their charity +had been pink-cheeked, golden-haired. Sister Felicitas +was pale and dark. And still the Mother Superior—— +She forced herself to speak.</p> + +<p>“I do not know what is to become of the child,” she +said. “As you say, she is very strange. I never hear any +good of her.”</p> + +<p>“There is good in her. But Sister Felicitas has a repulsion +for the child. You can see it.”</p> + +<p>“I hope not,” said the good woman; but her own +thoughts frightened her. “You had better write to her, +Andria. I will see she gets your letters.”</p> + +<p>She had quite forgotten the reason that had brought +her to Andria Heathcote’s alcove in this sudden suspicion +that had sprung up. She looked unseeingly at the girl +who had spoken out against all her secretive nature. Yet +Andria’s was not an ordinary face, and worth the +watching.</p> + +<p>Cleverness and self-reliance were written on the forehead, +from which the hair was brushed back convent +fashion; cleverness again in the wide eyebrows; perfect +bravery was in the full-lipped mouth, and dogged patience +in the clean chin; but the warm blue eyes had a veiled +something in them that told of reluctance to speak out, +of a temper that would hold out a right hand to an enemy +and stab effectually with the left. Not from treachery, +but because things were more easily done in that manner.</p> + +<p>Mother Benedicta had meant to speak of these things, +but she turned away with only one sentence as she signed +to the girl to follow her.</p> + +<p>“You will have to fight your own battles, Andria,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> +she said, almost absently. “Do it well and openly, as you +fought Beryl’s to-day. And do not forget that this convent +life has been but the prelude to your warfare.”</p> + +<p>Andria bowed her head for the blessing that followed. +She thought the reverend mother looked strangely old +and worn to-day.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A FRIENDLESS FUGITIVE.</p> + + +<p>Mother Benedicta, careful of many things, had meant +to add the mystery of Beryl Corselas to her burden, but +fate was stronger than she, who had been for so many +years the capable head of the community.</p> + +<p>Two days after Andria’s departure, death had called +her very quietly. Unanointed, unshriven, and with the +questions she had meant to ask Sister Felicitas yet unspoken, +the good mother had followed the beaten pathway +the saints have left toward heaven.</p> + +<p>It was Sister Felicitas who found her dead in her bed, +but it was not prayer for the superior’s soul that sent the +sister to her knees, but utter thankfulness that a stumbling-block +was gone from her path. Beryl Corselas +heard the news in stony silence. Only once had the reverend +mother ever noticed her; and yet she felt alone. +Andria, though the weeks went by, never wrote, just as +the child had prophesied; for with all her unchildlike +wisdom she never thought that it was Sister Felicitas who +opened the letters now, and that Andria’s promise was +well kept for a year.</p> + +<p>After that year perhaps she dared not write to the convent—who +shall say? But her letters ceased. And Sister +Felicitas rose steadily in the community, till five years +after Mother Benedicta’s death she had been made +Mother Superior.</p> + +<p>Only Beryl Corselas knew what the story of those +five years had been. Years of injustice, of petty tortures—Mother +Benedicta was not cold in her grave before the +rabbits were killed by the cook before the very eyes of +their shrieking, fainting owner—years of slow warping +of a child’s spirit till, now a girl of sixteen, she was deceitful +from fear, silent from sullen hopelessness, and +almost ugly from misery.</p> + +<p>She sat alone in an empty class-room, where her face<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +was but a white spot in the growing dusk of evening. +The heavy lids drooped over her tearless eyes; she was +past crying now, as she was past all childish things. +Mother Benedicta would have turned in her grave had +she seen how those years of pain had changed the child’s +looks, how tall and ill-nourished she was in her out-grown +convent uniform. Sister Felicitas punished by +depriving the growing girl of proper food; she was under +sentence now where she sat in the empty class-room, and +heard the clatter of other hungry girls in the refectory. +And hunger—and something else—was making her as +dangerous as a wild beast.</p> + +<p>“If I don’t get out of this I’ll kill her!” she thought, +clasping and unclasping her strong young hands. “And +I know she doesn’t mean me ever to get out. She means +to make me a nun, and it’s no use my telling Father +Parker I’ve no vocation, for he’s deaf, and never hears +what I say. She can take her time and yell at him. If I +shout in the confessional I only get punished. The other +nuns would stand up for me—some of them. But, though +this might keep me from being made a novice, they +couldn’t keep me from being made a lay sister; for it’s +in the charter that charity girls must pay the convent back +for their keep, somehow. And she’ll never let me go out +into the world to do it. I—I’d be willing to starve if I +could only get away!”</p> + +<p>She got up and went to the window, heedless of bumps +against the empty forms. But outside there was nothing +to see but a November garden, cold and barren, and a +homeless cat, crossing it furtively.</p> + +<p>The girl watched the miserable creature with the painful +sympathy she felt for all animals. In the dusk she +saw it leap nimbly to the top of the high wall and disappear. +The convent rebel did not even know what was +on the other side of that wall; but she knew too well +what was on this side. A lay sister’s life, spent in the +kitchens; in scrubbing and killing fowls. She shuddered. +And Mother Felicitas’ eye was always on her; always +with the same threat, the same malice.</p> + +<p>She peered into the twilight. The stray cat was gone.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> +Beryl Corselas stretched her young body, stiff with long +sitting, just as the cat itself might have done before it +started on its furtive journey. But when a sad-eyed nun +came and let her out of the locked class-room her face was +as sullenly vacant as usual. There was no one, not even +Mother Felicitas, full of self-conceit at her realized ambition, +to know that the girl’s pulses were playing a wild +tune that night, and that the childhood that had sat so +strangely on her had fallen from her like a garment.</p> + +<p>Unnoticed, Beryl slipped up to bed before the other +charity pupil; and undressed in their joint alcove. Pale +and too slender in her white cotton nightgown, she passed +under the white sheet that separated her cubicle from the +next. It belonged to a rich West Indian girl, and in a box +on the table were sovereigns, as she had known there +would be. Without a pang of hesitation Beryl Corselas +took two in the glimmer of the floating night-light. Then +she lifted the sheet and slipped under it, back to her own +alcove, just in time. As she put the coins noiselessly into +her bed, the stout girl who shared the alcove came in. +She whispered sharply, though talking was forbidden: +“You’re to be moved to-morrow; sent to the kitchen with +Sister Agnes. I wish I was you; you’ll get enough to +eat. Sister Agnes is just sweet.”</p> + +<p>Beryl raised her eyebrows significantly. The sister in +charge was clapping her hands as a signal for the girls +to say their evening prayers. But there were no prayers +on the lips of one girl on her knees.</p> + +<p>Would it ever be quiet? Would the tossing of the girls +never cease as they twisted on their narrow beds? It +seemed years to Beryl, lying motionless in hers, longing +for the dead middle of the night to bring quiet breathing +to the hundred sleepers round her. A wakeful devil +seemed to be making his rounds among them; girl after +girl turned, tossed, and coughed; not till long after midnight +was the hush settled and complete, and not till then +did Beryl Corselas, whose blood was thumping with suspense +and determination, stir on her hard bed.</p> + +<p>Absolutely without sound she sat upright and looked +about her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> + +<p>Her business would have been more easily done in +the dark, but in every alcove there floated a wick in +an inch of oil buoyed up in a jar full of water. In the +glimmering, unearthly light the white sheets separating +the alcoves seemed to stir, but she was used to that; +and to have put out the dull light would have waked +the heavy sleeper in the next bed.</p> + +<p>Barefooted, Beryl slipped to the cold floor, dressed, +put her stolen money in her pocket, and, shoes in hand, +crept through the wide corridor between the double row +of alcoves.</p> + +<p>Even the sister in charge heard no sounds as the light +step passed, and not a soul stirred in the convent as the +girl stole down the wide, polished stairs in her stocking +feet. In the lower flat it was dark; she was forced to +keep one hand stretched out at arm’s length before her +as she crept inch by inch through the silent house.</p> + +<p>The schoolroom door creaked as she opened it, but +once inside floods of moonlight made her way clear. She +looked round the room, where she had sat a hungry +prisoner from afternoon school till bedtime, and in her +fierce exultation at leaving it forgot she was still hungry.</p> + +<p>The window-fastening gave under her strong fingers, +the sash moved easily, without noise, and, as quietly as +the cat she had watched that evening, the girl dropped +in the frozen grass outside. Skirting the wall she +moved quickly to the very spot where the cat had crossed +it, from a kind of superstition that she must climb over +at no other place; and there mounted it with an effortless +spring just as the other wandering thing had +done.</p> + +<p>With a laugh she slipped to the ground and put on +the shoes she carried. For the cat had been a good +pilot. She stood on a road that she knew led to London, +and she stretched out her arms in a kind of rapture.</p> + +<p>She was free from Mother Felicitas at last!</p> + +<p>But a waving shadow that came suddenly before her +eyes killed her hasty joy. It was only the shadow of +a bare, crooked tree, but its outline was like an arm<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> +outstretched to catch her. “Beryl, you fool!” she thought. +“By morning you will be caught again unless there are +miles between you and the convent.”</p> + +<p>She began to run, and not a girl in the school could +run like her. Yard by yard she got over the hard road, +till by daylight she found herself in the suburbs of the +great city, though where she did not know. She walked +on soberly till she came to a baker’s shop, and there +bought a roll. There were early risers about, but no +one looked at her, for her plain hat and coat were +ordinary enough. Presently she grew bold enough to +stop at a street coffee-stall.</p> + +<p>The hot, strong stuff did her good, and as she paid +for it she began to think coherently for the first time +since she had gone to bed.</p> + +<p>“I must have a place, and I haven’t one!” she pondered +as she walked on refreshed. “If I could get to Andria +I should be all right, but——” Her face grew too grim +and bitter for her years. Andria had long ago forgotten +her, and more pertinently still the child of five years ago +had never known where the grown-up girl had gone. +There was no hope in Andria. Without a friend in +the world the girl walked quietly on her aimless way. +Long before her absence was discovered—for her stout +roommate merely thought stolidly that Beryl Corselas +had got up early, and said nothing about her empty +bed till breakfast-time—she was adrift like many +another waif in the interminable streets of London.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE WHEELS OF FATE.</p> + + +<p>Two days afterward a shabby little chemist in a shabby +shop on the Euston road looked carelessly at a strange +customer.</p> + +<p>A tall, big-boned girl in a frock too short for her +had asked for laudanum for a toothache. She looked +half-wild with pain—or despair; the chemist never +thought of the latter, and he sold her some. Her face +grew livid as he pushed a book toward her and requested +her to sign her name. It was always done, he +explained, when people bought poisons.</p> + +<p>With a frightened hand she scrawled something, but +the name was so outlandish to the man as he stood +peering at it that he never noticed with what haste his +customer had left the shop. She had been a fool ever +to have entered it, yet in the new and dreadful knowledge +that two days of London streets had crowded on her +she had felt there was nothing else to do.</p> + +<p>Perhaps her very innocence of the world had made +her pass scatheless through perils she only half-realized, +but that half was enough. Behind her lay the convent, +and she could never go back to that; round her were +the awful streets where policemen kept hurrying her +on, where people passed her indifferent-eyed, or else—Beryl +Corselas turned sick and faint at the thought of +those other people who had not passed on.</p> + +<p>Her money had been stolen, all but the few shillings +she had put in the bodice of her frock, and when that +was done, what in all the world remained to her? No +one had ever liked her. She had no belief in any one’s +charity, and the girl’s heart swelled as she answered +her own question.</p> + +<p>“Only just death,” she thought, fingering the little +bottle of laudanum she had been forced to sign her name +to get, “or Mother Felicitas—for she’ll trace me by it. +Well, I’d rather die out here than live in the convent.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> +She had walked on aimlessly enough, and looked up +to see that she was in front of the entrance to a railway-station, +where people kept going in and out. With a +sudden inspiration she followed a woman inside, and +stood behind her at the booking-office. A train was +waiting, ready to leave; on the carriage nearest her +was a sign, “For Blackpool.” She knew where that was, +even with her badly learned geography lessons; it was +a long way off from London and Mother Felicitas.</p> + +<p>She bought a second-class ticket, imitating the woman +in front of her. At least she could rest in the train, +since her tired feet would hardly carry her. She had +no money at all when she had paid for her ticket, and +could just manage to follow a porter and stumble into +the carriage marked Blackpool.</p> + +<p>To her joy no one else entered it, and the train started.</p> + +<p>The cushioned carriage was rapture to her tired body, +but before she stretched herself out on its scant luxury, +she drained the little bottle the chemist had sold her, +and threw it away. Then she curled herself up and +slept; at first uneasily, with the unaccustomed sounds of +the moving train in her dreams, and then heavily, as people +sleep themselves to death.</p> + +<p>There was no peace in the world for such as she, and +at sixteen Beryl Corselas had found it out. She had +tried to get employment, but the women at whose doors +she had knocked wanted no such unearthly-looking nursemaids, +and she could do nothing else. To sleep her life +away was all she could do, and there would be plenty +of time for that between London and Blackpool.</p> + +<p>Remorselessly as the wheels of fate the train rolled +on, and dreamlessly the girl slept.</p> + +<p>If she had known two things she might have flung +the laudanum from her like a snake. The first was +that Andria Heathcote had been longing for her, yet not +daring to visit her in the safe refuge of the convent. +The second, that if Mother Felicitas had known that +her missing pupil had gone to Blackpool she would have +laughed silently, since that was the only part of England<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> +Beryl Corselas had to avoid. But in ignorance +and despair the girl had drugged herself till a creepy +warmth was in her veins, and so, bound and helpless, +would deliver herself to a worse than Mother Felicitas, +unless Death, like a quiet friend, called her before such +things could be.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE LOVELY ANDRIA.</p> + + +<p>While Beryl Corselas slept like a dead girl in the flying +railway-carriage, a woman sat in a beautiful house +in London and wondered why she was remembering +the strange goblin child. “I’m not fit to think of her +or the convent, either,” she thought grimly. “Who +would believe that I was ever Andria Heathcote, or +brought up in a convent school?”</p> + +<p>She got up and looked at herself in a glass with an +insight that does not come to happy women. The world +had taught her that a woman with a clear skin and good +teeth has it in her own hands to be beautiful, but it was +something else that had taught her to build up her beauty +as an architect builds a palace for a king.</p> + +<p>Her red-brown hair was but a little ruddier than in +convent-days. She had been too wise to dye it; her +round, young face was chiseled into the firmness of a +delicate cameo by the sure hands of Love and vain +longing; her brave mouth was more scornful, more self-reliant +than of old, and the queer, veiled look was gone +from her blue eyes. They were bold, under the lashes +and brows she had learned to darken, and the head +that had bowed so easily to rebuke was set proudly now. +And yet there was little for Andria Erle to glory in. +She turned sharply from the glass. “Bah! The child +would not know me, nor I her,” she thought. “I wonder +why I am thinking of her. Oh, I’m nervous—nervous! +And I have no real cause, I can’t have any.”</p> + +<p>But the step with which she paced the room was not +that of a woman at ease. She was sick with a terror +that grew daily, and she knew it. She looked at the +magnificence about her, not indifferently, as she had been +wont to look, but like a woman who holds luxury by +a frail tenure and fears to lose it. Yet the luxury +of the place came last to her troubled mind. There +was more than that to lose; love and trust, that might<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> +go any day. To keep her thoughts away from that she +tried to remember the convent, but it only maddened +her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother Benedicta!” she said to herself. “You +knew too little about the world when you sent me to a +house like lady Parr’s. You and the good sisters +would have thought that house hell on earth from the +things that went on there. I might have, too, if I hadn’t +been a blind fool. But I wouldn’t go back. I’ve been +happy; I’ve had my day—and I’ve no reason to think +it’s done yet. I know,” deliberately, “I’ve no reason!” +and while she swore it to herself she kept listening for +the postman’s knock.</p> + +<p>It seemed to thunder through the house before she +knew it. But the servant who brought in the one letter +that had come found his mistress sitting reading, her +exquisite paled satin tea-gown in careful folds about her +languid figure.</p> + +<p>Her heart knocked at her ribs as she took the letter; +as the door closed behind the man she sprang to her +feet, crushing the thin note to her breast.</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank God!” she breathed, “thank God. I knew +it would come. I knew he didn’t mean to throw me +over.”</p> + +<p>She kissed the senseless letter like a living thing. She +knew each line of the address—every letter was dear to +her; yet Beryl Corselas would not have known the name +on the envelope, which certainly was not Andria Heathcote. +To Mother Felicitas it might not have been so +strange.</p> + +<p>It was not for five minutes that Andria opened the +letter, and when she did so she no longer thanked God +for it.</p> + +<p>It was a white, haggard wretch who crawled to a +sofa and lay there staring at the written sheet in her +hand like one who cannot understand. Yet it was plain +English, and began, “Dear Andria,” as letters do. But +her face was convulsed out of all beauty as she felt those +few sentences burning into her brain; a dreadful trembling +took her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m going to cry; and I won’t cry!” she said savagely. +She was on her feet and across the room to where a +stand of spirits and soda waited for a visitor who would +never come back to that house. But though she poured +out neat whisky and drank it, it could not stop that horrible +trembling.</p> + +<p>“I’m to go. He’s done with me!” she thought. “I—that +thanked God at the sight of his letter;” her lips +quivered in spite of her; “who’ve been faithful for five +years.”</p> + +<p>She tried to read the letter slowly and sanely, but one +sentence in it seemed to leap to her eyes. “Of course +you know our marriage was nonsense. The clergyman +was never even ordained. It would not hold good anywhere, +even in Scotland.”</p> + +<p>“Then what am I?” thought Andria, and, being a +brave woman, kept in the cry. She read on mechanically.</p> + +<p>“The fact is I’m ruined. I haven’t got a penny left, +and my father is nearly as bad. You have plenty of +sense, you will see for yourself that I must give in to +him and marry money. He will be beside himself till +we are on our feet again and there is an heir to the +property. He would never hear of my marrying you, +even if our madness had not passed by this time. You +will understand this is not a pleasant letter for me +to write, so I will close it. I send you what money +I can spare, but you need not expect any more, for I +haven’t got it. The sheriff will seize the furniture to-morrow, +but my father’s agent will take over the house +and pay the servants. Let me have your address, like +a sensible girl. But I know you will see reason, especially +as you are not tied to me in any way, and the +end would have had to come some day.”</p> + +<p>There was no signature, and there were two pages +preceding what was, after all, the gist of the matter. Andria +Heathcote, who had never been Andria Erle except +in her own mind, crept to her sofa and lay there, her +face buried in the silk cushions Raimond Erle had chosen +that very spring. But now it was November, and this +was “a last year’s nest.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> + +<p>She bit at her arm fiercely that pain might keep +away tears. None of Raimond Erle’s servants should +see that the woman who had never been his wife had +been crying in her shame and anger. She wondered how +much they knew. All London probably knew more than +she had done. She remembered how Raimond had had +no friends but men, how she had gone among them +by the nickname of “The Lovely Andria”; how some of +them had openly thought her shameless—the remembrance +made her writhe where she lay.</p> + +<p>A silver clock chimed, and she counted the sweet +strokes.</p> + +<p>“Five!” Five already, and she would not sleep another +night under this roof. The whisky had steadied her, +helped her; she rose and looked in the glass that an +hour ago had reflected a woman who had hope left in +her and saw that no eye but her own would see any +difference. Andria Erle had looked nervous; Andria +Heathcote was only a shade paler, a little harder-eyed.</p> + +<p>She turned to ring the bell, and saw something on +the hearth-rug. It was a check for ten pounds, and at +first she would have let it lie. After five years he +was turning her out of the house with ten pounds! +But it occurred to her suddenly that she had no other +money in the world.</p> + +<p>“It is bad to have been made a fool of, but it is +worse to keep on being a fool,” she said, with queer +calmness, and stooped for the check.</p> + +<p>Another woman would have sat down and written an +answer to that letter, which would have cut even Raimond +Erle. But to quarrel openly was not Andria’s +way. If an opportunity came to repay she would repay; +it was no use to write what he need not read unless +he chose. Once more she turned to ring for a servant, +and this time did not falter.</p> + +<p>“Send my maid to me,” she said. “I have had a +letter from Mr. Erle. He is not returning and I am +going away. Lord Erceldonne’s agent will pay your +wages.”</p> + +<p>She spoke gently as she always did, and the servant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> +admired her for it; he knew, as she thought, that things +were at an end. But he liked her, as did every one +who had ever served her, and he kept his sympathy from +his face.</p> + +<p>Her maid came as quickly as if she had been waiting +outside the door.</p> + +<p>“I want you to pack for me at once, Louise, I am +going away to-night, and I must leave you here.”</p> + +<p>“But, madam, you can never do without me,” said +the girl awkwardly. She would like to go with the +mistress who had never spoken unkindly even when she +was displeased.</p> + +<p>“There is no room for you where I am going.” Andria’s +voice was gentle still. “You need not pack my +evening gowns. But you must hurry, Louise.”</p> + +<p>“Madam’s jewels, of course!” said the maid, with +tears in her eyes. All the household but the mistress +had known the end was coming.</p> + +<p>Andria turned to the windows.</p> + +<p>“I will see to the jewels,” she answered in a suffocated +voice. “I will not take them.”</p> + +<p>The maid dared not say more. But it was well that +Andria did not see her packing. Every gorgeous gown +her mistress owned was in the boxes decorously covered +with underlinen and every-day clothes by the time Mrs. +Erle came up-stairs.</p> + +<p>Her jewels were spread out on the toilet-table; perhaps +the faithful maid thought the sight of them would +tempt her mistress to take them. But she shivered as +the gorgeous, shining things glittered in the candle-light. +Every one of them had meant something in the days +when love was young; each stone held its separate insult +now. She put them back in her jewel-case with +averted face and ungentle hands. Diamonds and pearls, +opals and beryls, not one would she keep; and her +wedding-ring fell with a clink on the mass. Andria +Heathcote had nothing to do with the baubles Andria +Erle had loved.</p> + +<p>She stood up straight and fair as Louise dressed her +in a plain black gown. For three months she had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> +dreading this day, fearing heavily to note the small signs +of its approach; but now that it was here she felt curiously +calm.</p> + +<p>“Tell James to call a cab,” she said, “and this is for +you! You are a kind girl, Louise, and I have liked you.” +She held out a long gold chain set with pearls. It was +her own, not his; she had a right to give it away.</p> + +<p>But the maid was crying.</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry, child, for me,” she said steadily, “and +take care of the jewels till Mr. Travers, the agent, comes +to-morrow. He will give you a receipt for them, and +you must send it to Mr. Erle at the club.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ll come back, madam?” cried Louise, sobbing.</p> + +<p>“No. Oh! my poor Louise, cheer up. There are +better mistresses than I’ve been.”</p> + +<p>“No, no!” said the girl passionately, “none. What +haven’t you done for me and my mother?” The French +girl would have kissed Andria’s hand, but with a queer +feeling of superstition her mistress stooped and kissed +her cheek. It was something to have a creature to say +farewell to; there would be none to greet her home.</p> + +<p>“Get the cab,” she repeated. And when the girl was +gone she went to her writing-table. There was a photograph +there and she stared at it. Why had she loved +him? He was just a long-legged, haggard, gentlemanly-looking +man, like scores of others, yet she had sold her +soul for him.</p> + +<p>Her hand was on the picture to put it in the fire, +but a sudden thought flamed in her eyes and stayed her +hand. On the back of it was written: “Raimond to +Andria; on their wedding-day.” She would keep it! +The world was thick, they might never meet; but if +they did that writing might confound his dearest plans. +She slipped the photograph into her pocket and went +down-stairs. The French girl, with a pang at her heart, +watched her get into the cab and drive away.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">HER EVIL GENIUS.</p> + + +<p>The train stopped with a jerk and a long jolting jar +that startled all the passengers, and flung a solitary +traveler from her seat in a second-class carriage.</p> + +<p>She lay on the floor, lax, inert as the dead; but her +eyes were open. Where was she? What was this hard, +narrow place, where a light burned dimly? She thought +for one awful instant of her alcove at the convent, and +screamed wildly; but the train was starting and the +whistles of the engine covered it. The noise of the +wheels reassured the drugged wits of the girl on the +floor.</p> + +<p>“No; it’s not the convent—it’s the train, and I’ve +waked up! Oh, why didn’t I die? Am I going to live +after all that stuff?”</p> + +<p>She struggled up and back to her seat, dizzy and +sick from the laudanum. She tried to think. What +should she—what could she—do now? Life was before +her, and not the death she had craved. Presently the +train would stop; they would put her out into the cold +and darkness, and she had no money for shelter or +bread.</p> + +<p>“They ought to kill girls like me!” she sobbed. “What +good has life ever been to me! And what shall I do +if I’ve been tracked—if a telegram from Mother Felicitas +is before me at Blackpool?”</p> + +<p>Every one’s hand had been against her all her life, +and it was well for her now. For a madness of determination +came over her.</p> + +<p>“They sha’n’t find me! No one shall find me,” she +thought, clenching her hands. “I’ll hide somewhere and +starve sooner than go back to Mother Felicitas!”</p> + +<p>She opened the carriage window and drank in the +cold evening air. It drove the fumes of laudanum from +her and stopped the headache that was rending her.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> +She had no reason to go to Blackpool; she could starve +as easily in some other place. What if she got out +the first time the train stopped, and slipped away into +the dark? But it had been the stoppage of the train +at Preston that had wakened her; she did not know +there would be no pause between that and Blackpool. +The train seemed to whirl interminably on, and she shut +the window and lay back against the cushions; she +would have warmth and rest as long as she could.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, she felt better for that drugged +sleep—more reasonable, more sane.</p> + +<p>But, think as she might, she could see nothing but a +miserable, lingering death before her, and the death that +had passed her by would have been easy.</p> + +<p>The train whistled, then stopped; the guard came and +took her ticket.</p> + +<p>“Blackpool, miss,” he said to the pale girl with the +swollen, weary eyes. The convent uniform was black +and he thought cursorily that she was in mourning, a +thought that served her well afterward.</p> + +<p>She hurried by him without answering, and stood +for one moment in the glaring station, bewildered by the +crowd.</p> + +<p>Her white face, her tawny eyes, with that strange +vacancy about them which long years of bullying had +brought there, were striking enough among the commonplace +crowd that surged by her.</p> + +<p>A long-legged, gentlemanly-looking man, whose handsome +face was haggard and drawn till it almost came +to being care-worn, pulled his brown mustache as he +stood waiting for the London train.</p> + +<p>“Looks as if she were in a mess!” he thought idly. +“She might be handsome, too—it’s a pity!” and he turned +away. It was some other fellow’s business; he had +enough on his own hands without taking up a girl who +stared past him till she caught his eyes on her and then +ran with a sudden, frightened bound out of the lighted +station.</p> + +<p>“The wicked flee when no man pursueth,” thought +Mr. Erle; he was rather fond of the Bible, for amusement<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> +merely. And he got into his train and thought +of other things, not too comfortably.</p> + +<p>He had had an exceedingly annoying interview with +his father. After all he had done to please him, the +elder man would scarcely listen to his question, or indeed +speak to him.</p> + +<p>At a strenuous appeal for money, indeed Lord Erceldonne +had broken out savagely:</p> + +<p>“You had better discover a lady who possesses it,” he +had said roughly, unlike himself. “As for Erceldonne, +you needn’t count on the succession to it.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” his son stared.</p> + +<p>But Lord Erceldonne had recovered himself.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” he returned icily, “except that every stick +we own is mortgaged. You must forage yourself.”</p> + +<p>But his son had seen him crumple up a telegram that +lay on the table. It was not those ancient mortgages +that troubled him.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what the deuce it was!” he reflected now +in the train, for distasteful as London was, it was better +than his father’s society.</p> + +<p>“For a moment I thought my reverend parent was +about to impart to me that I was not the rightful heir!” +sneeringly. “He’s got something on his mind, but that +would be rot! There’s been no question of it for years.”</p> + +<p>The strange girl had completely left his memory as +the train reached London; indeed, she had never stayed +there. Mr. Erle glanced at his watch as he took a cab +at Euston. It was not eleven o’clock; he would see +what fortune had done for him before he went—by +George! he had forgotten. He could not show himself +in town. There was that business of the sheriff, and +Andria!</p> + +<p>“The Continent!” said he to himself. “As soon as +possible! But first I must visit my—well, I hope he’ll +be my banker!” He stopped the cab and got out at +the very shop where Beryl had bought that useless +laudanum no farther back than the morning.</p> + +<p>“A shabby chemist’s,” she had thought, quite unconscious +that the drugs were but an outward show, and that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> +the proprietor was one of the largest book-makers in London, +though he never attended a race. Sometimes he +had provided Mr. Erle with sums that tided him over; +but of late that gentleman had not been lucky. He entered +the shop with a languid nod, and was glad to see +the proprietor was alone.</p> + +<p>For once, too, he seemed to be paying some attention +to his legitimate trade. He was studying a greasy blank-book +that was not out of his inside office.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Mr. Erle!” he said. “I have some money for +you—a hundred or more.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Erle never moved a muscle, though he needed the +money and had not expected it.</p> + +<p>“Right!” he returned carelessly. “What have you got +there?”</p> + +<p>“Only my register, sir. By the way, could you read +that name?” He pushed the book across the counter.</p> + +<p>“B. Corselas,” in an unsteady, childish hand stared Mr. +Erle in the face. B. Corselas, and his father, neither +to hold nor to bind! There could be nothing in it, and +yet—Mr. Erle was startled.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said coolly. “Cassels, or something. Why?”</p> + +<p>“Well, she was a slip of a thing,” dryly, “and she +bought laudanum. She had a queer look about her—very +light eyes!”</p> + +<p>“Tall, charming?” scoffingly.</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Erle. Childish and frightened-looking. Will +you have a check, or notes? They’re both here. She +would have been handsome if she hadn’t looked hungry.”</p> + +<p>“Notes,” said Erle slowly. “You’ll get into trouble +yet, Peters, with your drugs. Good night!”</p> + +<p>He was richer than he had been for many a day; +but he was not thinking of that as he got into his cab +and drove back to Euston.</p> + +<p>It was queer that he felt so assured that he had seen +at Blackpool the very girl who had signed Peter’s book. +He dismissed his cab at the Euston Hotel, but before +he entered it he returned to the station. A few inquiries +made him surer than ever, but the “B. Corselas” staggered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> +him. It might be all right, but if, after all these +years, it was going to be all wrong, it was no joke.</p> + +<p>He wrote a brief note to his father, for there was +no sense in trusting a country telegraph office, and +then retired to bed.</p> + +<p>“Paris for me!” he reflected as he put out the light. +“If there is anything queer the farther I’m out of it +the better. Besides, other things. But, of course, it’s +all a silly coincidence.”</p> + +<p>He little knew the trouble it would have saved him +if he had spoken kindly to that girl at Blackpool.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">LORD ERCELDONNE MARKS THE KING.</p> + + +<p>On the shore of St. Anne’s, that is a day’s walking +from Blackpool, was the wreck of a brig. Dismantled, +gaunt in the daylight, black and gruesome at night, it +lay canted on the beach a grim sign-post on a coast where +the life-boat men are seldom idle.</p> + +<p>The lamplighter looked at it as he finished his rounds +in the dusk.</p> + +<p>“’Tis said it’s haunted,” he remarked to himself, “but +ghosts have quieter tongues than Margery! And ’tis +the only place she’ll not rout me out of.” His conscience +was not clear nor his legs quite reliable as he made an +unostentatious progress over the shingle to the wreck. +He was not drunk to his own mind, but he would be +drunk to a certainty in the eyes of the rate-payers and +his wife. Mr. Ebenezer Davids had no mind to be +brought up before the vestry or the domestic tribunal.</p> + +<p>He scrambled on board the weather-beaten hull of the +<i>Highland Mary</i>, and made his way below, down a companionway +that slanted at a discomposing angle. The +darkness of the cabin was musty, but Mr. Davids was not +squeamish. He felt his way to a moldy locker and collapsed +on it. Something rustled, but he cared nothing +for rats. He only turned more comfortably and let +the joyful slumber of semi-intoxication possess him utterly.</p> + +<p>The tide was rising; it lipped against the seaward side +of the <i>Highland Mary</i> with a noise that was oddly like +the frightened breathing of a weak creature. But there +was no other sound till the lamplighter’s snores began +to fill the cabin. Then came a faint rustling in the berth +opposite him, a gasp as if a desperate resolve had taken +away some one’s breath. The snoring kept on.</p> + +<p>In the dark there was a sound of cautious feet; feet +that had no strength or weight; but if any one stole up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> +to the lamplighter he did not hear. In his sleep he flung +out his arm, and it struck something that gave; something +that was bending over him, trying to reach a red +cotton bundle that lay between him and the wall. It was +his supper of bread and cheese that he had not eaten, +and the smell of the cheese, combined with the regular +snoring, had drawn a living thing to his side.</p> + +<p>He started up, sobered with terror, sweating with fear. +What had touched him in the dark? What had screeched +in his ear?</p> + +<p>“The place is haunted, curse it!” he said, and was +frightened afresh. For the instant he spoke a low moaning +broke out at his very feet.</p> + +<p>The lamplighter was a little man, and not brave. In +sheer desperation and terror he remembered that he carried +the tools of his trade in a bag at his side, and with a +shaking hand he lit his long wax taper. As it burned +blue in the close cabin he recoiled.</p> + +<p>The place was haunted, indeed!</p> + +<p>What was this on the floor, like a white-faced girl, +whose long, black hair streamed over her? No living +woman could be so thin, could have such strange, golden +eyes.</p> + +<p>“What—what are you? Get away!” cried the lamplighter +wildly. He raised his foot to kick at the thing +on the floor.</p> + +<p>“Don’t! Oh, don’t hurt me!” The cry was human, +utterly desolate. “I didn’t mean to steal, but I’m hungry,” +cried the girl, with a sullen sob.</p> + +<p>“Hungry!” said the lamplighter stupidly, and his taper +nearly fell in his surprise. “What are you doing here +if you’re hungry, frightening honest folk?” He grew +angry as he remembered how nearly she had sent him +flying back to Margery with a bogy tale that would +have made him a laughing-stock.</p> + +<p>“I’ve nowhere else to go.”</p> + +<p>At the answer he stuck his taper upright in a convenient +crack in the floor of the <i>Highland Mary</i>, and with +a rough kindness lifted the girl to the locker. She was +a threadpaper slip of sixteen or so, with the queerest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> +eyes he had ever seen; even the lamplighter, who was +familiar with poverty, had never seen a human being +so thin.</p> + +<p>“Why, you’re starved, lass!” he cried. “What ever +made you come to this old hulk? You might have +knowed there was no roast beef here. Where do you +come from?” for his keen little eyes saw that her shoes +were not the shoes of a tramp.</p> + +<p>She did not answer, except to point to the red handkerchief +that smelled of cheese.</p> + +<p>“You can have it, certain!” he had a foolish lump in +his throat as he stuffed the thick, unappetizing stuff +into her hand. And he turned away as he saw how she +tore at it with sharp white teeth like a dog’s. But she +only ate a mouthful or two.</p> + +<p>The lamplighter took a seat on the locker and stared +at her.</p> + +<p>“Come now, missus,” he said, not unkindly, “let us +know what brought you here. You can’t stay here till +you die—like this!”</p> + +<p>“Where can I go? No one wants me.”</p> + +<p>“Go back to your friends, lass!”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t any, I haven’t any money, either, and it +was cold and rainy, so I came in here. I’ve been ill, I +think. It seems a long time.”</p> + +<p>“By gum!” the lamplighter was nonplused. “Why +didn’t you beg? Have you had anything to eat?” sharply.</p> + +<p>“I hate people, and they hate me. No one would +give me anything. I went out in the nights and got +water at a brook over there, and I found some bread +one evening.” She did not say it was crusts a dog had +despised.</p> + +<p>“How long have you been like this?” he gasped.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. More than a week. I’ve been ill, I——” +Her head fell forward with a stifled groan.</p> + +<p>“You’re sick, now, my lass!” he said pitifully. “Come, +your way’s with me, and I’ll take you——” He stopped; +he dared not take her to Margery, and the only other +place was the workhouse.</p> + +<p>“I won’t go to a convent,” she muttered, “I won’t!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> + +<p>“It’s not a convent,” he said, puzzled. “Just a—well, +there!—it’s hell on earth to my mind, but it’s better than +this,” he broke out roughly, for the strange girl could +not hear him; she was in a dead faint at his feet.</p> + +<p>Staggering, sweating, Davids managed to carry her +up the companionway to the deck that was keeled over +at such an angle that, burden and all, he nearly slipped +through the broken bulwarks to the stony beach. But +he clawed and staggered valiantly, till he had laid the +girl, who to his mind was dying, safely on the ground. +Then he gazed about him. What was to be done next?</p> + +<p>“There ain’t no choice as I can see,” remarked the +bewildered Samaritan. “Though she’s gey and heavy +for such a bag of bones.”</p> + +<p>He shouldered her like a sack of potatoes, fearful that +she might die on his hands.</p> + +<p>“Here goes, and prays I that Margery don’t hear of +it!” he muttered, and with toil and cursing, gained the +highway, a ludicrous figure in the light of the November +moon. His only thought was by what byway he could +come at the workhouse, and as he puzzled at it he ran +into a tall man in an Inverness cape who was coming +from the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>“What the devil!” cried the latter furiously. “Why +don’t you look where you’re going?”</p> + +<p>“Beg your pardon, my lord,” gasped the despairing +Davids. “I couldn’t look, she’s too mortal heavy.”</p> + +<p>“She—who? Why, it’s you, Davids! What are you +doing?” Lord Erceldonne stared as he had never stared +in all his ill-spent life.</p> + +<p>“Going to the workhouse,” said the man wretchedly.</p> + +<p>“What for? And—why, it’s a woman!” said Lord +Erceldonne, with unkind enjoyment. A squint-eyed, +frowsy lamplighter with a romance was too delightful.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lady, if you ask me,” retorted the man, with +some dignity. “And I think she’s over near to dying +for laughter.”</p> + +<p>“What d’ye mean?” cried Lord Erceldonne, enraged +at the just rebuke. Ebenezer told him. But it was too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> +dark for him to see how Lord Erceldonne’s hand flew +to his pocket where two letters lay.</p> + +<p>“Put her down,” he ordered. “Let me look at her.”</p> + +<p>Ebenezer obeyed, with some relief.</p> + +<p>Straight and tall, her long limbs as nerveless as if +she were dead, the girl lay on the ground. Her white +face showed gaunt with famine in the moonlight as +her matted, wild hair lifted in the night wind. For a +moment both men thought her dead.</p> + +<p>Erceldonne knelt down by her.</p> + +<p>“Did she tell you her name?” His voice was thick.</p> + +<p>“Not she!”</p> + +<p>“Then she’ll never tell it now—she’s dead!” There +was something so like recognition, exultation, in the +pitiless words that Davids looked angrily at the speaker. +Then he started.</p> + +<p>The pale, worn face bent over the girl was hers +almost line for line; allowing for the difference between +sixteen years and fifty.</p> + +<p>“My soul!” thought the lamplighter. “She is the very +spit and image of his lordship.” He turned almost +fiercely on the man, as if he had been his equal.</p> + +<p>“She ain’t dead, and she ain’t going to die, while I +can help it. Move, my lord—and let me carry her to +the workhouse while there’s time.”</p> + +<p>A stranger look than ever was on Erceldonne’s face. +This was fate—but he had conquered fate before. He +burst into a cackling laugh that made Davids jump; +long and loud he laughed in the light of the moon over +the girl who lay dying on the ground.</p> + +<p>“Get on with you, then, to the workhouse!” he cried +indifferently, but as he turned away his eyes were still +full of laughter, in strange contrast to his savage temper +when he met Ebenezer.</p> + +<p>“I mark the king, it seems!” said Lord Erceldonne +to the desolate night. “I mark the king, after all!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">FIRST BLOOD TO ERCELDONNE.</p> + + +<p>Mother Felicitas sat in her white-walled parlor, and +her lean face looked gray against the whitewashed background +from which the pictured saints and martyrs +looked down indifferent-eyed. Opposite her sat her man +of business—for even convents have such things—and +his matter-of-fact manner was driving her mad.</p> + +<p>“You traced that misguided child,” she said smoothly, +“to Blackpool, I think you said.” She could hardly sit +still in her chair.</p> + +<p>“Easily. And then to St. Anne’s. But I regret to +say I was too late. She had been hiding on an old +wreck there starving, for nearly a fortnight, till a lamplighter +found her and took her to the workhouse. I +went there, of course, but the matron, a civil-spoken +woman, told me the girl had been taken away only +that morning by a Mrs. Fuller, who wished to adopt +her.”</p> + +<p>“Did they hand her over to a strange woman without +any references?” said the mother, moistening her dry +lips.</p> + +<p>“It seems so,” he answered bluntly. “They had the +address in Liverpool, but when I went there the caretaker +told me Mrs. Fuller had that morning gone to +the Continent with a young lady till the spring. Oh, +I fancy it’s all right, reverend mother! You are too +troubled about a good-for-nothing runaway.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, and hid her hands in her sleeves that +he might not see the trembling of them.</p> + +<p>“But her well-being is naturally a—sacred charge to +me. I feel all this terribly.” She wondered while she +spoke how she was to find out what was racking her, +indeed.</p> + +<p>“Lord Erceldonne is lord of the manor at St. Anne’s—I +suppose—he had not been interested in the sad +case,” she observed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + +<p>“He was away. I heard by chance.” The lawyer had +not got speech of Ebenezer Davids, who was too unimportant. +“He had not been there for months.”</p> + +<p>Mother Felicitas’ heart gave a bound of relief.</p> + +<p>Then it was, after all, what it looked! Some tender-hearted +fool had adopted the girl. She was not beaten—yet!</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes!” she said indifferently. “But did the child, +by the way, tell her name?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” he answered, rather surprised; but Mother +Felicitas, of course, had never raised her saintly eyes +and did not see.</p> + +<p>That was a blow; but still Erceldonne was away and +he would certainly never see the workhouse register. +He was in her power still.</p> + +<p>“That is all, I think. Thank you,” she said calmly. +“We must first wait till this Mrs. Fuller returns. You +have her address? And then perhaps our stray may be +induced to return to us. You will take some refreshment +before you leave, Mr. Mayhew?”</p> + +<p>But when he was gone Mother Felicitas sat cold and +speechless. Perhaps she saw herself excommunicated +if the whole story of her connection with Beryl Corselas +ever came out.</p> + +<p>“At least, he does not know and never shall,” she +thought, when thought would come. “He shall fear +me till he dies, as he has feared me this many a year. He +shall pay, as he has always paid, to the enrichment of +our order,” for she, of all the convent, had alone known +the source of the roll of notes that came anonymously +each year to her.</p> + +<p>She frowned thoughtfully as she began to write a +letter, dignified and guarded. It might be months in +reaching the man it was meant for, but it would reach +him in the end. It informed the guardians of the workhouse +at St. Anne’s that the lady who had so kindly +adopted the stray child had been authorized to do so by +her only friend, the Mother Superior of the Convent +of St. Mary; and that it was hoped the arrangement +would be most satisfactory.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> + +<p>“As I hear that Viscount Erceldonne had kindly interested +himself in the case, perhaps you would be so +good as to let him know the ending,” the letter concluded, +and when it was gone Mother Felicitas breathed more +easily. Erceldonne should know that she was in keeping +of his secret still; that the sword that hung over his +head had not left her grasp.</p> + +<p>But, clever as she was, she never dreamed of Erceldonne’s +face when the letter was forwarded to him in +London. He was very busy, but he let his business +stand while he chuckled over that courteous epistle.</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing so dangerous as being too clever,” +he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes; “and +this is too good! Mrs. Fuller—oh! Mother Felicitas! +since that’s your name now—truly you have strange +friends, for a nun.”</p> + +<p>He drew from his pocket two papers, the very ones +to which his hand had flown on the night he had met +the lamplighter. On one was written in an uneducated +scrawl: “The Gurl is gone Run Away.”</p> + +<p>It had never entered the mind of the reverend mother +that Lord Erceldonne had no idea of paying the hush-money +for a dead or vanished girl, or that he had established +a spy in her very house in the shape of the +loutish boy who carried her vegetables to market, the +only male being in her employ. It did not even strike +her when, in a week or so, the boy gave warning and +returned to his natural orbit in Lord Erceldonne’s employ. +He was used to watching ladies for his master, and this +was only a queerer item than usual on the list.</p> + +<p>The other letter was the “coincidence” his son had +thought worth telling him—a letter that would have been +wasted but for the lamplighter. Lord Erceldonne had +reason to laugh that night.</p> + +<p>He swept his correspondence into a drawer as a light +knock came on his door.</p> + +<p>“Come in!” he cried, and rose punctiliously, yet mockingly, +for he knew who his visitor was.</p> + +<p>A little woman, exceedingly pretty, charming mannered, +and exquisitely dressed, stood on the threshold.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>“May I?” her voice was not quite of a piece with the +rest of her. “Dear Erceldonne! how warm your room +is!” she exclaimed, seating herself.</p> + +<p>“Bad habit!” he returned vaguely. “I suppose you’ve +come to say you’re off?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Paris!” she cried gaily. “Having accomplished your +lordship’s wishes and played nursemaid for a month, I +suppose I may go and amuse myself again. My kind +godmother, as you know,” she said flippantly, “is on the +Continent!”</p> + +<p>Erceldonne laughed. Truly that Mrs. Fuller whose address +in Liverpool he had borrowed knew nothing of +this one, nor of Beryl Corselas, either.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do with that child?” she continued. +“Not bring her here, surely. It would not be +edifying—for Raimond!”</p> + +<p>Erceldonne’s middle-aged handsome face was utterly +blank. He had no idea of telling his charming friend +anything. She had served his purpose, and now the +sooner he saw the last of her pretty person the better.</p> + +<p>“St. John’s Wood is still standing,” he remarked easily. +“As for Raimond, no one sees less of him than I,” yet +she had made him angry; there was no one weaker than +Raimond about a handsome face, and he had been +struck with this penniless girl already.</p> + +<p>“I hear the lovely Andria is——” she hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Gone the way of all flesh, I believe, in hope of further +exaltation,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.</p> + +<p>No one would have believed how hard he had worked +to obtain just that result as he sat looking at his visitor +with critical admiration. She really wore wonderfully!</p> + +<p>“Well, you’re off! And you may have those diamonds +you wanted, to take with you.” He had caught her +expectant eyes. “What! Something finer?”</p> + +<p>“I—I would rather have that paper of mine. Please, +Erceldonne!” she said, with an earnestness that sat ill +on her.</p> + +<p>He rose, flicked her cheek lightly, and laughed.</p> + +<p>“Not yet, my dear Emeline; I can’t spare it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> + +<p>There were tears in her hard eyes as he put a velvet +case in her hand, but she dared not implore him. She +knew him. She had got his “fancy” for him; she had +hoped that would have wiped off the old score; but +the man was too careful a blackguard.</p> + +<p>Only one shot did the supposed “Mrs. Fuller” fire +as she said good-by.</p> + +<p>“The girl is a handful, even for you. I don’t think +you can do anything with her.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not.” Lord Erceldonne laughed in that sudden, +unpleasant, loud cackle. “Oh, my dear Emeline! +you have a short memory.”</p> + +<p>The poor, painted, little sinner started; for the blow +was cruel. Erceldonne laughed again as she crept out +of the room she had entered so jauntily. He knew all +her secrets; and she had not even touched the garment’s +hem of his.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A WOMAN’S DIARY.</p> + + +<p class="right-heading"> +“Tuesday, Dec. 7th.<br> +</p> + +<p>“I never knew how much I read till now, when I have +no books. Time hangs and hangs; writing this thing +helps to pass it, though there is nothing to put down. +I can’t think; I feel as if all this were a dream. This +horrid room in Chelsea, and all those boxes left ‘to be +called for’ at Paddington station. When they come to +sell them—for that’s what they do with unclaimed things—they +will wonder how the owner had the heart to +forget them. But perhaps they won’t know each one +of those plain dresses cost twenty pounds.</p> + +<p>“I wish I had what they cost; I never realized what +it took to live. I am going to realize it well enough +next week, when I must get something to do, or starve.</p> + +<p>“I write down all these sordid little sentences because +I daren’t write the only thought that is in my mind. I +would go mad if I let myself remember—and I can’t +forget. Better to put down how I’ve lived for a month +on ten pounds. I, who threw away as much of a morning +to pass the time!</p> + +<p>“I pay, let me see, fifteen shillings a week here, and +buy my food besides. I ought never to have taken this +room, but it looked dreadful enough; how was I to +know that I could have got one for eight in a worse +place? I’ve been here four weeks; that disposes of five +pounds, counting my food, though I know the woman +cheats me. My bread and tea never cost ten shillings +from Saturday to Saturday. There are two pounds in +my purse, and the other three have melted. How +many fees have I paid at registry-offices? How many +women have looked me up and down when I asked +for a governess’ place, have seen through me with their +disapproving eyes? I don’t know and I don’t care—but +I’ll care to-morrow. I’m too tired to-night from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> +tramping in search of an engagement and too cold in this +room. And I’m afraid. Afraid of meeting him in the +streets and having him pass me by. I’ve no spirit. I +believe I could forgive him, but in an hour I may be +just as sure I never could.</p> + +<p>“The loneliness of it all frightens me, too. This room, +where no one ever comes, the streets I walk all day +in terror of meeting some man who knows. To-morrow +I must get work. I’m losing all my courage. I’d give +half my life to-night just to——”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The writing broke off, the page smeared where a quick +hand had closed the book while the ink was wet. But +on the other side it began again.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p class="right-heading"> +“Thursday.<br> +</p> + +<p>“What have I done? And why does such a simple +piece of business make me feel creepy, as if I had entered +into a bargain with the devil! I’m saved! I’ve +found a situation! But I feel something saying to me +that I would have done better to starve in the streets.</p> + +<p>“It was yesterday, two days after I last wrote in this +diary. I was standing in the register’s office and two +women who had wanted governesses had told me I +would not do. I felt dizzy, for I had been walking too +far. I leaned against the wall, too tired to go home, and +the registry-office was warm.</p> + +<p>“I was not noticing anything because my head swam. +I was thinking that for women like me the world had +only one path, and I would die before I walked on it—any +farther. I was fighting off the horror of it when +some one touched me on the arm.</p> + +<p>“It was the registry woman. She had left her desk +and there was no one in the room but her and me, +and a middle-aged man.</p> + +<p>“‘Miss Holbeach,’ she was saying—I dared not go +back to Heathcote when I found I had no right to Erle. +Every one knew Andria Heathcote’s story, and Holbeach +was not noticeable—‘Miss Holbeach, don’t you hear +Mr. Egerton speaking to you?’”</p> + +<p>“‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, for I was stupid.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> + +<p>“The man handed me a chair as if I were a lady and +not a would-be governess. I sat down and then I looked +at him. I don’t know now what there was in his face +that seemed familiar. I only saw it in that first glance; +afterward I knew perfectly well that he was an utter +stranger.</p> + +<p>“He was rather tall and rather dark and thin. I think +now that if he had let it his hair would have been gray, +but then I just saw it was black. He had a pale face, +wrinkled and full of crow’s-feet round the eyes, and +they were very dark, almost black. They puzzled me—their +shape—I seemed to know that. But the way they +looked at me was not like any eyes I know or ever +have known. He wore beautiful clothes and had a London +man’s manner. I mean those men you meet in the +season who are so civil and so quiet, as if no one in the +world was their superior and there was no occasion to +assert themselves. I ought to know that manner by +this time.</p> + +<p>“This man seemed to take me in without looking at +me. I remembered I had on old gloves.</p> + +<p>“‘This lady, I think,’ he said to the registry woman, +‘wishes to be a governess?’</p> + +<p>“‘Miss Holbeach? Yes, sir,’ She frowned at me to +stand up, but I couldn’t. The man sat down by me, and +it was then I saw how lined his face was. He looked +fifty when you were close to him.</p> + +<p>“‘Miss Holbeach; thank you!’ He just glanced at +her, but she went away as if he had pushed her. Then +he spoke to me. He wanted a governess, or rather a +companion, for his ward, a girl of sixteen. Lessons were +not so much an object as being willing to go abroad. +His ward was obliged to winter in the South. She was +not strong. I could only stare at him; the thought of +getting a situation and getting out of England at the +same time nearly made me cry with joy—till I remembered +a man like this would never take me for his ward’s +governess.</p> + +<p>“‘I won’t do,’ I said. ‘You will not want me. I have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> +not any—any references!’ My own voice sounded so +odd to me, as if I had never heard it before.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh,’ he said slowly, ‘you have no references,’ and I +saw something so queer in his look that I could not +answer from astonishment.</p> + +<p>“A woman like me, who watches a man’s face for +sunshine or bad weather, learns little things. This man’s +forehead, instead of contracting between the eyebrows +with annoyance, had grown smooth with relief. I couldn’t +understand it then, and I can’t now; but I know he was +relieved that I had no references.</p> + +<p>“‘This woman knows you?’ he said.</p> + +<p>“‘Only because I came here for work,’ it was no use +pretending things, and I didn’t try.</p> + +<p>“‘You have not always been a governess, is that it?’ +He spoke so quietly that I knew the woman at the desk +could not hear him, but I answered out loud:</p> + +<p>“‘I was educated for a governess, but I have had +no need to earn money for some years. Now I must—do +something,’ and I couldn’t keep my lips steady.</p> + +<p>“‘Ah!’ he said. ‘And without a character you have +been unsuccessful!’ But I saw he was not sorry for +me, only thinking what to do or how to do it. For +I knew, as I know that I sit here in this room with +its fire and the rain on the window, that he was going +to engage me.</p> + +<p>“And he did. Without a rag of reference, with only +a few questions—and now that I come to think of it he +never asked me where I was educated. I couldn’t have +told him. I suppose Mother Benedicta knows how I +ran away from Lady Parr’s with—but I won’t write +that name.</p> + +<p>“But it has all come to this: I, who had no hope +of ever getting an engagement, am to be companion to +a girl at a salary of a hundred pounds a year. And +I know that I’m not fit to be with any girl; the five +pounds that he gave me for expenses looks like a fee +from the devil as it shines on the table. For the more +I think of it, the more sure I am that he was certain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> +I was a woman with a past and not anything else in +the world.</p> + +<p>“But past or no past, I will write it down here in +this book, and sign my name to it, that no girl shall +ever learn harm from me, or anything but hatred for +evil. My schooling has been hardly paid for; it can at +least be useful in helping some poor girl to keep out +of the agony I have known. There is no peace or joy +for women like me, and I would never see any girl +stray on the bitter road that I trod. If Mr. Egerton, +for reasons of his own, has engaged me because I am +what I am, he has burned his own boats. If the girl +is as sly and sullen as he hints, I will be a better guardian +for her than a saint like Mother Benedicta was for me.</p> + +<p>“I have read this over, and it seems far-fetched and +ungrateful. The man is kind and he is giving me a +chance to live honestly; but yet I cannot feel that in +my heart. There is something behind his kindness.</p> + +<p>“Whether there is or not, I can’t get out of my bargain +now. I am to go to Southampton to-morrow, to +join Mr. Egerton and his ward on his yacht; a steam-yacht, +thank goodness! I hate the sea. We are to +go to Bermuda, of all places in the world! Not that +I know any one there, but it seems the very end of the +world.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Egerton has a house there, and if his ward likes +it, we may stay till spring. It is all one to me, since I +shall be out of England. To-morrow I must get those +boxes at Paddington that I never meant to call for. I +would be glad never to wear any of those clothes again, +but I have no choice. The five pounds he gave me +would not buy my ticket to Southampton and get me a +governess’ outfit ‘warranted to wear’ into the bargain.</p> + +<p>“I write very prettily. As I look at the neat, close +pages of this book, I wonder how they could have been +written with so heavy a heart. The past sickens me and +the future frightens me, though it may be with a senseless +terror that I shall laugh at by and by.</p> + +<p>“The future! I laugh now when I see I have written +that word. There is no future, Andria Heathcote,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> +alias Holbeach, for such women as you; if you dare +but touch the smallest joy that may be offered you a +hand will come from the past when you least expect it +and snatch the new wine from your lips.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘This is your solace and your reward,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That have drained life’s dregs from a broken shard,’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Good-night, Andria, and no dreams to you!</p> + +<p>“May you do your work and live decently, till such time +as your story comes out!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">ON BOARD THE YACHT.</p> + + +<p>Mr. Egerton sat in the smoking-room of the steam-yacht +<i>Flora</i> and reflected—it was the first day the sea +had favored reflection—on his plans.</p> + +<p>They had given him more trouble than anything for +sixteen years, but this very elaboration of detail pleased +the man. He was a very cruel person, and a very cautious +one, or he might have solved all his difficulties +more easily and inexpensively. But wonderful as his +luck had been lately, he was not out of the wood yet. +He took up a tumbler of whisky and soda, and watched +the mounting bubbles as if he were watching the workings +of his own mind.</p> + +<p>“First,” he mused, “there was getting out of the power +of that woman in the convent. She can never threaten +me now, to any effect; or turn on me. I know nothing +of any girl. She cannot say there ever was one. +She never could have, really. Second, there were those +letters. Raimond is an ass, but if it hadn’t been for +him I never should have stayed at Erceldonne, or come +across that girl with the lamplighter. That saved me +from having to scorn all England and from having to +trust detectives—who retire and write books. And the +‘Mrs. Fuller’ comedy was lucky; it prevented my appearing +in any way. And ‘Mrs. Fuller,’ having played her +part, will never bother her head about what happened +to her charge. If she did, she would never connect ‘Mr. +Egerton,’ the governess, and his ward, with Lord Erceldonne’s +queer ‘fancy.’” He laughed aloud. And then +he thought of that diplomatic epistle of Mother Felicitas’, +that had been so futile a lie.</p> + +<p>“She could dictate to me while she had the girl, but +not when there is no girl for her to produce. Third,” +he resumed his counting, “there was my coming on that +woman in the registry-office. The minute I saw her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> +I knew she had a history, was at the end of her tether +and in despair. No troublesome questions from a woman +like that! She swallowed everything I told her +because, forsooth, I had taken her without references. +A woman who had no references and was dressed like +a duchess was a fitter woman for my purpose than all +the Mrs. Grundys in England. She stood being hustled +on board and hurried off without a sight of her charge +like a lamb, just because she didn’t care a straw what +happened to her. I could see it in her face. And it’s +just as well she doesn’t!” His own face contracted a +little as at something slightly, yet unavoidably, unpleasant. +“Well, no one will inquire about either of the +ladies if their absence is prolonged!</p> + +<p>“I didn’t tell her that obstinate little devil down-stairs +wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t hear of her. She’ll find out +soon enough what a handful she has before her, while it +lasts. But whatever happens, no one will be able to +root out dangerous tales of me and my tawny-eyed +young friend. Mr. Egerton and his ward and governess +having disappeared into space will not trouble Erceldonne.</p> + +<p>“It was lucky Raimond was out of the way; it would +have suited him to rout out things he would be a fool +to know. He might even have fancied the girl. I wonder +what set his mind on an old story! But it doesn’t matter. +The affair will be nothing but a lying rumor soon; +an absolutely absurd canard.”</p> + +<p>He drank down the whisky and soda with small enjoyment, +for it was flat, and the only troublesome reflection +of the afternoon came to him.</p> + +<p>“Damn that fool who put Beryl Corselas and her adventures +in the papers,” he thought angrily. “The name +might have set people thinking. But I don’t think so. +I stayed long enough in London to be sure there was no +revival of stale talk. Anyhow, if there were, it doesn’t +matter. She’s disappeared, and by —— this time she’ll +stay disappeared!”</p> + +<p>He rose and looked out of the window.</p> + +<p>It was a deck cabin, and almost within reach of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +arm sat the governess looking vaguely out over a sea +that was blue for the first time in the six days since +they had left England.</p> + +<p>It was rough still, but the rollers had purple hollows +instead of gray ones, and curled over blue and clear. +But the governess was not thinking of them, and her +employer knew it. He rang the bell.</p> + +<p>“Take this to Miss Holbeach,” he ordered, penciling a +note, and then buried himself in a French novel as one +who is luckily far away from an unpleasant business. +That little tiger-cat had fought hard. First, against +the departure of “Mrs. Fuller,” to whom she had taken +a fancy; and then against the installation of a governess. +To “Mr. Egerton” himself she maintained a stony sulkiness; +she did not like him, and took no pains to hide +it. She had openly accused him of tricking her about +Mrs. Fuller, and would not listen to his plausible tale +of explanation.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know why you bother about me!” she had +said, staring at him. “But I don’t seem able to get away +from you. I don’t suppose you and the governess can +be any worse than Mother Felicitas! Yes, I know you’ve +been good to me, but——” She had stopped, afraid to +go on. Only anger with this strange man who had +carried her off from Mrs. Fuller had made her so outspoken, +and as he looked at her, she dared not go on. She +had turned and fairly run to her cabin, where she had +stayed ever since, too seasick even to wonder at the +strange turn her life had taken.</p> + +<p>Andria took the little note the steward handed her. +He was an Italian, as were all the ship’s company, even +to the stewardess. None of them could speak a word +of English, and she knew no Italian. It had come to +her oddly that one of the few questions Mr. Egerton +had asked her was whether she knew Italian. But she +resolutely assured herself that the two things had no +connection. The note was just a line.</p> + +<p>“Would Miss Holbeach kindly go and see Mr. Egerton’s +ward in her cabin.”</p> + +<p>The writer, to be truthful, had wanted the meeting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> +over between the two. The die was cast now; neither +could get away from the other, and if they had sense +they would make friends. They would need to be +friendly! And he grinned over his novel, wondering if +the headstrong child would try to scratch the governess’ +eyes out. If faces meant anything, this Holbeach +woman had managed men in her day.</p> + +<p>Andria was half-way down the companionway as +he thought it; and stood presently at a closed door. She +knocked, and the stewardess came out.</p> + +<p>For a moment the governess was silent. She did +not know the name of her pupil, had never heard it all +this time; she did not know who to ask for. Then she +laughed, for the Italian woman would not have understood +her in any case. At the sudden lifting of the +lowered blue eyes the maid moved aside. Andria, without +waiting, went into the cabin.</p> + +<p>It was full of fresh air from an open port-hole, but +in the berth, heedless of air or sun, lay a huddled figure +with its face to the wall.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be seen of the girl but a pale averted +cheek, and a wild mass of dusky hair neither black +nor brown. Why did the years roll back at the sight +of that hair, dark and lusterless, a color without a name? +Andria was weary and unstrung, body and soul; she +started at the uncanny, waveless hair.</p> + +<p>“Are you better?” she said, and her voice was oddly +troubled. “I hope you are.”</p> + +<p>“Go away! I don’t want you,” said an angry, stifled +voice from the pillows.</p> + +<p>At the sound of it Andria honestly gasped. Was she +dreaming that she was back in the convent again, or—did +she know it?</p> + +<p>With the quick gentleness that was of convent learning, +she shut the door on the waiting stewardess.</p> + +<p>“Beryl!” she cried, under her breath. “Beryl, is it +you?”</p> + +<p>The figure in the berth started up, sweeping aside +its veil of hair with a hand and arm as thin as a goblin’s.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> +The strangest yellow eyes in the world stared from a +white face at the intruder.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s I,” said the indifferent, insolent voice of long +ago. “I suppose you’re his governess?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know me?” Andria was trembling with +nameless joy. Could it be true that her pupil was no +stranger, but the child she had loved long ago?</p> + +<p>“No!” said Beryl Corselas, with the old vacancy in +her face. “Unless——” she paused and looked straight +in Andria’s eyes. The next instant she was out of bed, +taller than Andria in her long white night-dress. “Andria!” +she cried; “Andria,” and flung her thin young +arms around the woman in her black Redfern gown. +“How did you come here? Where have you been all +this time? Did he find you for me?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Andria helplessly. “How are +you his ward, and when did you leave the convent?” +She held the girl off and looked at her.</p> + +<p>It was Beryl Corselas, indeed, but the five years that +had passed must have dealt hardly with her to have +made her into a girl like this. A quick pang shot through +Andria at the sullen hopelessness of those yellow-brown +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” she said quickly, “did you never get my +letters? Did Mother Benedicta never speak of me?”</p> + +<p>“Mother Benedicta died the week you left,” the girl +answered simply. “Sister Felicitas is reverend mother +now.”</p> + +<p>“But you—how are you here?”</p> + +<p>The girl told her, leaving out nothing. And if Andria +had been distrustful before, she was frightened now.</p> + +<p>Mr. Egerton, whoever he was, had no right to Beryl +Corselas. There was more in his adoption of her than +appeared. Andria saw quite well why he had dispensed +with references in engaging a governess; he did not want +any one with a good character as a trustworthy person.</p> + +<p>“Beryl,” she said slowly, “don’t tell him you know +me. Let me tell him myself.”</p> + +<p>“I never tell him anything. I don’t like him,” she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> +said calmly. “But doesn’t he know? Didn’t he get +you on purpose?”</p> + +<p>“No. He never even told me what your name was. +And oh! I——” she stammered, “my name’s Holbeach +now, don’t forget and say Heathcote!”</p> + +<p>“Are you married? And——” she stopped, looking +at Andria’s black gown awkwardly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” said Andria sharply. “I’ll tell you by and +by,” for some one had knocked at the door. It was +the stewardess, and she pointed to the open port-hole.</p> + +<p>“We shall be there to-morrow. We are arrived,” she +said. The words Andria did not understand, but the +gesture was plain enough, and the governess looked out +of the open port.</p> + +<p>Something like a blue cloud was visible as the yacht +rose and fell. Andria ran on deck. There it stood on +the port bow, a high, blue coast, mountainous against the +sunset. As she stood leaning over the rail she saw Egerton +at her elbow.</p> + +<p>“What is that land?” she said quickly. “I did not know +we passed any after Madeira!”</p> + +<p>“Neither we do. This is Bermuda,” he said carelessly. +Not a muscle moved in the governess’ face. No yacht +could go from Southampton to Bermuda in six days; even +a big liner could not do it.</p> + +<p>“Already?” she said slowly.</p> + +<p>“The boat is fast,” he answered, but he turned away +quite satisfied, for there had been no hidden meaning in +her voice.</p> + +<p>Andria, left alone, never stirred.</p> + +<p>Where this man was taking her and Beryl, or for what +mysterious reason, she did not know; but that high land +that towered against the sunset was certainly not Bermuda.</p> + +<p>The governess’ nerves tightened sharply.</p> + +<p>What could this mystery round Beryl Corselas be? +And of what evil was that lie about Bermuda the beginning?</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE HOUSE BY THE SEA.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The chill is in my bones.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>Calm water and the stoppage of the engines roused +Andria from her first sleep after a wakeful night. It was +daylight, and the sun was shining. She was on deck as +soon as she could dress, but her very hurry made her take +a long time.</p> + +<p>The yacht lay in a small, almost landlocked, bay; the +water was exquisitely blue, shoaling to green where it +lapped on a white beach. A keen, heavy scent of wild +orange-blossoms came from the high shores that looked +an impenetrable tangle of thick woods; and behind, dark +against the rose and gold of the morning sky, rose a high +mountain, that cast a long, threatening shadow over the +smaller slopes that ran to its feet.</p> + +<p>Utterly puzzled, Andria stood staring, scarcely even +noticing the warmth of the scented air. She turned as +Beryl Corselas came to her side, pale and half-awake.</p> + +<p>“Is this Bermuda?” she said pettishly. “Thank goodness, +for I hate the sea! But I don’t see the house.”</p> + +<p>“What house?” asked Andria sharply.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Egerton’s, where you and I are to spend the +winter with him. Didn’t you know?”</p> + +<p>Andria was speechless, for the place looked a desert +island.</p> + +<p>“Look, there he is now!” she said, with surprise. “He +must have been on shore.” Beryl pointed to one of the +yacht’s boats that was pulling off to them from the white +beach. It was certainly Egerton who sat in the stern.</p> + +<p>“Beryl,” Andria said sharply, “I hate teaching you to +be deceitful, but mind you don’t let him know you’ve ever +heard of me before. I don’t know why, but I don’t trust +him!”</p> + +<p>“Neither do I. Yet but for him I might be back with +Mother Felicitas.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> + +<p>“I know, and I’d be starving. I was very poor when +he found me. But I’ll tell you all that later on.”</p> + +<p>“Not all,” she thought, as she moved from the girl as +Egerton reached the yacht; “just enough. I wonder if +I should have told her this isn’t Bermuda! I don’t see +what good it would have done. Whatever it is, we can’t +get away from it or him. There’s something queer, and +Beryl’s the key to it. But I can’t do anything till I find +out a little more. I wonder”—looking at the pale, indifferent +face of her charge—“if she knows more than she +pretends. All this may be clear as daylight to her, for all +I know.”</p> + +<p>For sullen reserve was written on the handsome, obstinate +face, and Beryl had always been odd enough.</p> + +<p>“So,” said Egerton lightly, as he joined the governess, +“you have been making friends with your pupil. She is +a queer mortal.”</p> + +<p>Andria, looking at him, could hardly repress a start. +She saw now what had been familiar to her in this man’s +face. He was as like Beryl Corselas as middle age can be +like youth, except about the mouth. Where the girl’s was +sullen and timid, his was clear-cut, decisive. But the +difference in the eyes was only in color; his were all but +black; hers uncanny, tawny gold, like old wine; the shape +of the eye-socket was exactly similar in both faces.</p> + +<p>A queer compunction came over Andria. Perhaps the +man was Beryl’s father! That would explain almost +everything—except that senseless lie about Bermuda.</p> + +<p>“We have made friends, yes,” she said slowly. “Miss +Corselas tells me we are to stay here?”</p> + +<p>He nodded, and watched her as she looked all round +the tree-covered hills, where no houses were to be seen.</p> + +<p>“You don’t see anywhere to live? My house is up +there, a short distance from the shore,” said Egerton, +pointing directly in front of him. “I have just been there +to see that the servants were prepared; we are going on +shore to breakfast. Please don’t turn pale, we will have +some coffee before we go.”</p> + +<p>As in a dream, Andria Holbeach—who had so short a +time since been Andria Erle in a very different place, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> +with no better right—found herself being put on shore +like cargo. There seemed no need for such haste, and she +saw with wonder how quickly the sailors were getting out +of the boats not only her own and Beryl’s boxes, but packing-cases +of stores. But she had little time to watch +them. The instant Mr. Egerton set foot on the firm, +white sand, he led the way up a narrow path that could +not be seen from the yacht.</p> + +<p>“After me, please, Miss Holbeach,” he said, with a +total change of manner. “And look out for the llanos.”</p> + +<p>What llanos were she did not know, but she soon saw. +Great ropes of some vine were thick across the neglected +path, a very trap for unwary feet. Sharp edges of uneven +rock cut her boots as she hurried after Egerton. +The man, for his age, was getting over the ground marvelously.</p> + +<p>High on each side of the path were wild orange-trees, +pinky-white with blossoms and headily sweet. Scarlet +hibiscus flaunted great flowers the size of her two hands; +lilies sprang everywhere on the lower ground; pink and +white heaths showered her with their tiny petals as she +brushed past thickets of them.</p> + +<p>“I can’t walk so fast,” said Beryl from behind her. +“Tell him to wait.”</p> + +<p>Egerton looked round.</p> + +<p>“It is not a good place to loiter in, this low ground,” +he observed; “the scents are heady in the early morning.”</p> + +<p>Andria, to her surprise, saw that his hurry was not +put on; he was glancing round him with real apprehension. +And what could there be to fear in a paradise of +flowers like this?</p> + +<p>“Do you mean there is fever here?” she asked, catching +up to him.</p> + +<p>“No,” he answered shortly; “merely what I said. The +flowers give one headache; the place is overgrown with +them.”</p> + +<p>It was to a certainty. Blossoms she had never heard +of dangled sweet-scented tassels in her face; the soft, +warm air was like a greenhouse. But she had no time<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> +to look as Egerton hurried on. The path, at times, was +but a thread; she had to help Beryl over rocks and +through thickets, for her head was still dizzy from the +voyage. And all the while the anxiety on their guide’s +face was plain; it shook Andria’s nerves in spite of +herself.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the rough path ended among great rocks, +higher than a man’s head. Egerton led the way through +them, and they emerged suddenly on an open space of +coarse turf, with great trees scattered over it. Hot and +breathless as she was, Andria saw that the apprehension +was gone from Egerton’s face; whatever their danger +had been, it was past.</p> + +<p>“There is the house,” he said; and as they went slowly +across the dewy grass an exclamation broke from her.</p> + +<p>She had expected a low wooden bungalow. The house +that they came on from behind a screen of trees was fit +for a palace.</p> + +<p>High and white it stood in the morning sun, built of +creamy stone; all porticos and shady verandas. Green +jalousies shaded the balconies, and behind the great pile +the ground sloped upward, so that it stood against a +background of flowering trees.</p> + +<p>Yet something in the look of the place filled Andria +with terror. She, who feared nothing since she had nothing +left to dread, felt her blood turn cold. The house +looked evil; evil and wickedness lurked in it as in a nightmare; +the orange and scarlet creepers that decked the +lower verandas flaunted like sins in the morning sun.</p> + +<p>As she went up the broad, white steps and crossed +the threshold into the hall, a shudder of unutterable fear +took her. And yet there was nothing but luxury in the +room she entered. She looked at Beryl. There was only +weariness in the girl’s face as she sat down in the first +chair she came to and looked listlessly about her.</p> + +<p>An empty vestibule had led into a large room, lined, +floored, and ceiled with polished wood. Gorgeous rugs, +gorgeous silk cushions covered the plainness of the wickerwork +furniture; tastelessly arranged flowers were everywhere, +and even a piano stood against the wall.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p> + +<p>Egerton, his face as calm and matter-of-fact as if he +had never hurried them up that narrow path like a man +in dread, pulled an old-fashioned bell-rope; a colored +woman in spotless white stood in the doorway before the +sound of the bell had ceased.</p> + +<p>“Breakfast waiting, sir,” she said, gazing at the two +strange ladies curiously.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“Here is your new mistress, Salome,” he said, turning +to Andria. “Mind you take care of her and this young +lady.”</p> + +<p>“For de Lawd’s sake, sir,” said Salome, “dat’s certain. +Don’t I always——”</p> + +<p>Andria, behind Egerton’s back, knew that his eye had +cut the woman short.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">TWO WARNINGS.</p> + + +<p>All through breakfast she sat like a woman whose every +perception is sharpened by fear. The very ordinariness +of that meal, served faultlessly by Salome and another +colored woman, only seemed to make her more curiously +fearful. The lie about Bermuda, the breathless hurry up +the path, the sudden relaxing of the vigilance in Egerton’s +eyes as they came out on open ground, were all +parts of a puzzle she could not fit together. She sat ready +for anything as she ate mechanically; but even she was +not prepared for what was coming next.</p> + +<p>From her seat at the table she had heard the voices of +the sailors as they brought up the endless boxes, heard +the thump with which each one was deposited in some +back veranda—for solid as the house looked, inside it +resembled a whispering gallery. A colored woman came +in and told Egerton the things had come. Should the +men go?</p> + +<p>He rose hastily, and said something from the veranda +to the waiting sailors before he turned to the maid.</p> + +<p>“Give them breakfast,” he said shortly, “and then we’ll +be off!”</p> + +<p>We! Even Beryl looked at him, though so far nothing +in this strange place had seemed to rouse her from a +dull apathy.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Egerton said quietly, “I’m going, too. I shall +leave you two ladies in Salome’s charge. I may be gone +a month or six weeks. I have some business. But you +will be quite comfortable here; it is certainly quiet;” and +he laughed in that harsh cackle that was so out of character +with his polished voice and manner. The sound of +it grated on Andria’s nerves.</p> + +<p>“But what,” she began, “I mean, is there no one in the +neighborhood—are we alone on this island? What shall +I do if Miss Corselas is ill?” She was so confounded +she could scarcely speak.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> + +<p>“Salome can look after her. She has all sorts of medicines,” +he returned. “Neighbors? No, you have none. +You need fear no interruptions in either your work or +play.”</p> + +<p>“But I thought there were any amount of people in +Bermuda!” Beryl had lifted her head and was staring +at him with those strange, tawny eyes.</p> + +<p>“Bermuda is a big place,” he said, with a slow smile. +“You won’t see many people, and I shall come back as +soon as I can——” He turned suddenly to Andria, who +sat pale and motionless, certain that his coming back +would be a long time in arriving. “My leaving you is unavoidable,” +he said, as if he knew her thoughts, “and also +for the best. You will learn to know each other better +without a third person. You may go about as you like, +but I may as well tell you that most of the country behind +the house is impenetrable scrub, but quite safe if you care +to try it.” And it seemed as if his harsh laugh broke out +against his will, so quickly did he check it.</p> + +<p>“The only things I warn you not to do,” he went on, +“are to go out at night, and to go up and down to the +shore by that short cut we used this morning. You might +easily hurt yourselves there; slip on the rocks, trip on the +vines; a hundred things. And Salome will show you a +better road when you wish to bathe or sit by the sea. +But above everything”—and he lifted his hand impressively, +and Andria stared as if she were fascinated where she +sat—“do not stay out after sundown, and never, never stir +one step outside after dark.”</p> + +<p>There was something in his voice that carried warning +and conviction.</p> + +<p>“If you take my advice,” he continued, a shade less +earnestly, “you will not even walk on the upper verandas +after nightfall. The lower one you must never think of +but by daylight. The air is health itself in the day, but at +night it gives fever. You understand?”</p> + +<p>“Quite,” said Andria, whiter than a sheet of paper. +“Quite.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will bid you good-by. It will be no time before +you see me again. The days slip by here, you will find.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + +<p>He opened the door for them to leave the room, and +shook hands with studied courtesy as they passed.</p> + +<p>The governess never looked at him; she was quivering +with rage.</p> + +<p>Beryl was so like him that she might easily be his +daughter, and he was leaving her here with a woman of +whom he knew less than nothing, whom he had chosen +because she had absolutely no qualifications. And leaving +her, too, in a place he owned was fever-haunted. If it had +been in Andria’s power she would have knocked him +down, and taken Beryl at a run to the boat. But, even if +she did this, it would avail her nothing.</p> + +<p>Beryl was tired out, and one of the colored women +showed her to her room.</p> + +<p>Andria remained in the dining-room, absorbed in her +reflections.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she heard the sound of voices on the veranda +without. She went to the window, and, screened by the +jalousy, saw Egerton and Salome.</p> + +<p>“So you haven’t seen anything of him lately?” Egerton +was saying.</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Salome; “not a hoof of him been +round here since summer. Dey won’t be no more accidents +dis time. He’s gone, and—dey’s gone, too.”</p> + +<p>“Well! that’s good news,” he said slowly; and why did +she think there was disappointment in his voice?</p> + +<p>“But don’t let those two ladies go out after dark, all +the same! There’s fever; remember that!”</p> + +<p>“Might as well kill ’em as scare ’em to death,” said the +woman shrewdly. “But I’ll lock up every night same as +always. Dat nigh shook me into my grave, dat last +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“See, then, that there’s no more,” he said sternly. +“You’re responsible for them till I come back. And I’ll +have no talking to them, mind that. You can’t afford to +know anything about accidents, and I suppose neither of +the others know anything to tell.”</p> + +<p>“Not one of ’em.” Her voice shook as if at some horrible +memory. “You think I tell what I find, and bury? +Nobody knows nothing ’bout dis nigger——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p> + +<p>“But me,” said Egerton slowly. “And what is done +here you are responsible for, and you know it.”</p> + +<p>She had good reason to. She broke out into a flood +of protestations that he cut short; and while the listener +stood trying to make sense of them she heard the man’s +soft, quick footfall leaving the veranda.</p> + +<p>She had no mind to speak to him now. She knew there +would be no satisfaction from him; nothing but smooth +lies. Before she could move she heard Salome speaking +to herself where Egerton had left her.</p> + +<p>“‘Take care o’ dem ladies,’ he says,” she broke out in +a kind of wail. “‘You’s ’sponsible.’ But who’s going to +take care of me, an’ Chloe, an’ Amelia Jane? Nothin’ but +our own black skins. Praise de Lawd dis day dat I ain’t +white!”</p> + +<p>She shuffled off, and Andria went up-stairs, pale and +half-distraught. What sixth sense made her sure that all +this show of warning, of caution, only covered something +that was meant to happen.</p> + +<p>“You’re responsible,” he had said to Salome, and a horrible +conviction was cold at Andria’s heart. If anything +dreadful overtook her and Beryl, Egerton would have +washed his hands of it. He had warned them and their +keeper!</p> + +<p>Sick with apprehension, Andria almost ran against +Amelia Jane, waiting, stout and attentive, on the landing.</p> + +<p>“You looks terrible tuckered out, missus,” she said respectfully. +“Best lie down and rest.”</p> + +<p>Andria nodded; and then spoke on a sudden impulse.</p> + +<p>“Is this place Bermuda?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Law’s sake, missus, certain it is! Didn’t you know +dat?” the colored woman said emphatically.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Andria slowly, walking past her.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE HAUNTING EYES.</p> + + +<p>Beryl Corselas, wearied out, had slept from ten in the +morning till late afternoon.</p> + +<p>Now, as she sat in the drawing-room with the western +sun pouring through the open doorway, she looked a different +girl; one whom Egerton would scarcely have +known.</p> + +<p>Her dusky hair was dressed like Andria’s, her golden-tawny +eyes shone serene in her pale face; even the crimson +of her lips was brighter. For the first time in all her +miserable young life she was happy. As a child, she had +worshiped Andria Heathcote, and to be alone with the +only human being she had never feared or deceived was +rapture to her; even in this lonely island, with not a creature +but themselves and the black servants. The drawing-room +looked wonderfully homelike, with its open piano +and comfortable tea-table, to the two who were so +strangely met after five years.</p> + +<p>“Andria,” Beryl said, drawing a long breath and clasping +her thin young arms round her knees, “why are you so +quiet? Why aren’t you like me, ready to dance because +you’re free? Free—but you can’t know what it is to me!”</p> + +<p>“‘Free among the dead,’” quoted the elder woman +softly under her breath, but Beryl’s ears were good.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”—looking up from her low seat +with eyes like wells of golden light.</p> + +<p>Andria rose, and opened the two doors of the room. +There was not a soul in sight, and from somewhere she +could hear the servants talking over their tea.</p> + +<p>“Beryl, how brave are you?” She had shut the doors +softly and come very close, so that her voice was but a +whisper.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know!” said Beryl, startled. “Rough words—Mother +Felicitas—always made me a coward. But there +are neither here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> + +<p>“There’s something. I don’t know what. Listen”—Andria’s +voice was suddenly protecting, motherly—“and +don’t speak loud! You heard Mr. Egerton warn us not +to go out after dark on the verandas, or use that path. +Well, there is some reason, I can’t tell what. I heard +him talking to Salome, and I know the place isn’t safe. +And he knew it when he brought us here.”</p> + +<p>“He only said we’d get fever if we went out after +sunset. If he wanted us to, he wouldn’t have warned +us,” said Beryl sensibly.</p> + +<p>“I know! But——” The shrewd reason of Salome’s +“might as well kill ’em as scare ’em to death” came back +to her. She must not fill the girl with fear like her +own—only she wished she had not overheard that talk +about accidents! She began to walk up and down the +room restlessly.</p> + +<p>“I can’t see why he brought us here!” she cried, but +guardedly. “What reason could he have? Think, Beryl, +why do you imagine he ever took you away from that +Fuller woman? What did he say?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing; but that she was too poor to be able to afford +to be kind.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think he knows anything about you—is anything +to you?”</p> + +<p>“No, but kind as he has been, I can’t like him.”</p> + +<p>“Why did he pretend to bring us to Bermuda, and leave +us in a place like this? That is what puzzles me. I +would think he knew something of you; wanted to hide +you away safely, if——” she broke off. It was no use to +say “if I didn’t feel that this was a dangerous place, and +that he deceives us about it because he didn’t want us even +to know where he had taken us.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” said Beryl, staring. “Isn’t this +Bermuda?”</p> + +<p>Andria laughed as Beryl’s Andria had not known how.</p> + +<p>“No!” she returned contemptuously. “Bermuda is a +lot of small islands; small and low, not high like this. +And it’s full of people—an English garrison and American +visitors. I knew a man who went there.”</p> + +<p>Beryl’s eyes dilated like a cat’s.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span></p> + +<p>“Then what’s this?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Andria, shrugging her shoulders. +“I haven’t enough geography.”</p> + +<p>“Andria, you don’t believe he means to leave us here or +murder us,” said Beryl, with a queer calmness.</p> + +<p>“The first, perhaps! Not the last, or he wouldn’t have +told Salome to take care of us.”</p> + +<p>“Did he?”</p> + +<p>Andria nodded. There was no need to say she was +sure he had not meant it.</p> + +<p>“But there’s nothing to take care of us from!” continued +Beryl ungrammatically.</p> + +<p>“He said there was. Oh, Beryl! I think and think, and +I can’t see daylight. Why he brought us, why he lied to +us; what it all means! He never saw me in his life, nor +heard of me, so it must be on your account. No one in +the convent ever knew who you were except Mother +Felicitas——”</p> + +<p>“Did she?” asked Beryl sharply.</p> + +<p>“Yes. But never mind her now, I only guessed that +she knew. Think if you can remember anything before +you ever came to the nuns.”</p> + +<p>Beryl shook her head hopelessly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve often tried. I can’t remember one thing but a +woman who used to hold me so tight and hard against +her that I cried. It seemed to be in a room with a queer +violet light in it—but it may be just a dream!”</p> + +<p>“It’s no more useful.” Andria walked to the open +door and stood watching the sun dip into the bay they +had reached that morning; it lay empty now, blank, rose, +and opal under a gorgeous sky, but she was not thinking +of it. She was no girl like Beryl, but a woman, with a +woman’s sense of responsibility. Beryl was her charge, +she would take care of her—but how? That queer, blank +feeling of thoughts that would not come overpowered +her as it had the day she had learned she was not Andria +Erle, but only Andria Heathcote, dishonored and deserted. +A soft, heavy step made her start.</p> + +<p>“’Scuse me, missus,” said Salome civilly, “but it’s +mighty nigh sundown, and I got to lock up dis place.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> + +<p>“Lock up now!” Andria’s gentle voice was even, as +usual. “Why, Salome?”</p> + +<p>“It’s dark here, missus, de minute after de sun drops. +I always does like dis;” and she moved from jalousy to +jalousy, round the long veranda, drawing down and bolting +each stout wooden shutter with easy strength.</p> + +<p>To the remonstrance of the new mistress she paid no +more attention than to a child’s; and, in truth, Andria +could not wish it. Since there was some danger, somewhere, +by all means let Salome bar it out! But she meant +to discover and fight it openly before long.</p> + +<p>As the black woman barred the front door, Andria noticed +how strong it was, and how heavy. Was it to shut +in—or to shut out—that the bolts were so big!</p> + +<p>“Where do you sleep, Salome?” she asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>“In de quarters behind de kitchen.”</p> + +<p>“Out of the house, do you mean?” she asked, with an +uncontrollable start.</p> + +<p>“Yes, missus, after de ladies’ dinner, at half-past seven, +Chloe an’ me an’ Amelia Jane goes to our own house.”</p> + +<p>“But we can’t stay all alone, Salome! If we wanted +anything in the night——” said Andria, aghast now in +good earnest.</p> + +<p>“De ladies ring de bell,” returned the woman anxiously. +“Dat’s de only way.”</p> + +<p>“May I come and see? I’d like to.”</p> + +<p>Salome chuckled. She led the way through what seemed +half a mile of empty rooms and disused pantries into the +kitchen; from its barred and grated window Andria saw +a paved courtyard, with a high wall on two sides, on the +third a stone house.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’re not far! I could run to you.”</p> + +<p>“Please don’t, missus! Ring de bell; we’ll do de running,” +said Salome anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Then you’re not afraid to cross the courtyard in the +dark?” she asked, with sudden quickness.</p> + +<p>Salome looked nervously at the courtyard wall.</p> + +<p>“No, missus,” she answered. “Colored people ain’t got +time to be frightened o’ de dark.”</p> + +<p>Andria remembered what the woman had said about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> +her black skin protecting her. What could she have +meant?</p> + +<p>By the time she was back in the drawing-room again +she saw Salome had been right about the darkness. It +had dropped on the world like a curtain the instant the +sun vanished.</p> + +<p>There were no blinds to the windows, and in the lamplight +after dinner the dark squares of them were like blind +eyes. As the two lonely girls sat talking, each, without +telling the other, felt a growing dislike to those black +windows, through which the darkness of the shut-up +veranda showed like a solid wall. By degrees a curious +quietude fell on the two. How silent the house was, and +how silent the night outside.</p> + +<p>“Andria,” said Beryl softly, “have the servants gone to +their funny little house? Who puts out these lights?”</p> + +<p>“I do. We leave the hall lights burning, Salome said.”</p> + +<p>Beryl gave a sudden shiver.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go to bed! I don’t like it here in this room.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you? Why?”</p> + +<p>The girl, with an infinitesimal movement of her finger, +pointed to the unblinded windows.</p> + +<p>“Those!” she whispered. “I feel as if some one were +looking in.”</p> + +<p>So did Andria. A dreadful feeling that they were +watched had come on her as they talked. Brave as she +was, she would have given a good deal to have had her +back to the wall instead of those windows, that might +suddenly splinter and crash in.</p> + +<p>“That’s nonsense!” she said, more to herself than Beryl. +“The jalousies are shut; no one could see in.”</p> + +<p>“They could—through the slats!”</p> + +<p>“You goose, there isn’t any one within miles!” If Andria’s +quick laugh jarred a little, Beryl did not notice it +as the elder girl extinguished the lamps.</p> + +<p>“Come along to bed—you’re getting nervous,” she commanded; +and purposely blundered against a chair in the +dark.</p> + +<p>Once in her own room she put out the light there, and +knelt by the shut jalousies of the veranda—listening. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> +had heard something down-stairs; had laughed that Beryl +might not hear it, too. Now, in the hush of the +veiled moonlight, she heard it still.</p> + +<p>Some one was below her, in the garden, going round +and round the house with a fevered eagerness, almost +running. Holding her breath, she heard those quick, +quick steps, and her blood grew chill.</p> + +<p>Who could be there?</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE PATTERING FOOTSTEPS.</p> + + +<p>In a less lonely place the governess would have thought +nothing of those footsteps, but here she had been expressly +told two things—there were no neighbors and there +was danger abroad at night.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if I dare!” she thought, and peered through +the slats of the jalousy. The moon was on the other side +of the house; she could see that much, for this side was +in deep shadow. No one below could possibly see if a +jalousy were pushed out an inch or not. She unbolted the +smallest division of the heavy hanging shutters, and noiselessly +pushed it outward as far as she dared.</p> + +<p>All she could see was the strip of garden and shrubbery +directly beneath her; darkly shadowed as it was she +could not tell if there was any one there.</p> + +<p>“The night is dreadful in this place—dreadful!” she +thought. “There might be devils behind every bush. The +very moonlight is not like the good, clear light I know. +Mr. Egerton need not have warned me not to go out—nothing +would take me into those dreadful shadows, +that veiled, honey-colored light.”</p> + +<p>The heavy jalousy tired her wrist, in another minute +she must let it go, and so far had learned nothing. She +had known down in the drawing-room that some person +or thing was outside. Nothing moved now in the stirless +garden—those strangely light, quick steps had ceased. +But out of the quiet another sound and a nearer smote +on her senses, a creaking as of wood rubbing on wood.</p> + +<p>Her aching wrist forgotten, she peered through the +crack, and with horror, for the creepers were swaying +below her.</p> + +<p>Some one was climbing up!</p> + +<p>Somehow, she shut the jalousy, bolted it and got back +into her room. Something noiseless, light, a darker +shadow against the dark, clung for an instant to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> +very shutter she had just closed, clung and was gone. +She heard the quick slither of it as it went down the +creepers, but whether it had been man or beast she could +not tell.</p> + +<p>Her terror had taken her to the opposite wall of the +room, that she might at least have something solid behind +her back, and for a long minute she stood there, +sick with the horror of the thing.</p> + +<p>Yet as she stood there, trembling-kneed, her heart grew +strangely light; she felt suddenly uplifted, happy, in the +midst of she knew not what mysterious dangers. Here +was the chance to do as Mother Benedicta, that saint on +earth, had bidden her long ago. To fight Beryl’s battles +bravely, and in doing it rub out, perhaps, those years +that had been so evil. For evil they had been; she had +never been sure as she pretended that Raimond Erle +and she were man and wife. She had snatched at happiness, +had cared little if that happiness were a sin, and +now——</p> + +<p>“I have my chance to blot it out,” she said to herself +deliberately. “I’ll save the child if I have to die +for her. Perhaps Mother Benedicta’s saints won’t shut +me out of heaven then.”</p> + +<p>The hope that had never yet left her, that Raimond +Erle might some day come back to her, ceased suddenly, +as her thoughts of revenging herself died in the new +hope that came over her.</p> + +<p>“I’ll never see him again,” she thought, little knowing, +“and I’ll beat Mr. Egerton yet! A better woman +would have been a far more easily managed governess. +One like me knows too much. For I’m sure—sure +that he brought that girl here to put her out of the +way, and his warnings to Salome and me were nothing +but a blind.”</p> + +<p>The danger she was in made her almost gay.</p> + +<p>Quite boldly she stepped out on the veranda and looked +through those shutters where that strange, hunting thing +had scented her.</p> + +<p>What was it? It had looked, with its spread-eagle +arms and legs, like an ape. She would find out in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> +morning if there were such things here. Then she shuddered, +with a quailing at even her cold heart.</p> + +<p>Salome had thanked Heaven she was black!</p> + +<p>Then the thing, whatever it was, only attacked white +people. Could it be some dreadful, half-crazy black man, +run wild in the woods?</p> + +<p>“I can’t get a pistol,” mused Andria dryly, “but I can +get a knife!” and she went quietly in to bed. The thing, +whatever it was, was gone.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Bright and early she woke to a new day.</p> + +<p>Amelia Jane, with a tea-tray, stood by her bed, and +Andria, after a dazed instant, remembered where she +was, and saw, too, that Amelia Jane looked tired. She +was the youngest of the colored women and the stupidest, +and she stared as she answered Andria’s good morning.</p> + +<p>Fully dressed, she had lain down on her bed, her +only toilet for the night having been to take out the +pins from the great circle of ruddy hair that hung round +her in a glorious mass. Under the servant’s wondering +eyes, she laughed.</p> + +<p>“I must have fallen asleep,” she said. “Don’t tell any +one, Amelia.”</p> + +<p>“You wasn’t awake late, was you?” the woman returned +curiously.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I thought I heard footsteps, Amelia, +last night!”</p> + +<p>Amelia Jane put down her tray.</p> + +<p>“Don’t speak of ’em—they isn’t lucky!” she said. +“They’s haunts, miss.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean ghosts?”</p> + +<p>“Jus’ ghosts. My soul! I slep’ here in this house once. +I heard them steps all night. Hurry, hurry—hunt, hunt—but +I never see nothin’. Bermuda’s haunted, I tell +you so.”</p> + +<p>“Is the house called Bermuda?” asked Andria quickly.</p> + +<p>“Yas’m. And if it isn’t haunted, why is it that they’s +no footsteps heard out’n the quarters? Only in the big +house.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> + +<p>So the house was called Bermuda!</p> + +<p>That was what Amelia had meant on the stairs.</p> + +<p>Andria’s heart lightened a little, for at least it showed +the servants were not in league with Egerton to deceive +her.</p> + +<p>“Nobody ever sees the ‘haunt,’ do they?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“No’m! Sometimes ’taint here at all. Salome she say +it’s nonsense—but I don’t hear it. An’ yet it ain’t never +amounted to nothing, only jus’ noises.”</p> + +<p>“Are there monkeys here, Amelia?”</p> + +<p>Amelia Jane laughed till she had to cover her face +with her apron.</p> + +<p>“Monkeys! No’m. I been here three years, an’ I +never hear tell of no monkeys. There ain’t no beasts +’tall. When you’ve had you bath’m kin I brush out your +hair? It’s tangled till if you piroots round in it you’ll +tear it out.”</p> + +<p>Andria thanked her, her heart warming to the kindly +voice. But when her toilet was done and she stood, +fresh and fair, in front of the glass, some one knocked +at the door. It was Salome, and her fat face was anxious.</p> + +<p>“Morning, missus,” she said hastily. “I come to tell +you little miss must habe gone out. I can’t see her +nowhere.”</p> + +<p>“Out! Alone?” Andria gasped, “Oh, Salome! Which +way? Not down that path?”</p> + +<p>“You clear out and look down de road, ‘Melia Jane!” +commanded the housekeeper, and stopped Andria, as +she would have followed.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you say nothin’ of dat path to ‘Melia Jane,” she +whispered. “She’d be faint-hearted of de place ef she +got skeered. But run, missus, do; and get little miss. +She didn’t know no other way to go.”</p> + +<p>“Then you heard—last night!” cried Andria, almost +running through the house, Salome at her heels.</p> + +<p>“Heard what? Dey ain’t nothin’ to hear. Don’t you +listen to tales from ‘Melia Jane ’bout haunts. Dey’s fever +in dat path, dat’s all,” said the woman, lying obstinately.</p> + +<p>Andria shot out of the house like an arrow from a bow.</p> + +<p>Down that uncanny path, with its hot, strong scents<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +and gaudy flowers, she ran as she had never thought +she could run; her skirts caught to her knees, she leaped +and stumbled and slid over the tangled vines and sharp +rocks. Suddenly a gleam of white caught her eyes, +and between two high rocks she saw Beryl, kneeling over +something on the ground.</p> + +<p>“Beryl,” she screamed, hoarse with fear and anger at +the girl’s disobedience; “Beryl, why did you come here? +Come home!”</p> + +<p>“Hush!” said the girl softly, turning her head, “I’m +all right! Come here quietly and see what I’ve found. +Such a darling kitten!”</p> + +<p>Andria, her pulses thumping and her breath gone, +caught back an angry word. What did the child mean? +She had noticed last evening that Salome had no dogs +or cats. And then her heart contracted.</p> + +<p>On the ground beside Beryl, playing with her hand, +was a small cat—all marked with curious black rings +on its yellow-white coat.</p> + +<p>But it was no cat. Its face was square, its eyes wild, +as it stopped its play at the sight of a second person. +Beryl, her own strange eyes intent and masterful, began +to stroke it with soft, strong fingers.</p> + +<p>“Pussy, pussy—little, little cat!” she whispered in the +thing’s small ear; and as if it knew her it lay on its +back and patted her with velvet paws.</p> + +<p>What she had seen in the night came back to the +governess. Had it been a full-grown thing like this that +had smelled her out on the upper veranda? Trembling, +she stepped to the girl’s side.</p> + +<p>“Beryl, put it down! Come home,” she begged, for +orders, when the girl’s face was absent and obstinate, +were useless. “It may have its mother somewhere, you +don’t know! Come home.”</p> + +<p>“She wouldn’t hurt me!” said Beryl, and for a moment +those strange, yellow eyes met Andria’s, not so unlike the +eyes of the queer, wild kitten.</p> + +<p>“No, but she might me,” said Andria quietly, as a forlorn +hope.</p> + +<p>Beryl turned pale.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, Andria, forgive me!” she cried. “I forgot. +There, little cat, run home! Or shall I take it with us +and feed it?”</p> + +<p>“No, no! Oh, come away!” with a wild horror she +thought of being followed up the path by a prowling +thing like she had seen the night before. Almost she +stamped her foot as Beryl lingered, kissing her new-found +toy. Instead of scratching, it purred and rubbed its head +against her, and Andria knew that if she had touched +it the thing would have clawed her eyes out. Her heartbeats, +which had shaken her from breathlessness, shook +her now with terror. Who could tell what moment death +might not be on them?</p> + +<p>But Beryl, putting down the kitten very gently, slipped +her arm through Andria’s with quick compunction.</p> + +<p>“Come along,” she said sweetly. “I’d forgotten this +was a bad place and we weren’t to come here. Run +home, little cat! See, Andria, it will follow us!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Andria, with stiff lips. “It won’t come +far, I fancy.” She pushed Beryl in front of her so +that if more than the kitten should follow the girl would +have a chance to run, and found herself glancing every +which way just as Egerton had done the morning before. +To her despair Beryl turned suddenly off the path.</p> + +<p>“Look!” she cried, “here’s the kitten again! It’s +caught up with us. And here’s the dearest little pond, +Andria!” She did not believe for one second in that +fairy-tale of the kitten’s mother. “See it—all white +sand, and so clear.”</p> + +<p>Andria was utterly furious.</p> + +<p>“Beryl, please come! I’m so hungry,” she said. “I +believe you want me to get fever.”</p> + +<p>“How can you!” said Beryl. “You poor dear, I’ll +come now.”</p> + +<p>And she did, hurrying with easy steps up the stony +path. The kitten stayed behind, and that terrified Andria +anew. She turned to follow Beryl, and her foot +slipped. For a moment she fell on her knees, faint with +pain; her face bent over the still water of the little +pond that mirrored her clearly. The next second her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> +heart seemed to die in her. There was more than her +own face reflected in the water. Over her shoulder, +leering, mouthing as if it jabbered at her, was a second +face, so wild and dreadful that her throat grew shut +and dry with fear. With her newborn instinct of facing +an enemy, she wrenched herself round on her knees and +scrambled to her feet.</p> + +<p>The space behind her was utterly empty! Even the +wild kitten was gone.</p> + +<p>Not a rustle, a moving leaf, stirred the gorgeous shrubs +anywhere, and yet she knew some one had vanished into +them but now. That face that had leered at her from +the water mirror had been no dream, but a dreadful +reality.</p> + +<p>“Reflection can’t lie,” she thought. “And I saw it +face to face with me.” She could scarcely move as she +realized how close it must have been to her to have peered +over her very shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Beryl!” She suddenly remembered the girl she had +sworn to herself to take care of, and forgot her turned +ankle as she raced after her. At the end of the path +she almost sobbed with joy. There stood Beryl, fresh +and lovely in the sunshine that flooded the open turfed +lawns. Her face was quite careless and untroubled.</p> + +<p>“I won’t tell her,” Andria thought swiftly. “She’s +seen nothing.” But even there in the open ground she +made her charge walk in front of her all the way to +the house, for fear of what might yet be behind them.</p> + +<p>Salome stood waiting at the door, and turned away +as she saw them.</p> + +<p>“What on earth’s the matter with Salome?” Beryl +said, laughing. “Andria, she was truly pale! She was +gray!”</p> + +<p>But Andria said nothing.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE EYES OUTSIDE THE JALOUSY.</p> + + +<p>The weather changed that afternoon. A high, hot +wind blew from the southwest under a gray sky; the +sea thundered on the beach below the house; and as +Beryl looked out listlessly, rainlike waterspouts came +thrashing down.</p> + +<p>“Hateful!” she said pettishly. “I was going out.” +Andria, whose bruised foot ached, began to laugh.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t laugh! If you do I’ll go still,” she said, +with babyish wilfulness.</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t that,” said the so-called governess; “it’s +only this—do you know that we were supposed to do +lessons, and there isn’t a sign of a book in the house! +Not even a novel. Amelia Jane has half a Bible, and +she says that’s the only book there is.”</p> + +<p>“I believe he’s just stuck us here to mold away and +die,” returned Beryl quite calmly. “He didn’t care +whether I learned anything or not, in spite of his grandfatherly +ways. But I’m not going to mold or die +either. I like the place!” she continued coolly. “I hope +he’ll never come back.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t like it long,” muttered Andria to herself. +“You won’t have a chance,” for her adventures were +heavy on her mind, and it took all her will not to pour +them out to this careless listener.</p> + +<p>“I like it out, I mean! I didn’t like it indoors much.” +Beryl went on, blessedly ignorant of the thoughts in her +companion’s mind. “That’s rather funny about the +books, but I don’t care. I wouldn’t do any more lessons +if we’d a library. All I want to do is to lie under the +trees and be lazy.”</p> + +<p>“You need it, you poor baby,” said Andria pitifully. +For tall and strong as the girl was, she was too thin, +and the lovely outline of her pale, warm cheeks too +hollow. But in Andria’s mind was that there would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> +be few days to be out of doors in sun or shade; if +things went on as now this house would not be their +prison alone—their only safety would be inside its stout +stone walls.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah, here comes tea!” cried Beryl gaily. “Salome, +I haven’t anything to do, and it’s raining. Couldn’t +Amelia Jane go out and look for my cat?”</p> + +<p>The tray clattered on the table. Salome had all but +dropped it.</p> + +<p>“Cat?” she said. “Cat! Dey ain’t no cats here. For +the land’s sake, Miss Ber’l, what you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Just what I said,” answered Beryl provokingly. +“Why? Don’t you like cats, Salome?”</p> + +<p>Salome opened her eyes till they looked all whites.</p> + +<p>“Dey ain’t none on de island,” she persisted obstinately. +“What you mean? You didn’t bring no cat. I didn’t +see none.”</p> + +<p>“I did, then, and I didn’t bring it either,” said Beryl, +with a cheerful laugh. “The dearest little cat, Salome! +I found it on the path on the shore this morning—all +yellow with black spots.”</p> + +<p>“My gracious sakes, little miss!” said the woman +slowly, and Andria saw she was holding herself hard. +“Don’t you come and tell ole Salome dem tales.”</p> + +<p>“She did find a cat, Salome!” Andria interrupted. “I +saw it, too. But it wasn’t like a common cat. I think +it was a wild one. Why didn’t you tell me there were +wildcats?”</p> + +<p>The woman drew her breath so sharply that it was +all but a sob.</p> + +<p>“Dey ain’t—no wildcats!” she returned faintly.</p> + +<p>“I told you so, Andria,” Beryl stuck in gaily, helping +herself to tea. “I knew it was tame! It was so soft, +and had such sweet fur.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t go for to touch it?” and almost fiercely +Salome turned to the girl.</p> + +<p>“Why not, if it was only a dream-cat, like you say?” +said Beryl, with that goblin look in her queer face. “Salome, +you silly woman, of course I did! I played with +it for ages.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> + +<p>“An’ you never seen nothin’ else? Nothin’ ’tall?” she +insisted, her big chest heaving.</p> + +<p>“No, of course not. Andria said its mother might +come and eat us, but she didn’t.”</p> + +<p>Andria’s eyes, full of meaning, caught Salome’s from +behind Beryl’s shoulder. The colored woman read them +like print. If one had not seen, the other had—and +been silent. For an instant the black woman looked +rebelliously at the white. If the new red-haired mistress +meant there should be accidents Salome would +have no hand in them. She moved, stiff with angry suspicion, +to the front door.</p> + +<p>“Guess I’ll lock up now,” she muttered. “Don’t want +none o’ dem cats in my kitchen.”</p> + +<p>“Salome, don’t shut up!” Beryl cried, running to the +nearest window. “My cat may be out there; wait till +I look. I’m going to bring the poor thing in out of +the rain if it’s there.”</p> + +<p>She stared out into the blinding white mist of wild +and streaming rain. It was impossible to see through +it if there had been fifty cats; against it there was almost +no difference in color between the gray tree-trunks +and the green leaves, so blanched was the world. Suddenly +lightning passed before her eyes, short, white, +and vicious through the pearl-white rain, like a striking +sword. After it thunder that shook the very earth. +Under cover of the deafening peal of it Andria spoke +in Salome’s ear.</p> + +<p>“Don’t tell her, don’t frighten her,” she whispered. +“You and I must take care of her. Oh, Salome, I saw +something!”</p> + +<p>The woman’s face changed as if by magic. “I was +suspicioning you,” she said, banging the door. “I don’t +fancy dis place an’ dat’s a fact. But if you don’t, neither, +I guess we’ll get over dem—all o’ dem,” she laughed +savagely, but Andria caught at her black hand as at the +hand of a friend. “I trust you, Salome!” she breathed.</p> + +<p>“Fo’ the Lawd, you kin,” said the woman shortly. +“But dey ain’t no time now. You wait, missus, till to-night.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh!” shrieked Beryl. “There’s my cat. I saw it. +It’s looking for me. I’ll get it.”</p> + +<p>Salome, with a bound that was ludicrous in a stout +person who shook as she walked, caught the girl half +out of the window. “Does you want to get killed by +dat lightning?” she cried authoritatively. “I tell you +dey ain’t no playing wid de sword of de Lawd in dis +country. See dat!” she cried sharply.</p> + +<p>A tall tree was struck as she spoke, and the thunder +drowned the fall of it, as the rain quenched its smoking +limbs. “Dey ain’t no cats worf frizzling for, I tell +you.”</p> + +<p>To Andria’s surprise Beryl turned obediently from +the window. Salome, with feverish haste, shut up her +fortress and lit the lamps.</p> + +<p>“Dey’ll be good men drowned in dat wind,” she said +soberly. “You pray for dem, Miss Ber’l, instead o’ chasing +after no cats.”</p> + +<p>A sudden heavy gust against the house corroborated +her. The wind would be a hurricane by and by. In +the noise of it the woman muttered to herself despairingly. +“She see dat cat in daylight—broad daylight. +Oh! my soul—and dey’ll be wind to-night. I dunno +what I’m gwine do. I daresn’t tell ’em; he’d murder +me just like dat if I did. I got to piroot some way out +of it.” And she shook her head meaningly as Andria +would have followed her from the room.</p> + +<p>Chloe and Amelia Jane waited at dinner. Salome was +absent doing other things. Strange things enough in +that lonely place, far from towns and tramps. The +woman was strong as a man, and she worked feverishly +at her self-appointed task; piled packing-cases before +the doors opening on the lower veranda, put heaps of +some strange-smelling, dried herb on the verandas themselves. +The top ones she never thought of, knowing +nothing of Andria’s vision the night before. When she +had finished her poor precautions she regarded them +doubtfully enough.</p> + +<p>“Broad daylight, and I’d been sure dey was clean +gone,” she groaned. “And here it’s night, and de wind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> +risin’. Pray dey’s grit in ole Salome yet! But I ain’t +knowing just what to do. Dey tells me red-haired white +women is liars, and how do I know ’bout dis one! She +kin trust me sure enough, but I ain’t trying no speriments +on her.”</p> + +<p>Yet that very wind that was racking Salome’s nerves +had set Andria’s at rest. There could be no prowling +spies on a night like this; not even that strange being, +whose leering, mocking face she scarcely dared remember, +could be abroad in such a storm. The face had been +barely human; animal greed and hatred had been in it, +hungry fierceness in its glittering eyes as it grinned at +her. She longed to go and pour out her story to Salome, +but when she looked into the kitchen all was +darkness.</p> + +<p>“Salome needn’t have deserted us!” she thought, like +a hurt child, and then resolutely banished all fear of +their great loneliness in the inclemency of the night.</p> + +<p>“Look out!” cried Beryl, as Andria returned to the +drawing-room. “See what I’ve found. Isn’t it fun?”</p> + +<p>She had from somewhere unearthed a long ugly dagger, +very fine and sharp. On the floor she had put +a row of oranges, and with unerring aim was throwing +the dagger at them. She never missed; each orange +as it was struck was nailed to the floor. Andria took +the dagger from the orange where it stood quivering. +How sharp it was! She had fairly to drag it from the +polished board.</p> + +<p>“Let me try!” and to her surprise, after the first failure, +the thing was easy. Only the fear of breaking the +new toy made her stop; she might have need of it.</p> + +<p>“I found some cards, too, and a book!” Beryl cried. +“Such a funny old book. Listen!” She read aloud +from a battered calf octavo: “‘As sure as the turquoise +brings love and the amethyst repels it, so does the opal +attract misfortune and the beryl bring bad dreams.’ +There, the beryl’s me! What kind of a stone is it? I +never saw one.”</p> + +<p>“It’s green,” said Andria absently; “pale-green; something +the color of that wild kitten’s eyes.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> + +<p>“Then look here!” exclaimed Beryl excitedly. “Is this +one? It was shut up in the book. Trust me to rummage +round and find things.”</p> + +<p>She held up a tarnished gold ring, thin and old, set +with a pale-green stone that glittered in the lamplight.</p> + +<p>Andria seized it.</p> + +<p>“It’s a beryl, certainly,” she said slowly. “I wonder +whose it is!”</p> + +<p>“It’s mine now,” said Beryl, snatching it and slipping +it on her finger. “I’m going to wear it.”</p> + +<p>“Bad dreams, the book says, and you’ve no right to it, +you know,” said Andria.</p> + +<p>“Neither has old Egerton any right to me. I’ll bring +him bad dreams, too, if I can. Oh, Andria! Isn’t it +pretty? I never wore a ring in my life.”</p> + +<p>Andria looked silently at her own bare fingers where +once the diamonds had felt heavy. “They didn’t bring +happiness,” she said softly. “But you can wear it if +you like. Where are the cards? I’ll teach you to play +euchre.”</p> + +<p>Curiously enough, all Beryl’s nervousness of the night +before had vanished. She sat down calmly with her +back to the uncurtained windows and bestowed her +whole attention on the game. Her left hand, with the +cards in it, was held high, with the ring glittering on +it, so that if there had been any one to look in they +could have seen it plainly. The storm made the house +shake, solid as it was, and the noise of it was deafening. +There could be no one abroad to-night, yet suddenly +Andria seemed to stiffen in her chair.</p> + +<p>“Beryl,” she whispered, putting down a card that was +all wrong, “there’s the queerest sound in the wind! Like +something sniffing at the door. Can’t you hear it?”</p> + +<p>“I heard it ages ago,” said Beryl gaily. “Perhaps +it’s my cat. Shall I let it in?”</p> + +<p>“No! Don’t move. It’s too loud; no kitten could +make it. It sounds like a horse sniffing dust and blowing +it out again.”</p> + +<p>The girl listened.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + +<p>Very, very soft, in the battering wind, came another +sound; a scratch, scratch, scratch at the door.</p> + +<p>“It is my kitten! I”—with a curious look in her eyes +Beryl had risen—“I must go.”</p> + +<p>“You sha’n’t stir,” said Andria, with a sudden ugly +gentleness. “You don’t know what’s outside. Come +up-stairs; it isn’t safe here.” She caught Beryl’s arm +and fairly pushed her from the room, catching up that +lean, sharp dagger as she passed it. The instant they +were over the threshold the scratching ceased, as if whatever +was outside knew they had gone.</p> + +<p>Half-way up-stairs a sudden crash as if some one had +upset a heavy table stopped both girls short. Fear +caught Andria by the throat; silent and dry-lipped she +pushed Beryl against the wall and stood in front of her, +the dagger in her hand. Had something got in up-stairs? +Was she to fight for both their lives—now—on these +stairs? The next second she heard Salome’s voice: “Ladies, +ladies,” she called frantically, “come up out o’ dat. +Oh, my soul! Dey’s smelled de white blood—de white +blood!”</p> + +<p>“Salome! I thought you’d gone to your own house. +What is it?—there’s something—outside at the door.”</p> + +<p>“Come up, come up!” The black woman ran down +to them, her snowy turban askew on her frizzy hair. “Oh, +Miss Holbeach, I been here six years and I never seen +nothin’ like dis. Dey’s hunted you down, hunted——” +her voice broke horribly.</p> + +<p>“What?” said Beryl sharply. She broke from Andria’s +hands and ran up-stairs.</p> + +<p>Andria tore after her, and stopped short at what she +saw.</p> + +<p>Beryl was out on the veranda, staring into the darkness. +Opposite her, not two yards from her face, something +shone through the bar of the jalousies. Two +great eyes, green as the stone she had found, glittering, +ravenous, were fixed on her; but not even a shadow +of the thing in whose head they shone showed against +the black storm outside.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> + +<p>“Come in,” said Andria, paralyzed. “Come in! Oh, +what is it?”</p> + +<p>At the sound of her voice there came a snarl that +made her blood cold, but the creature, whatever it was, +could not loose its foothold to claw at the bars.</p> + +<p>“It’s an animal,” said Beryl, in a queer singsong tone, +“I’m not afraid of animals. Go in, or you’ll be killed.”</p> + +<p>She walked nearer to those awful eyes, crooning softly +to herself. The snarling ceased, but as Andria, in mad +fear, leapt after the girl, it broke out so wildly, with +such a guttural note of rage, that she screamed. The +thing had got foothold! It was clawing at the bars.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A STRANGE POWER.</p> + + +<p>With a quick, backward sweep of her long, young +arm Beryl Corselas sent Andria staggering backward, +but she never looked to see Salome catch her dexterously +and drag her inside the room.</p> + +<p>Without taking her eyes from the fierce ones outside +the stout, wooden shutters, the girl began to croon again +and the hungry scratching of the iron claws ceased. +Monotonous, scarcely rising or falling, that queer chant +went on, till through it there rose a purr like a great cat’s.</p> + +<p>Closer, closer Beryl drew to the jalousy; the horrified +watchers saw her all but touch it. She stopped +and gazed through the slats, straight into the wonderful +eyes. Very slowly the great animal relaxed, scraping +against the wood. Something heavy, yet strangely light-footed, +leaped softly to the ground. The thing was +gone.</p> + +<p>Exactly as if she walked in her sleep Beryl Corselas +came straight to the other two.</p> + +<p>“I want a drink of water,” she said, very low. “That +was a jaguar.”</p> + +<p>Salome struck a light and shut the door on the awful +darkness of the veranda before she brought a tumbler +from the wash-stand.</p> + +<p>“How do you know? You never saw one.” Andria’s +voice was thick with shame. She had been so grand +about saving Beryl; and it was Beryl who had saved +her! She threw her dagger down angrily; it would +have been no use at all in a struggle with a beast like +that.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.” Beryl gulped at the water. “But +I do know, somehow,” she said in her natural, every-day +voice.</p> + +<p>Salome took the tumbler from her with a curious +gesture of respect.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>“My soul! You saved us! Oh! my glory!” she +cried hysterically. “Glory, glory!” her voice rang out +between sobs and laughter. “You’s one o’ dem.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” Andria had played a small +part and hated herself.</p> + +<p>“You knows much as I knows,” said Salome sullenly. +“You seen! She was de beat of ’em. Dey’s some born +like dat. Oh, missy, glory be dis night!” Her chest +heaved as she turned to Beryl, but the girl only walked +away.</p> + +<p>“Salome,” Andria broke out angrily, “you don’t trust +me! I tell you I love the child. I have nothing to do +with Mr. Egerton’s plots against her. I’ve known her +ever since she was a baby.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t never hear o’ no plots,” said Salome sharply. +But at the look on Andria’s face she buried her own +in her hands. “I will trust you, missus,” she whispered. +“Fo’ de Lawd, ole Salome couldn’t tell ’bout you. I’m +sick o’ dis life and dis yer place, dat’s true.”</p> + +<p>“Then tell me what it all means,” commanded Andria +sternly. “Why are we besieged here every night +by wild beasts and worse?”</p> + +<p>Salome caught her by the arm.</p> + +<p>“Listen!” she cried. “I can’t tell you nothin’. I took +my Bible oath”—on Amelia Jane’s poor relic of religion!—“to +hole my tongue. But I took another in my mind +to take care of dat child.”</p> + +<p>“Then tell me who I saw last night!” said Andria +frantically. “Whose hateful face jabbered at me this +morning, down the path——”</p> + +<p>“You done see him! My soul!” said the woman, as +if hell had opened under her feet. “Den we’s gone, +sure enough. Dey’s more than jaguars.”</p> + +<p>Beryl, as if she listened to something very far off, +had drawn to the other end of the room. She stood, +a tense white figure, deaf to all other sounds but those. +Andria pointed to her dumbly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t say anything,” she breathed. “She is afraid +of people, never of animals. At the convent she once +saved a sister from an ox that turned on her——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> + +<p>“Dey’s born so, I tell you,” Salome returned, with a +kind of pride.</p> + +<p>“Salome, if you don’t speak out to me I’ll go mad,” +Andria said desperately. “What can I do if I don’t +know what it all means?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you nothin’,” answered Salome slowly. “I +couldn’t get clear if I did. And you knows all I knows +now. I don’t know no more. Black people in the house, +no one comes—white women! You seen to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean the place is safe for black people?”</p> + +<p>“De white blood draws ’em,” she answered in a +whisper that thrilled.</p> + +<p>“But men; Mr. Egerton——”</p> + +<p>“When he comes back you see. He ain’t going to +stay long. He sleep up, up in de roof, last time he +come.”</p> + +<p>“And he brought two women here!” Every drop of +Andria’s blood recoiled.</p> + +<p>“Dat’s what I can’t understand,” said Salome eagerly. +“He say, ‘Salome, you take care on ’em!’ And I seem +to feel he don’t mean it.”</p> + +<p>“He can’t,” said Andria simply. “Oh! Salome, can’t +we get away? Isn’t there any one on all this island +but us? Isn’t there a village—boats?”</p> + +<p>“If dey is dey’s behind miles o’ bush and scrub dat +we can’t scrape through,” Salome returned, very low. +“Boats, if you means getting away by de sea, dey ain’t +none, ’less we make ’em. I never see no living soul +since I been here—but what you see to-night!”</p> + +<p>“But why are you here?”</p> + +<p>“’Cause he brought me. He tell me he take me to +good place in Bermuda, and I came here. Oh, missus! +I’m not old—but I’m wore out with misery.”</p> + +<p>“But you’re not a slave! Why did you stay?”</p> + +<p>“Niggers has no choice,” she answered darkly. And +something told Andria there was a black story that Salome +would not tell. “By and by he bring Chloe an’ +Amelia Jane. He tell dem dis is Bermuda. And dey +never fret, dey only caring to eat and save deir wages. +De Lawd knows if we ever get away from here. Don’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> +you ’spose I never tried, ’cause dat’s what I did try. But—I +ain’t gone yet!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll make him let us go!”</p> + +<p>Salome clutched her, really ashy with terror.</p> + +<p>“You never say nothin’, or dey’s no more o’ dis world +for me. You mind now. I never tell you nothin’; you +never tell me nothin’; you see and I sees; and we beat +them if we can. Dey’s here, dey’s always been here, +but when dey ain’t no one but niggers in de house dey +goes. Dey get master yet,” she said savagely, “for all +he dares ’em.”</p> + +<p>“But you told me there were no animals—where did +that thing come from?”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I think dey spring out o’ de earth. I +don’t know. But dey’s worse—you tell me he jabbers +at you dis morning,” interrupting herself, “an’ she’s +afraid of people! If he’s going round in de daylight +like dat, an’ she’s afraid, he’ll get her sure!”</p> + +<p>“But who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Dat’s what I don’t know. But he climbs and—Miss +Holbeach, it ain’t no jaguar dat chokes de life out o’ +my lambs and don’t tear no flesh nor skin!”</p> + +<p>Andria’s flesh crawled at the slow words. In the +silence the storm outside was like the end of the world. +The battering of the wind, the crash of falling trees, the +roar of the rain covered the low voices of the two women. +In the uproar Beryl, like a statue that lived and listened, +drew her breath long and slow. Suddenly she spoke, +without turning.</p> + +<p>“There are more than that one, and they’re hunting +and yapping like dogs. I wish I could see them! But +it’s too dark.”</p> + +<p>“Are they hunting us?” cried Andria, shuddering. Already +she seemed to feel the ripping claws, the crunching +teeth of the great beast outside.</p> + +<p>“Not me!” said Beryl dreamily.</p> + +<p>Salome watched her with awestruck eyes.</p> + +<p>“If we dies, we dies,” she said hardly. “Better lie +down on dem beds an’ rest. Dey ain’t got in yet. Pray<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> +de Lawd we ain’t going to be de meat at a jaguar +wedding dis night!”</p> + +<p>With the stoical courage born of long endurance of +fear she lay down on a rug. Andria, in sheer despair, +sat down silently. And in the midst of the storm she +seemed to hear what Beryl was hearing—a wild snarling, +a medley of quick cries—and set her teeth. Any +minute, through any door, a square, savage head might +show itself with death in its green eyes. She looked at +Beryl.</p> + +<p>The girl was curled up on her bed like a kitten, sound +asleep.</p> + +<p>Black woman and white looked at each other, then +with one consent sat up and kept their useless, terrified +watch till the lamp burned dim. The wind had fallen, +the horrid outcry in the garden had ceased, and, lulled +by the quiet, the two slept in their chairs, worn out.</p> + +<p>As the dawn flushed in the east the girl on the bed +sat up, looked at the two weary figures, the dying lamp, +and like a ghost stole by them. When the clear sunlight +at last roused them she had not come back.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">IN THE WOODS OF PARADISE.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Drink to the men that were broken!</div> + <div class="verse indent1">They were better men than you.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>Scorching morning sun on a barren point of rock and +sand, and on great waves that thudded and broke emerald-green +and white on the wet beach; and nothing else +to tell of the past night’s storm.</p> + +<p>Nothing, unless if any one had shaded their eyes to +gaze at the beach, where the hot air quivered, they +might have seen a huddled thing lying there just out +of the reach of the waves; a thing that last night had +been a man, and to-day—motionless, lax, it seemed but +the body that some one had cast aside. If something +did move in the bushes, it did not disturb that quiet +sleeper in the sun.</p> + +<p>“Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn +in no other.”</p> + +<p>Brian Heriot had been put into the Guards at twenty, +had lived as gaily as if money grew on every bush, till +the crash came and undeceived him. His father died +without a will, and his elder brothers quietly threw him +over. The new Lord Heriot was a Plymouth brother and +a philanthropist; he had no money to waste on idle young +butterflies in the Guards. The Honorable Brian Heriot +grinned without much mirth when he realized his position. +He disgusted his dear friends by calmly taking +what little money he had to pay his debts, and then, +without a word to any one, quietly “went under.” His +old haunts knew him no more; people forgot him, no +one troubling to remember that if Lord Heriot was a +pious prig, Brian, his brother, was a born adventurer.</p> + +<p>Strange lands, strange occupations knew him. He +grew very tanned, very handsome, with a look in his +face that made women turn their heads as he passed. +But he made no money, only kept body and soul together;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> +a rolling stone that yet did not go down-hill. For he +kept his soft speech and manner, his good heart that +hated cruelty and a lie. Somehow he had drifted to +Fayal, and there being penniless, if cheerful, had shipped +on a small coasting-vessel that gathered cargo for the +European steamers.</p> + +<p>That was a week ago. This morning there was neither +vessel, cargo, nor crew; nothing but Brian Heriot washed +ashore almost dead. He had swum till he could swim +no more; that was all he knew. That, and a great +crashing of water, and utter darkness. But the very +wave that had stunned him had cast him high and dry +like a bit of driftwood on the sandy point where he +lay.</p> + +<p>As the sun warmed him he stirred, ever so faintly.</p> + +<p>Had something touched him? Stooped over him with +clammy fingers on his bare throat? He tried to open +his eyes, but he saw only one fleeting shimmer of sun +on water before they closed again. There was a deadly +heaviness in his limbs, an utter indifference in his brain; +he did not know whether he was alive or dead, and did +not care. Presently he knew he was dreaming.</p> + +<p>He thought he was lying in hot, hot sun, on hotter +sand, and turned away from the hungry sea that pounded +in his ears. And just before his eyes stood a girl; a +tall girl in white, with a great veil of dusky hair streaming +over her. Round her feet played two jaguar cubs, +and in her arms was a third, that she cuddled and +crooned to as if it were a child. Step by step she came +close to him, and over her shoulder there peered from +the bushes another face that leered and laughed as if +in malice. A dreadful fright for the girl came over +Brian Heriot, but in his nightmare he could not stir. +He tried to shout, and the dream went. Something wet +and cool on his head roused him; a shadow that was +heaven came between him and the sun; a girl’s voice +scolded something that seemed to be running and jumping +over him.</p> + +<p>With an effort that racked every bone Brian Heriot +sat up, and stared about him. Half his dream was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> +true. He was on a beach, a wet handkerchief was bound +on his head, but there was no one there.</p> + +<p>“Please come back!” he said. “I won’t hurt you,” +and then laughed ruefully. Sick and dizzy, with a cut +head and a wrenched ankle, he certainly would not hurt +any one. “Oh, do come back!” he cried again, with a +kind of vexed impatience, and wished he could remember +some Portuguese instead of this useless English.</p> + +<p>But even as he spoke the bushes parted, and a girl +slipped out of them. She stood looking at him with great +eyes almost as yellow as topaz, and he saw the color +come and go in her creamy cheeks.</p> + +<p>“I thought you were Mr. Egerton at first,” she said +slowly, almost sullenly. “Did you come with him? Is +he back?”</p> + +<p>Ill and exhausted as he was, the incongruity of the +thing made him stare. Where had he got to, that a +girl played with jaguar cubs and spoke in English?</p> + +<p>“I don’t know any one named Egerton,” he said, propping +himself up on one arm. “My name’s Heriot.”</p> + +<p>“How did you get here? You really mean you don’t +know him?”</p> + +<p>“I mean I never heard of him,” he answered stupidly. +“I got here because my ship was wrecked last night. If +you hadn’t waked me I think I should have had a touch +of sun.”</p> + +<p>“You must get out of it,” said the girl quickly. She +twisted her hair into a knot, as if she had just remembered +it. As she did so a ring on her finger glittered +green, and at the sight of it something in the bushes +drew back sharply.</p> + +<p>At the rustle she bounded like a frightened child closer +to the man in the sand, whose eyes were so blue in his +handsome face, handsome in spite of blood-stains.</p> + +<p>“Did you see anything besides me, a little while ago?” +she whispered. “Quick, tell me!”</p> + +<p>“I thought I saw a man,” he answered, surprised. “But +I wasn’t myself; I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>She put her hand on his shoulder, and to his amaze +he felt it tremble.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> + +<p>“So did I!” she whispered, lower still. “Get up. I’ll +help you. I’ll take you with me. But,” suspiciously, +“you mean what you say? Mr. Egerton didn’t send +you?”</p> + +<p>“No one sent me.” He forgot she was a girl, and +spoke with rough truth as to a man. “God knows you +haven’t much choice when you’re washed overboard. I +didn’t mean to come. Why should I lie about it?”</p> + +<p>“Most people,” she said composedly, “lie. But”—she +stopped, listened—“come, come away!” she cried. “I’m +afraid here.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t be afraid of much,” he answered, full of +wonder. “I saw you playing with jaguar cubs just now, +unless I dreamed it.”</p> + +<p>The girl laughed. That rough denial of Egerton had +somehow made her trust the man. “Those were my +cats. I’m not afraid of animals. I hate people, though, +except Andria.”</p> + +<p>“By George!” thought Heriot, “I’d rather face ten +men than one jaguar. Who is the girl? And who’s +Andria? I knew one Andria, but——” He smiled at +the idea; it could not be she!</p> + +<p>“You don’t know anything about animals.” She had +read his face with a queer anger. Turning from him, +she began to croon, very low, and at a call a yellow, +white, black-spotted kitten came out of the bushes. But +it only rubbed against her skirt and bounded away. Beryl +Corselas grew pale.</p> + +<p>“Come,” she said, and took his hand. “Can you walk?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” He got on his feet and gritted his teeth with +the pain in his ankle. “Is it far?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I don’t know,” she said absently, staring round +her. Who was calling the cats that they would not +stay with her? What horrible face had she seen for +one instant through the bushes? “Don’t let go my +hand!” she said suddenly, childishly; and Heriot, for all +his pain, saw that this girl who played with jaguars was +frightened.</p> + +<p>But as he went with her up what was surely a path, +though not worn by shod feet, the feeling that it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> +all a dream came over him again. If it had not been +for the pain in his foot he might have been Adam +walking with Eve in Eden for the loneliness and the +beauty of the place. The wet scrub was a mass of +flowers, gorgeous butterflies swam through thickets of +white and rose heaths, strange blossoms flaunted in his +face. And never in all his days had he seen a beauty +so strange as that of the girl who led him by the hand. +Yet for all its unlined youth the face was pathetic, +tragic; the dull rose lips were lips that had tasted +grief.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by saying you’re afraid of people?” +he said, the pain in his ankle making him talk, for fear +he should groan.</p> + +<p>“Animals are simple; I understand them,” she returned, +without slackening her pace. “People all have an animal +in them. I see it in their faces, but an animal turned +bad. Mother Felicitas was a white wolf.”</p> + +<p>“You are not afraid of me?” He was afraid himself +of her answer.</p> + +<p>“No!” she answered carelessly. “No more than I +would be of a dog. Come on!”</p> + +<p>Heriot had stopped. He leaned against a tree, faint +with pain. He would cheerfully have given a thousand +pounds for a drink.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to wait,” he said ruefully. “I mean I +will. There’s something wrong with my foot.”</p> + +<p>With feverish haste the girl picked up a stick that +lay on the path and shoved it into his hand. “It’s green, +it won’t break. Use it for a walking-stick,” she ordered. +“And try to hurry. Don’t you know there’s +something following us?”</p> + +<p>He had not heard a sound.</p> + +<p>“What sort of thing?”</p> + +<p>“Something dumb,” she whispered, “that leers and +jabbers, and I can’t manage it, for I’m afraid.”</p> + +<p>Heriot put his hand in his trousers pocket. His pistol +was gone.</p> + +<p>“Walk ahead,” he said, setting his teeth. And as +she obeyed he heard behind him a faint rustling that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> +grew no nearer. He limped on in purgatory from the +heat and his foot. His head swam as the sweat poured +off him. If it had not been for the terror of the girl +with him he would have sat down and waited for what +was following them rather than have walked another +step.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she cried out, and, reaching back for his +hand, fairly dragged him after her. They were out of +the scrub, standing at the edge of a great, open meadow, +with trees scattered over it. As in a dream he saw a +white house, quite near; nearer still a black woman and +a white running to them. He was so dizzy that he +reeled and nearly pulled the girl backward as she clutched +his hand.</p> + +<p>“Beryl!” cried a voice high and sweet. “Oh, Beryl, +where have you been—who’s that?” asked Andria, with +a quick note of startled surprise.</p> + +<p>The whole world swam before Mr. Heriot’s eyes. He +tried to steady himself, to speak.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Erle,” he began, quite calmly, and fainted dead +away on the grass at Andria’s feet.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">OLD SINS AWAKENED.</p> + + +<p>Andria’s heart contracted where she sat in the pleasant, +green-shaded room. The three colored women had +made nothing of carrying the unconscious man into an +unused room in the upper story of the servants’ quarters; +Salome’s eyes had told Andria he must not be taken into +the big house. And there in the spotless bareness of the +darkened chamber Andria had sat ever since, like a +woman who sees a ghost, waiting for this man who +knew her to come to his senses.</p> + +<p>For he knew her quite well. He had been a friend of +Raimond Erle’s, had believed like the rest of London that +the woman who was called “the lovely Andria” had been +the true cause of his financial ruin. When he found +what she was doing here, would he warn Beryl what a +wicked woman she was who masqueraded as a governess +and guardian?</p> + +<p>She lifted her bowed head to look at him, and saw he +had wakened from the heavy sleep that had come on +him after his fainting-fit.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Erle,” he said again stupidly.</p> + +<p>She walked over to him swiftly.</p> + +<p>“I’m not Mrs. Erle; I never was!” she said, with a +kind of passion. “My name is Andria Heathcote, but +they call me Holbeach here.”</p> + +<p>“But——”</p> + +<p>“I know,” she cut him short. “I have begun again. +I am Beryl’s governess, the girl who brought you home. +She knows my real name, but I told her I called myself +Holbeach for reasons of my own.”</p> + +<p>“Governess!” he said, staring.</p> + +<p>“I’m not fit, you think!” she said bitterly.</p> + +<p>“I would not say so,” said the man slowly, and the +blood came to his face.</p> + +<p>“You think I’m bad—an—adventuress——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> + +<p>“I think you ruined Raimond Erle,” he answered +bluntly.</p> + +<p>With a queer gesture she put her hand to her heart +as if it hurt her. This man was of the world, would +judge as the world; and he could tell.</p> + +<p>“I——” She could not finish. A man who did not +know her would have been a rock of defense, to whom +she could have told everything. This man would never +believe she was not in Egerton’s pay, to get rid of Beryl +Corselas. He would remember the evil places, the evil +company he had seen her in; would think it right to destroy +Beryl’s faith in the only soul she trusted.</p> + +<p>No! Let him think this was an ordinary house, she +masquerading as an ordinary governess. Salome said it +would be weeks before he could walk; let him stay here +in this secluded room, where no noises would wake him. +He was only another burden, not a help.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Heriot,” she said quietly, “you will do as you +like, of course, about airing what you know of me. But +if you will wait you will see perhaps that I’m not all bad—not +what you may think. Don’t tell Beryl that I was +Andria Erle till you see reason to mistrust me,” and even +while she spoke she knew he would see reason enough +as soon as Beryl’s careless, indifferent tongue told the +queer story of Egerton and the happenings in this evil +house. No sane person would believe that if such things +were possible in this every-day world the woman Egerton +paid was not on his side in them. And what Egerton’s +side was did not puzzle Andria, if it did Salome.</p> + +<p>“I don’t go about blackmailing people,” said Heriot +coldly. “Don’t look so nervous.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t think I ought to be in the house with +any girl,” she said quietly, and he could not see the bitterness +in her face.</p> + +<p>“If you ask me,” unwillingly, “no! But God knows I +can’t throw the first stone at you, especially when you +take me in and nurse me,” but the old dislike of her and +her kind was in his voice as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Then try and think kindly of me,” she broke out, +and there were tears in the eyes he had always seen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> +so hard. “I have begun again; I’ve put all that behind +me.” With a gesture of loathing he understood.</p> + +<p>“My dear lady,” he returned quickly, “don’t plead like +that! It is no business of mine what you were. I see +you here as Miss Holbeach, and—as for the girl, I am +not her keeper.”</p> + +<p>“No, but I am!” she retorted, for his tone hurt unbearably. +“And keep her I will. I will send your dinner +now,” she said, with a change of manner that said +more for her self-control than her honesty; “it is nearly +six o’clock; you must be starving.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” said Heriot quickly, “who is the child? +What did she mean this morning by saying she was +frightened?”</p> + +<p>He was not prepared for the look on Mrs. Erle’s face.</p> + +<p>“Frightened!” she stammered. “What of—did she +say? Not of those horrible cats?”</p> + +<p>“If you mean jaguar cubs, she was playing with them. +No; some one dumb, she said, who leered and mouthed +at her—and I thought I saw a queer face myself, too!”</p> + +<p>Involuntarily Andria did the worst thing possible.</p> + +<p>“You were hurt and half-senseless,” she returned +coolly. “You imagined you saw what the child romanced +about.”</p> + +<p>But he had seen her dismayed and confounded face, +and knew she lied.</p> + +<p>“That woman here!” he thought, as she left the room, +shutting his eyes and seeing her as he had seen her in +Raimond Erle’s house, covered with diamonds, surrounded +by the worst men in town. “And with that innocent, +fairy-tale sort of child and her queer pets. Why +did she lie to me just now? And why are either of them +here? This must be Flores or Corvo; one of the Azores, +anyhow! And what is she about to let things frighten +the girl?”</p> + +<p>The whole thing made him thoughtful. Were there +only the governess and the girl—where were the master +and mistress? Intuitively the man felt there was something +wrong. With a resistless impulse to see at least +where he was, he managed to drag himself over to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +window. Through the half-open jalousy he saw a small, +stone courtyard, strong as a prison, shaded by a high +building from the sinking sun. And as he stared voices +floated up to him.</p> + +<p>“Salome, she saw—you know something that jabbered +at her! She told him. What shall we do?”</p> + +<p>“Why’d she tell him?” The second voice was richer, +more guttural. “Oh, my glory, missus! Mr. Egerton——” +and the rest was in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“I know. This man won’t help us, Salome!”</p> + +<p>“No! An’ if Mr. Egerton he come back and find him +here, de onliest thing dat’ll happen is de Death Trap.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” But the voice was not surprised, +only appalled.</p> + +<p>“Pray he don’t find out. Best keep Miss Ber’l away +from him. If she tells him things, an’ he sees—he’ll go +out fur to fight! And you knows, missus,” earnestly, +“he might have friends. Dey’d be coming round asking +for him. Onless you kin trust him to help us?” with a +searching accent that was an entreaty.</p> + +<p>“He’ll never help us. He’ll be against us, not for us,” +bitterly. “You daren’t tell, Salome?”</p> + +<p>“Den if he won’t help us, de sooner he goes de better. +I can’t tell. Ain’t nothin’ to me, one white man! +An’ if Mr. Egerton finds people spyin’ round here, it’s de +end of me, sure!”</p> + +<p>“He can’t hear anything up there?”</p> + +<p>“No! No more’n ’Melia Jane does. Onless little miss +screams!”</p> + +<p>“She sha’n’t scream!”</p> + +<p>Heriot drew away from the window, but not so far +that he did not see Andria Erle cross the courtyard with +a light, quick step that went ill with the grim sound in +her voice.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">DOUBTING THOMAS.</p> + + +<p>Mr. Heriot, to his disgust, was extremely ill after that +rash journey to the window.</p> + +<p>For a fortnight he had fever, and was nursed untiringly +by Salome, silent as a statue. When he had +mended enough to be left alone and could walk about his +room, he discovered he was to all intents a prisoner. +His stout nurse had calmly locked the door on him to +keep him out of mischief.</p> + +<p>“Serves me right for spying on them!” he thought, +ashamed and angry, standing at the window, as he had +done that first evening. “But, all the same, I think +there’s some devilment going on here—hello!” he pushed +the jalousy from him and leaned out.</p> + +<p>Beryl Corselas, idle and listless, stood in the courtyard +alone. He had never seen her since she had brought him +from the shore, and her beauty, that was so young and +so pathetic, struck him afresh.</p> + +<p>“Are you better?” she cried, waving her hand to him. +“Why don’t you come out?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t,” he answered calmly. “Salome has locked +me in.”</p> + +<p>“Wait,” said the girl promptly. She ran across the +yard, and he heard her light feet on the stair outside.</p> + +<p>“You were locked in!” she cried, opening the door +and standing there, tall and lovely, her dark hair no +longer hanging round her and her white dress immaculate, +instead of being soaked with dew. “How funny!”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it?” returned Heriot gravely. He led the way +out, limping; he had no notion that Mrs. Erle should find +her charge in his room.</p> + +<p>“Everything’s funny here, though,” the girl said +thoughtfully. “I’m getting used to it. But even Andria +has got queer since you came. She just sits and thinks, +and she won’t let me out of her sight. She has a headache<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> +to-day, poor Andria! And Salome and the others +are busy washing. This is the way, out this door.”</p> + +<p>She led him into the house through the empty kitchen, +and at the voices, and laughter that came from the wash-tubs +the man felt he must be a fool with his suspicions. +Everything here was ordinary. Was he thinking all +sorts of nonsense because he had heard a conversation +not meant for him?</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room he was amazed at the luxury +round him; the silk cushions and gorgeous embroideries +that were so strange in this corner of the Azores.</p> + +<p>His companion made him sit down, and seated herself +on the floor. She looked up at him, her elbows on her +knees and her chin on her hands, and for the first time +he saw what a curious face she had.</p> + +<p>There was something almost vacant in it, and yet it +was not a stupid face, only utterly indifferent. The eyes +that met his were startling in their strangeness, the irises +raying out a tawny golden-yellow, while the eyebrows +and lashes were like ink. The girl’s lips were a thrilling +crimson, and yet the mouth bore a look of suppression, +as if too early it had been acquainted with grief.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, with a sudden laugh that startled him, +“it is queer here. I am queer myself.”</p> + +<p>Heriot smiled, though he was taken aback.</p> + +<p>“You’re a child,” he said calmly; “you haven’t found +yourself yet.”</p> + +<p>“Me? I never was a child,” she said, and her eyes +darkened as if some inward flame had been extinguished. +“No one who’s been Beryl Corselas all her life could ever +be a child.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean the convent, and Mother Felicitas,” she said +somberly, “and Andria and me. If Andria had not gone +away it might have been better.”</p> + +<p>She looked straight at him, and something in his look +reminded her of Andria. His blue eyes had the same +look of self-reliance. His good looks did not strike her +at all; the golden-brown hair and mustache and the debonair<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> +face that had turned many a woman’s head +never touched Beryl Corselas one whit. He looked kind +and strong, and she liked him. That was all. Yet Andria +could have told her that in his day Heriot had been +the handsomest, most spoiled man in London.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean Miss Holbeach,” he asked, with perceptible +hesitation and utter surprise, “was ever in a convent?”</p> + +<p>Beryl nodded.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you,” she said. “It’s all very queer. If you +read it in a book you wouldn’t believe it. And that reminds +me,” she went on, laughing, “Andria was brought +here to teach me, and there isn’t a book in the house but +that funny, old one on the floor there. Mr. Egerton +couldn’t have really cared whether we did lessons or +not.”</p> + +<p>“Begin at the beginning,” said Heriot, with the soft +voice women had found so sweet. “I can’t understand, +you know.”</p> + +<p>But when she had reeled out the whole extraordinary +tale he leaned back and whistled softly.</p> + +<p>Egerton, whoever he was, must know something of +Beryl Corselas’ history and want her out of the way. No +better place could have been found for a superfluous girl +to live than this unknown nook in the Azores. And no +other kind of woman than the late Mrs. Erle could have +been got to take pay for accompanying a kidnaped girl. +There was probably very little mystery in the affair to +her; she must know something from those far-away convent +days about the history of Beryl Corselas; which +might also explain why it had been convenient to get her +here, too, in addition to being a pliant tool in the hands +of a clever man. And that the girl had an affection for +her was another reason. Heriot knew the power of a +woman over a girl who idolizes her. That the whole +thing had been blind chance, he never thought for an +instant.</p> + +<p>“Why do you think he brought you here?”—he kept +his interest out of his voice.</p> + +<p>“I think,” she answered calmly, “to be eaten up. And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> +so does Andria. But Salome says he made her swear to +take care of us. And he did warn us himself, of course; +but I think that was for show, and so does Andria.”</p> + +<p>“Eaten up!” Mr. Heriot gasped. He began to wonder +if the girl were queer in the head.</p> + +<p>Beryl nodded.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know. You don’t sleep in the house,” she +returned. “And, anyhow, it’s all right now, for they +know me.”</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“The two old jaguars,” she said calmly, “and their +kittens. You saw their kittens this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Know you! Jaguars!” This was worse and worse. +The girl was stark mad. If he had not seen her with the +cubs he would have thought it a lie from the word go.</p> + +<p>“Yes, they do!” she asserted pettishly. “I sing—like +this—and they come. I can make them go away, too. +Even Andria is getting to know that I can.”</p> + +<p>She sat upright and began the queer croon he had +heard once before, but this time he recognized it. It was +a snake-charmer’s song, wordless; a thing to make the +flesh crawl on the bones.</p> + +<p>“Where did you learn it?” he asked, cutting her short. +He was not blood-brother to jaguars, and had no wish to +have them called in the open windows.</p> + +<p>“I’ve always known it: I never learned it. I can do +anything with animals. Andria says mother must have +been a dompteuse—a lion-tamer, you know.”</p> + +<p>“It does go from mother to daughter, they say,” he +returned rather faintly. He wondered if this Egerton +were, perhaps, her father, and then—but no man could +be so cold-bloodedly cruel as that! “There ought not to +be wild animals here,” he said out of his thoughts. “Are +these jaguars wild?”</p> + +<p>Every vestige of animation left the girl’s face.</p> + +<p>“No!” she breathed more than spoke. “And that’s the +only thing that frightens me. They’re trained; they have +a master, and they obey him. Do you remember I saw a +face that morning? Well,” as he nodded, “I think they +are his. I think he tries to set them on to kill us, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> +I’ve managed them so far. If I could only get them to +like me best; they would obey me like dogs; but sometimes +I can’t get them to come to me at all. Andria is +afraid to let me play with them. One night I went out, +but she came after me and dragged me in. There was +nearly dreadful work that time; I could hardly keep them +off her—the cubs, I mean. If the old ones had been there +she would have been killed.”</p> + +<p>“Then she does try to take care of you!” the words +escaped him, to his instant shame.</p> + +<p>“Andria? She loves me! She came out to me when +they might have torn her up. But she isn’t afraid of that +thing that hunts with them. It climbs up the jalousies, +and hurries round the house all night, like a dried-up +monkey—only I know it’s a man!”</p> + +<p>“Has she seen it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. But I have, and I’m afraid of it. And +Andria gets wild if I talk of it. She says it’s all a +dream.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a damned unpleasant one, then!” thought Heriot, +utterly at sea. If Egerton meant to do away with both +women, the lovely Andria was a fool to be here. If only +Beryl was to be got rid of, how was Mrs. Erle to save +herself? As he thought of her she came into the room. +She looked paler and more girlish than he had ever +dreamed she could look; her red-brown hair was coiled +simply round her head, and her plain, white gown was as +strange on her as the absence of her rings from her rose-white +hands.</p> + +<p>“Oh!”—she stopped at the sight of him—“Mr. Heriot, +how did you—that is,” lamely, “I’m glad you are better!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you are, Mrs. Erle,” said Heriot’s blue +eyes. Somehow, the very sight of her had strengthened +the mistrust that was beginning to weaken.</p> + +<p>“I managed to escape my stern jailer,” he said lightly. +“I suppose she thought my fever was catching, for she +locked me in.”</p> + +<p>Andria turned scarlet. He saw quite well who had instructed +Salome. She sat down quite composedly, though +she did not look at him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> + +<p>“Beryl, tell Salome we want tea, will you?” she said, +and, as the door closed on the girl, turned to Heriot. “It +was I who had you locked in,” she said hardly; “I was +afraid you might be tempted out and make your fever +worse.”</p> + +<p>“You were very kind,” the irony in his voice barely +visible. “But I may as well tell you that Miss Corselas +has told me all about this queer business.”</p> + +<p>“And you think I am paid by Mr. Egerton to get rid +of her?” she said, without a flicker of her eyes. “I don’t +think I am—yet! But I may be.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t let you do it,” he answered calmly.</p> + +<p>“Neither you nor any one else has a right to say that +to me,” she said, very low. “Because you know my past +is no reason I am all bad. And if I suspect Mr. Egerton +a hundred times over, I must remember that he warned +me to keep her out of danger. If he had meant her to +run into it he would have held his tongue.”</p> + +<p>“He warned you, perhaps!” he was behaving like a cad, +and he knew it. But he could not believe in the late +Mrs. Erle.</p> + +<p>“He knows nothing of me, and cares less.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you take the girl away from here, if you +care for her?”</p> + +<p>“How? You forget I don’t even know where we are. +Do you?”</p> + +<p>Heriot winced.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said unwillingly; “either Flores or Corvo, in +the Azores, but in an uninhabited part of either.”</p> + +<p>“And I am to drag a delicate girl like that through +miles of scrub, with no money if I do get to a town? If +you think I knew what sort of place I was coming to you +are mistaken. He told me this was Bermuda.”</p> + +<p>“Bermuda!”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“And I would think he meant us to live and die here +if he had not said he would come back and take me away +if I did not like it.”</p> + +<p>“Did he say he would take the girl?” he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>“I—no!” she stammered. “I suppose he meant it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> + +<p>“Yet you ask me to believe you know nothing of his +plans?” he asked politely. “Do you know, Mrs. Erle, I +have a great mind to help that poor child away myself?”</p> + +<p>Quick as light she had risen and stood looking down +on him, her face as hard and brazen as that Andria Erle’s +whom he had despised, all its new-found purity gone.</p> + +<p>“And do you think I would let you?” Her voice was +soft as usual, but for once it was not gentle. “Why +should I hand her over to any man, to suffer, perhaps, as +I’ve suffered? Believe me or not as you like, but I will +take care of her, against you and ten like you—against +Egerton himself, when he comes!”</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t, if it came to main strength.”</p> + +<p>“Could you?”—she pointed to his foot that was still +bandaged. He felt her contemptuous eyes on his body +that was thin and shaken with fever. “And have you +money that you could send her to England and take care +of her? Supposing she and you ever got out of the +scrub!</p> + +<p>“This is my house to all purposes. If I told the black +women to put you out to-night they would do it. And I +suppose you know what would come to you then! You +can believe in me or not, as you like,” she said, with sudden +quietude, “but you cannot dictate terms to me, or +threaten me.”</p> + +<p>For a long minute there was utter silence in the room. +Then Heriot, very white about the mouth, rose.</p> + +<p>“I have to beg your pardon,” he said. “You are quite +right. I am in your debt.”</p> + +<p>But as he turned to go back to his old quarters and +get away from this woman, she saw that she had only +made him distrust her more determinedly.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">TRUSTED TOO LATE.</p> + + +<p>To Heriot’s utter surprise, Salome at seven o’clock +brought him a message that the ladies were expecting +him at dinner. It occurred to him suddenly that second +thoughts had convinced the late Mrs. Erle that a man +who had been able to come to her secluded retreat would +be able to get away from it, and that the strange disappearance +of even an orphan girl might be a thing to +report to the police. To be the jailer of a kidnaped +damsel would not add glory to the record of any woman.</p> + +<p>Before Beryl neither of the two betrayed their private +position. Andria was quiet, that was all. She let Heriot +talk to the girl as freely as he liked, and, in spite of his +prejudice, he saw that she never tried to stop any disclosures +of the terror that haunted them at night.</p> + +<p>It was only when dinner was over that he saw her +expression change. A quick remembrance had come to +her. The servants had gone to bed; she dared not let +even her enemy, who might at any minute betray Beryl’s +faith in her, cross that courtyard in the dark.</p> + +<p>Walls were no obstacles to the evening visitors at the +house; she had a quick, sickening vision of a snarling +pounce, a sound of worrying, and then a scream and a +crunching and tearing of flesh. And in the vision, too, +something that squatted on the wall and hounded on its +dreadful servants.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Heriot,” she had risen abruptly from the comfortable +chair where her thoughts had been a torment +that even Heriot might have pitied, thoughts of old days +that had come back to her as if risen with this man from +the dead, “Mr. Heriot, it’s dark! Do you know you can’t +go back to your rooms?”</p> + +<p>“I never meant to,” he answered quietly. “Did you +think that, after hearing all I have, I was going to leave +you two alone to face the night?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> + +<p>To his surprise, it was Beryl who bestowed a somber +glance on him; there was a queer relief on Andria’s face.</p> + +<p>“You ought to have gone!” the girl cried. “You will +only be a trouble here.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try not to be,” he laughed, in spite of himself. “I +can sleep quite well on this sofa.”</p> + +<p>“If you sleep anywhere!”</p> + +<p>“She’s right,” said Andria. “It will be worse if those +beasts smell you out. You should have gone.”</p> + +<p>But, though she hated him for his unkindness, she was +glad of his company. Even an extra dog would have +been welcome in that house.</p> + +<p>“Let us hope they won’t scent me.” He was only half +in earnest, thinking they exaggerated, as women do.</p> + +<p>“I can manage them,” said Beryl softly. “They’re +tame, really,” and, without reason, Heriot’s heart thrilled +with pride at the fearless, almost careless, voice.</p> + +<p>It was torture to Andria to sit in the room with the +man who knew her history and despised her for it. It +brought back those London nights with the supper-room +windows open on a moonlit garden, when Andria Erle, in +satin and diamonds, had fleeted time carelessly, reckless +of what men thought of her. She cared now. She would +have given all her beauty to have seen respect in Heriot’s +eyes, casual acquaintance though he was. And the very +way he turned his sentences brought back Raimond, haggard, +brown-eyed, gentlemanly, with that way he had of +smiling.</p> + +<p>In spite of herself her heart cried out for the man who +had been her all. To shake off her thoughts she rose as +soon as she dared, and carried Beryl off to bed.</p> + +<p>Heriot, left alone, remembered something.</p> + +<p>Salome, at a word from Andria, had produced cigars. +He rummaged about and found them on a side table. +They were Egerton’s, but Heriot was in no mood to be +particular. He had had nothing to smoke in the three +weeks he had been in this queer place.</p> + +<p>He lit a perfecto and leaned back in sweet content as +the blue smoke curled upward. For a little while he forgot +everything but the joy of his smoke, and then the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> +close heat of the room annoyed him. He limped over to +a window and unbarred it, but hardly a breath came in. +Without a thought of the tales of jaguars or their +strange master, Heriot opened the veranda jalousies and +sniffed the air of the gorgeous night.</p> + +<p>A honey-colored moon swam in the sky, even the colors +of the flowers in the garden were visible, and the scent of +oleander-blossoms rose like incense in his nostrils. With +a sigh of content, he turned back into the room and +picked up the only book it contained. The yellow pages +opened of their own accord at a worn passage, and as he +read it he wondered.</p> + +<p>“As sure as the turquoise attracts love and the amethyst +repels it, so does the beryl bring bad dreams.”</p> + +<p>He turned to the title-page.</p> + +<p>“Jewels—Their Verye Majicke Vertue,” he saw in +thick, old lettering, and went back to the passage he was +reading.</p> + +<p>“This is a queer Beryl; I wonder if she will bring bad +dreams,” he thought sleepily, as his cigar burned out. +Too lazy to move, he dozed in his chair, while the lamps +burned low and flickered in the rising breeze.</p> + +<p>A pleasant sound, hurrying, pattering, like heavy rain +on a roof, soothed him dreamily.</p> + +<p>His head rested more heavily on the silk cushions of +his deep chair; he still saw the dimly lighted room, but +mistily, as in a dream.</p> + +<p>His eyelids fell at last, his long lashes rested on his +brown cheek.</p> + +<p>The hurrying patter outside ceased.</p> + +<p>If any one looked with wild incredulity through the +open jalousy Heriot did not see them; if softly and +soundlessly something slipped in and crept behind his +chair he did not hear, or know what curved, crooked +fingers itched to clutch at his throat, and yet were kept +from it by a cunning mind.</p> + +<p>The man was asleep; would stay asleep till—something +woke him.</p> + +<p>A minute later Heriot opened his eyes, and leaped to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> +his feet as one who shakes off a dream at a half-heard +sound.</p> + +<p>Had he seen, for one second, a face, jeering and malicious, +glance back at him from the door into the passage? +And did he see that door closing softly now? +And did he hear quite close, and coming nearer, quick, +yelping whines, as of beasts hunting?</p> + +<p>Heriot rushed to the open jalousy, tore it to him and +barred it; shut and locked the window into the room. +And not an instant too soon, for something soft, yet tremendously +heavy, had hurled itself against his jalousy; +but the good wood held.</p> + +<p>“The jaguars! It was true, then,” he thought almost +unconsciously, for there was no time for thinking when +something worse than a jaguar was on its way to those +two defenseless women up-stairs. Regardless of his lameness, +he raced up-stairs.</p> + +<p>There were lights everywhere, and perfect silence +everywhere, too. Had he dreamed that evil, fleering face—that +misshapen body, with its crooked claws of hands?</p> + +<p>A scream, so wild and dreadful in that lonely house +that it turned his blood to fire, answered him. Yet the +thrilling note of it was rage—not fear!</p> + +<p>“All right!” he shouted; “I’m coming!” and ran in the +direction of the sound.</p> + +<p>Andria Erle, white as ashes, her teeth showing as her +lips curled back from them, was half-facing him, as she +threw Beryl back through a half-open door. As Heriot +ran to her she banged it to, and shut it on the girl; and +then he saw what sickened him. There were hands like +claws clasped round Mrs. Erle’s bare throat, and a monster +that bit buried in the nape of her lovely neck.</p> + +<p>“Bolt the door, Beryl—quick!” her voice came choked. +“Never mind—me!”</p> + +<p>Heriot’s arms shot over her shoulder as she spoke. +But he missed the ghastly thing that clung around her. +He jumped to drag it off her, but it eluded him; with the +noiseless spring of a cat it had dropped to the ground and +vanished somewhere in the winding passage.</p> + +<p>Andria panted desperately.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p> + +<p>“Beryl is all right,” she said. “He can’t get at her. +Beryl, can you let us in?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Oh, Andria!” in anguish, “no! The bolt’s +stuck.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t move it, then.” Andria was trembling from +head to foot. “Lock your window. Is Salome there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, missus! Wait, we’ll get you in.”</p> + +<p>“No!” with authority. “I’m all right; Mr. Heriot’s +here. Don’t open that door, Salome, till I tell you to. +Promise!”</p> + +<p>“I can’t open it,” said the black woman with despair. +“Oh, Miss Holbeach! Run somewhere—quick! He’s +in; he’ll let dem in!”</p> + +<p>Andria clutched Heriot’s arm.</p> + +<p>“She’s right!” she cried. “Come! See my room. I +left a light there, and now it’s dark!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll break the crazy brute’s neck!” said Heriot furiously. +“Let go my arm, please!” To his anger, she was +strong as he.</p> + +<p>“Not without a revolver,” she said imperiously. “Have +you no sense? You can’t do anything but get killed—and +then I’m gone, too. Come!”</p> + +<p>Even in his rage Heriot saw she was right. He was in +no trim to fight a madman, with no weapon but his hands.</p> + +<p>In utter silence he ran with her up the lighted stairs +and into the first room they came to. There was a lamp +burning, for it was Egerton’s sitting-room, and by his +orders never dark, even in his absence. But as they entered +it they heard pattering footsteps on their trail.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” Andria caught Heriot as he would have shut +the door. “We daren’t. He might get in at Beryl.”</p> + +<p>She seized a hard-stuffed bolster from a corner, and, +before he could stop her, had sent it twice through the +window, with a crash and fall of splintered glass. There +was a veranda outside, but no jalousies; nothing to keep +an evil thing imprisoned. With an irresistible force she +dragged Heriot behind a table, whose cloth reached the +ground, and made him crouch there beside her. His arm +felt like iron under her fingers. He was waiting for a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> +fight, and saw nothing in her breaking the window but an +attempt to fly that way, quickly abandoned as useless.</p> + +<p>The hurrying, relentless steps came in, stopped. Then, +with a snarling cry of wordless rage, their strange enemy +saw the open window. Like a flash, he bounded to it, +through it; and Heriot, quicker than he had ever moved +in his life, leaped after him. Andria pointed to a heavy +chest of drawers.</p> + +<p>“That!” she cried. “Keep him out!” and, somehow, +the two moved the heavy thing across the window. From +outside, without a purchase, it would have taken a Sandow +to move it; but the two, with one consent, moved +quickly from the room. Heriot shut and locked the heavy +door behind them, rejoicing in the iron clamps on the +solid wood, but marveling no longer.</p> + +<p>“How did he get in?” cried Andria; she leaned against +the wall, pale and trembling.</p> + +<p>“Come back to Beryl. It’s all right now.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” but he did not move. “Turn round,” he said +authoritatively; “let me see your neck! Do you know +that brute bit you?”</p> + +<p>His whole manner utterly changed, and he laid a hand +on her shoulder, where her white dressing-gown was torn +to ribbons. He felt a shudder run through her.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t—feel it!” she said jerkily. “I was so frightened +for Beryl.”</p> + +<p>Heriot’s face was dark with shame.</p> + +<p>“My God!” he muttered as he saw the deep marks of +teeth in the nape of her neck. “I ought to be kicked. +Mrs. Erle, I have to beg your pardon a thousand times. +I’ve behaved like a beastly cad. I—do you know, it’s all +my fault?”</p> + +<p>“Is it deep? Will it be poisoned?” She took no heed +of his words, and he saw that at last there was terror in +her face.</p> + +<p>“No!” he lied bravely, sickening at the jagged marks, +where the blood oozed. “Come here! Where can I get +some water?” but as he spoke his quick eye caught a can +standing at the head of the stairs, ready to fill the morning +baths.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> + +<p>“Kneel down, and don’t be frightened, please,” he said +gently. “If there is any poison I’ll get it out.”</p> + +<p>Half-mad with disgust, she did not realize what he +meant to do till she felt his lips on her neck. He was +sucking the poison from the wound!</p> + +<p>At first she nearly flung him from her, and then she +buried her face in her hands. There was no one else. +Beryl she could not let do it, and Salome was black. +But Andria was whiter than marble and cold from head +to foot. When the sickening business was done, as she +rose from her knees she staggered.</p> + +<p>“I ought to thank you,” but she did not look at him. +“You——”</p> + +<p>“I’m not fit to black your shoes,” he cut her short, with +a queer sound in his voice. “For God’s sake, Mrs. Erle, +forgive me if you can. I thought you were on Egerton’s +side, and in his pay to get rid of the girl. And I’ve just +seen you ready to chuck your life away for her.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not what you think me. I never was.” She put +her hand to her throat and cried out at the pain of the +bruised flesh she touched.</p> + +<p>“I think you are a good woman,” said Heriot, “and the +bravest on God’s earth. I can’t forgive myself. Do you +know, it was I let that brute in?”</p> + +<p>From very weakness the tears came in her eyes as he +told her how; yet spoke up bravely.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care. I’m not frightened of the bite if you +trust me now. You’ve seen—you must believe me!”</p> + +<p>Heriot looked at her, pale and wild in her torn dressing-gown, +her beautiful face ghastly. This was the +woman he had dared to judge; and she had dared to risk +her life for the very girl he had thought she meant to betray. +And it was he who had really caused that wound +that bled still. He could have gone on his knees in his +shame and humiliation.</p> + +<p>“Come,” he said quietly, “get the others to let you in, +and go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t sleep;” she shook like a leaf, but she followed +him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p> + +<p>Salome got the door open in what seemed an endless +time, as Andria stood outside with chattering teeth.</p> + +<p>“Miss Holbeach!” the woman cried wildly, “it’s daylight! +An’ I heard de engines in de bay. De ship’s got +back!” she ran past Andria to the top of the house.</p> + +<p>The world lay quiet in the hour of daybreak, and Egerton’s +yacht lay at anchor in the gray wanness of the calm +water.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘Bone of thy bone,’ said God to Adam.</div> + <div class="verse indent1">‘Core of my core,’ say I to thee.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>“You’re sure, Salome?” Andria cried. Too stiff and +weary to move, only her eyes looked alive in her pale +face.</p> + +<p>“It’s de boat, it mayn’t be him. Oh, my land, Miss +Holbeach, dey’s blood on you dress! He’ll kill me. +Honey, let ole Salome see! Whata done got yer?”</p> + +<p>But Heriot saw she knew.</p> + +<p>“If it is Egerton,” he observed grimly, “he won’t have +everything his own way. He’ll be amenable enough +when he finds he hasn’t only women to bully.”</p> + +<p>Andria started.</p> + +<p>“He mustn’t find you here!” she cried. “Perhaps he +has come to take us away. You must go back to the +quarters till I find out what he means to do.”</p> + +<p>“We can’t go away and leave him here!” said Beryl +sharply, pointing to Heriot.</p> + +<p>“We won’t. If Egerton means to take us back to +England we’ll make him take Mr. Heriot, too. He +mayn’t know how dreadful things are here—he may be +better than we think.”</p> + +<p>“He knows, honey,” said Salome pitifully. “Don’t you +put no trust in dat.”</p> + +<p>“You must hide, don’t you see it?” Andria repeated. +“This is Egerton’s house. If he finds you here he can +turn you out. And then what help could you be to us?”</p> + +<p>“He’d have his work cut out,” Heriot returned, almost +smiling, standing straight and tall among the three +women.</p> + +<p>“He wouldn’t cut out no more’n he could do,” observed +Salome dryly. “Dat crew on board dat yacht is all cutthroat +dagos, dey’d do whatever he tell ’em, knife you +or drown you. I been six years in dis house, and you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> +mind me—dey ain’t no chance here in a fight for any one +but Mr. Egerton heself!”</p> + +<p>“If you want to help us,” begged Andria, “go into the +quarters and wait. Chloe and Amelia Jane won’t tell, +they’re too frightened of him to speak to him if they can +help it.” It was the best way. To see a strange man +here might turn Egerton’s good intentions into bad ones.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t!” said Heriot, with an angry laugh. “I’d +rather have things out with the man.”</p> + +<p>A slim, cool hand was on his wrist as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Wait and see,” said Beryl. “Please, Mr. Heriot. Then +if he means badly to us you’ll be here to help us.”</p> + +<p>Voice and touch were exactly like a child’s. Heriot +flushed as he met the tawny eyes that were so innocent.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he returned reluctantly. “But if there’s +going to be any delay about taking you away from this +you’ll let me know, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>Andria nodded. This girl, fresh from the convent, +had bent the man’s will as all her own worldly wisdom +could not do. She glanced from one to the other with a +pang at her heart. Love was a bitter thing. If it grew +up between them how would it end? She bit her lip, remembering +her own love’s beginning.</p> + +<p>Salome had run out into the veranda. She came back +now frowning with excitement.</p> + +<p>“It’s him, he’s back! Coming up de path wid two +sailors,” she cried. “Whatever’ll we do if he sees Mr. +Heriot?”</p> + +<p>“He won’t!” said Beryl promptly. “Mr. Heriot’s +going into the quarters to wait and see what happens. +Chloe and Amelia won’t tell.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t no sense in trusting dem niggers. You stay +here, and I’ll tell ’em you’re gone—went last night. Dey +won’t tell you’s been here when dey might tell you is +here,” she said shrewdly, and she was off and back before +it seemed possible.</p> + +<p>“Come, down de side stairs,” she whispered. “Chloe +and ’Melia’s comin’ up de front ones now to get ready +master’s room. Hurry!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> + +<p>She dragged him off as she spoke, and Beryl turned to +Andria.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Look!” said Andria, and bent down.</p> + +<p>The girl drew back with a cry.</p> + +<p>“You got that, to save me!”</p> + +<p>“I got it, anyhow,” grimly. “I’ll show him that and +the broken window in his room where the man went out. +I dare him to leave us here after that. I wonder what +brought him back so soon?”</p> + +<p>“He could have been here before. It’s only six days +to England. Andria, do you think he’s come to take us +away?”</p> + +<p>“What else?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Beryl, very low. “But I think he +hates me worse than Mother Felicitas did. Listen; don’t +tell him those jaguars are tame—don’t tell him I play +with the kittens. Let him think we’re afraid.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid. There’s no thinking about it.”</p> + +<p>“Tell him about the crazy man, make more of that, for +that’s really the root of all,” Beryl persisted, with more +truth than she knew.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you want him to know the beasts aren’t +really dangerous?”</p> + +<p>“They are,” coolly, “as far as he is concerned. Andria, +are you going to meet him like that, all torn and +bloody?” looking at the other woman’s flimsy muslin +gown, whose real lace was in shreds.</p> + +<p>“It won’t hurt him to see it, I had to feel it,” Andria +answered dully. “Beryl, did you notice something last +night? When that dreadful, wizened creature came jabbering +into our room last night, it wasn’t you he sprang +at, it was I! If he had made for you I couldn’t have +done anything.”</p> + +<p>“I saw,” but to Andria’s surprise she broke into a passion +of tears. “Oh, Andria,” she sobbed, “what’s wrong +with me that all strange things fear me? Am I half a +beast, or crazy, like that dumb, jabbering man?”</p> + +<p>But Andria never answered. For once she let the girl<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> +she loved cry to her in vain. She was on her feet, +breathless, listening with every nerve.</p> + +<p>Did every one who came to this dreadful house lose +their senses? or did she in very truth hear a voice she +had never thought to hear this side of the grave?</p> + +<p>Frantic, she hushed the girl who sobbed beside her.</p> + +<p>“Be quiet, listen!” her hand like a vise on Beryl’s +shoulder. “There’s some one else there with Mr. Egerton.”</p> + +<p>A man’s voice, sweet and drawling, came up the stairs +from the entrance-hall.</p> + +<p>“By George! You do yourself well in your country +retreat. The man must have been crazy to sell it to you +for such a song!”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he was,” the answer was dry and significant. +“My dear boy,” Egerton said in his ordinary tone, “did +you expect me to keep my ward in a tent?”</p> + +<p>Andria staggered back against Beryl, whose tears had +dried on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“I’m faint,” she muttered, “ill. Tell them they can’t +see me. I’m going to bed.”</p> + +<p>The strength gone from her muscles, her feet barely +carrying her, she wrenched herself from Beryl’s hold and +crept, more than walked, to her room. That was Egerton +down-stairs, and with him was—Raimond Erle!</p> + +<p>Why was he here? What had brought him?</p> + +<p>She flung herself down on her bed, laughing and crying +with incredulous joy. There could be but one reason, +he must have found out from Egerton that she was here; +must have wearied for her as she had for him, and come +himself to tell her that that letter was all a lie; that she +was still his wife, always had been and always would be, +world without end.</p> + +<p>“Thank God! Oh, thank God!” gasped Andria Erle, +face down on her bed. She knew now that she could +never forget the man who had been all hers, never look +on any other but with indifferent eyes. She could forgive +Egerton for all the mystery that was round her, +could thank him even with that smarting wound at the +back of her neck that had brought her here. She had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> +been but half-alive all these weeks, a ghost of herself. +Now she could rise again as from her grave, and dress +herself to go down fresh and fair when Raimond sent for +her. For the first time she was glad the French maid +had disobeyed her and packed the gowns she had never +meant to wear again.</p> + +<p>Not even a thought of all she had to forgive crossed +her mind. He was here, he had come for her; that was +all.</p> + +<p>She rose with feverish haste. There was a pale lilac +gown he had liked—“he said I looked like spring in it,” +she thought, hunting in her boxes till she found it.</p> + +<p>She looked like spring indeed when she had it on and +remembered the day he had bought it for her. It deepened +her blue-gray eyes into violet, set off her cream-white +skin and ruddy hair. Heriot, the past night, forgotten +as if they had never been, she stared at herself.</p> + +<p>“I’m handsomer than I was,” she thought, with a leaping +heart, “fairer, softer! He will be glad, glad when he +sees me. But I won’t go down till he sends.”</p> + +<p>The soft lilac stuff fell in lovely folds round her as she +turned at a knock at the door.</p> + +<p>“Come in!” she cried; she could not make her voice +quiet. “Come in.”</p> + +<p>It was Amelia Jane, carrying her breakfast.</p> + +<p>“I thought you was sick!” she cried. “My soul, I +dunno when I see you look so well.”</p> + +<p>“I’m better—well! Tell me”—the question came beyond +her will—“did—did Mr. Egerton send me any message? +Is Miss Beryl at breakfast?”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m. She an’ Mr. Egerton an’ another gentleman. +No, he didn’t send no message.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” she said, her voice oddly flat and unmusical.</p> + +<p>“Put the breakfast down, please, Amelia.”</p> + +<p>But when the woman was gone she made no attempt to +eat; only sank into a chair as if her new-found strength +had somehow failed her. If she had been in Raimond +Erle’s place, could she have waited all this time?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> + +<p>“Not one minute of it,” said her starving heart. “Not +one minute!”</p> + +<p>The color faded from her face as she sat and watched +the clock. Ten minutes, twenty, three-quarters of an +hour—and he had not come, though breakfast must long +have been over. She could not sit still and wait like this, +dared not go down and meet him before the others.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get up and walk up and down. Perhaps by the +time I count a thousand steps he’ll be here! Only a +thousand little steps, dear saints, and I’ll see him, kiss +him, be in his arms.”</p> + +<p>She had barely counted a hundred in her wild walk +when a man’s step sounded in the hall, a man’s knock on +her door.</p> + +<p>Radiant, triumphant, incredulous of her own joy, she +sprang to the door and flung it wide.</p> + +<p>Every drop of blood in her body seemed to surge back +to her heart. Egerton, tall, suave, middle-aged, stood on +her threshold.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">STRANGERS.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Thou shalt meet him, but wilt thou greet him?”</div> + <div class="verse indent38">“Ah, no.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>“My dear Miss Holbeach,” he said, “good morning. I +am sorry to find you not well. I hope my unexpected +arrival did not startle you.”</p> + +<p>And indeed she looked ill enough, and startled enough +for anything, as she leaned hard on the door-handle that +she might not fall. Every vestige of color had gone from +her face, even her lips were ashy.</p> + +<p>“I’m only faint—I had a fright,” she could only mutter +incoherently, as she tried for the breath that came so +hardly, “a fright—last night.”</p> + +<p>“My poor lady,” he said quite kindly. “I see you are +altogether unstrung. I came to ask you to come to my +room. I wish to tell you——”</p> + +<p>“Oh! not there,” she cried, with an uncontrollable +shudder. “Not there!”</p> + +<p>“May I come in here, then?” he asked courteously. +“This is your sitting-room, I imagine.”</p> + +<p>Andria glanced backward at the door she had so carefully +closed that Raimond Erle might not see her disordered +bedroom, where she had thrown down gown +after gown in the search for this one that should please +him.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” she said, with white lips, anxious only to +get the door into the passage shut lest Raimond might +pass by, and Egerton looked at her covertly as she sank +into a chair, too nerveless to stand. There must have +been wild work here to make this woman look as she did. +He had heard nothing from either Beryl or Salome, who +had both been silent and sullen; but he knew from Andria’s +face that she had seen what perhaps he had meant +her to see when he brought her here, but what now—since +his purpose had changed—he had nearly burst the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> +boilers of his yacht in trying to get here in time to prevent.</p> + +<p>For Andria was right, he had never meant to return, +his warnings to her and Salome had all been a blind; +Beryl Corselas, when first he found her, had been a burden +to get rid of, he had not dared to let her stay in England +or let his name be heard in connection with her. +Here in this island he had meant her to disappear for +good and all—but, of course, to his deep sorrow and surprise! +He was so careful a scoundrel that he had acted +a part even before the servant who was his miserable +slave and the woman he had engaged because of her +probable unscrupulousness. That he had warned them +had been all that kept Egerton from cursing himself for +a fool all the way from England. One paragraph in a +paper had made those sham warnings real. Lord Erceldonne +had sent for his son, and two days after set out in +hot haste for his secret retreat, terrified that his plans +might have flourished so well as to ruin him.</p> + +<p>In the long pause Andria’s slow pulses were loud in +her ears; but she had pulled herself together. After all, +it was natural that Egerton should come first, natural +that he should be puzzled how to open a difficult subject; +and of course he must be in Raimond’s confidence. +But when he did speak it was not about the man he had +brought with him.</p> + +<p>“Miss Holbeach,” he said slowly, “you said you had +been frightened. Do you mean in this house? Or out of +doors? I warned you, you remember!”</p> + +<p>“You warned me, and yet you left me here with a defenseless +girl,” she said almost inaudibly. She cared +little now for the horrors she had suffered; he had come +to take them away. Raimond was here; it was all past +and gone.</p> + +<p>“There was no reason not to leave you here,” he lied +calmly. “I will be quite frank with you, there had been a +reason; but I learned from Salome that it had quite disappeared.”</p> + +<p>There was a sort of lethargy in Andria’s soul; nothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> +mattered now but Raimond. Yet at the plausible untruth +she shook it off.</p> + +<p>“It appeared again the very night you left here!” she +cried. “A man came, a little, wizened man, like an ape, +that hurried around the house and climbed up the jalousies +like a monkey. And the next day I saw his face +over my shoulder in the pond, a leering thing that +mouthed at me——”</p> + +<p>“The pond! I told you to keep away from that path,” +the anger that was sincere at last steadied her nerves.</p> + +<p>“I went to get Beryl. She had strayed there.” The +governess looked him in the face with eyes that were +magnificent. “I took care that she never went again. +But that’s not all. There are beasts here, dreadful +jaguars. All night long they hunt and sniff about the +house, they climb the jalousies and—I’ve seen their +eyes!” with a shudder. “Oh, Mr. Egerton, take us +away!”</p> + +<p>The man had started to his feet.</p> + +<p>“It is what I came to do,” he answered hurriedly. +“Believe me, I had no idea of this. I thought the place +was safe—Salome said so.”</p> + +<p>“Safe for white women!” She rose, too, as the scornful +cry broke from her. “I will show you how safe it is. +Look here!” She pulled down the lace and ribbon at the +back of her collar. “Look at that. Do you know there +was nearly murder done here last night. I don’t know +why there wasn’t.”</p> + +<p>She bent her head, and at sight of the double rows of +deep-crimson punctures where the piece had been all but +bitten out, the man who had brought her to this evil +place was dumb, though a month ago it might have +suited him well enough. She straightened her collar +again with trembling fingers.</p> + +<p>“What did that?” Egerton moistened his lips. “Not a +beast? You—you never could have got away!”</p> + +<p>“A man,” she said quietly, “a man, dumb, and crazy, +and strong, so strong that only God saved me from him. +We were standing in Beryl’s room when he came in on +us, running, stooping so low that he seemed to be on all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> +fours. I ran between him and Beryl and he jumped on +my back. I felt his teeth through my flesh. I ran out +into the hall with his fingers round my throat and shut +the door on the girl. Then”—her hesitation was so momentary +that he did not see it—“something frightened +the thing. It let me go and I ran. Did you see there was +a chest of drawers against your sitting-room window? +It was I put it there. I broke the window when I +ran in there, and the man thought I had gone out +through the broken pane and followed me. I moved +the chest—locked the door”—her chest heaved at the +memory; tears born of that suspense that was eating at +her heart blinded her. “Oh, surely you didn’t know what +you were leaving us to!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Where was Salome?” He was not given to swearing, +but he barely kept in a furious oath.</p> + +<p>“In Beryl’s bedroom. She saw nothing, knew nothing +till I and—that thing—were out in the hall. She has +done everything to keep us safe.”</p> + +<p>“Whereas you evidently think I brought you here to be +murdered!” he returned, a queer look in his black eyes +that seemed blacker than ever. “Well, I can’t wonder if +you do! Sit down, please, and rest. I owe you a very +deep gratitude.”</p> + +<p>He bent his head to hide his face, which was not grateful. +In his inmost soul he would have been glad if this +foolhardy woman had behaved like a good, sensible coward. +It would have cut the knot that galled him night +and day, though it would have cost him a fortune. Perhaps +not that, he would have been in a position to seek +other girls with money.</p> + +<p>“It’s a long story,” he cut off his thoughts hastily, +since what was done was done, “but I must tell it to you +to explain. Might I smoke? You don’t mind? Perhaps +you will have a cigarette yourself?”</p> + +<p>“I? No, I never smoke,” she said, with annoyed surprise.</p> + +<p>Mr. Egerton broke out into that hoarse cackle of a +laugh that always jarred on Andria’s nerves. He had +noticed cigar smoke heavy in the shut-up drawing-room<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> +the very instant he had entered the house at dawn; had +seen the butt of one of his own cigars reposing in a +flower-pot. And now the governess’ hasty lie amused +him even in his annoyance. A cigar, too, of all things!</p> + +<p>“Many women do smoke, even cigars,” he said urbanely. +“I beg your pardon if I thought you had the +habit. It seemed quite possible.”</p> + +<p>Then he did know about her past when the few +women she had known smoked like chimneys! She never +remembered having told Salome that Heriot must have +cigars; she only wished Egerton would go on. Would +he never get to Raimond Erle? She looked at his face +and imagined it pleased him to tantalize her.</p> + +<p>“What does it all mean?” she asked. “Though I suppose +it doesn’t matter if we are going away.”</p> + +<p>“It does matter. I don’t want you to think me a murderer,” +he said, so gently that it brought back to her another +voice which each minute seemed an hour till she +heard. “But I must go back a long way to make you +understand. Twenty years ago I saw this place first. I +was yachting and found it by chance. The house stood +exactly as it does now, but it was surrounded by magnificent +gardens, was full of servants and luxury. There +were only two people in it, a retired planter of forty, and +his daughter. She was the most beautiful person I have +ever seen, but that,” hastily, “was not my affair, nor, if +her father could help it, any one else’s. I saw then the +man was mad. He told me he would shoot the first man +who wished to marry his daughter, had brought her +here out of the world that she might live and die unmarried; +a girl who was more beautiful than any woman +alive!</p> + +<p>“‘He would not have her suffer as women suffered,’ +he said. ‘All men were cruel, she should not be at the +mercy of any.’ She was his idol. His only other interest +was wild animals. He had a regular menagerie—lions, a +tiger, jaguars—and he and that girl would play with +them as if they were lambs. It used to make my blood +run cold to see them. She would sit among the jaguars +crooning a queer song”—Andria’s hands that lay on her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> +knees clenched with the effort not to cry out; did he +know how dreadful a thing he was telling her? did he +mean the madman’s daughter was Beryl’s mother?—“till +the beasts came fawning round her like a kitten. Oh, I +know it sounds like a fairy-tale! But I saw it.”</p> + +<p>Only her innate caution, her habit of distrust, kept her +from a quick disclosure. Long afterward she knew she +had saved her life by holding her peace.</p> + +<p>“Well, I went away! The girl was nothing to me,” he +continued, looking not at Andria, but his half-smoked +cigarette, so that, being a woman, she knew the girl had +been everything to him and he nothing at all to her. “I +came back again two years afterward—and I would not +have known the place. The beautiful gardens were a +tangle of creepers and weeds, the servants were all gone; +the animals dead from starvation in their enclosures, all +but the jaguars, that had broken loose and foraged for +themselves. The man I found at last, ragged, thin, half-naked, +and at first he would not speak to me; would only +jabber at me without words.”</p> + +<p>“Then it was he!” she gasped.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” he nodded. “He was dumb, mad, but by and +by his madness cleared a little and he told me what had +happened. A stranger had come to the island; it was the +old story that I need not dwell on”—reflecting hastily +that it was one this woman probably knew from cover to +cover. “She defied her father and ran away with him in +a native boat. The man dismissed his servants and sat +alone in his misery, and then heard that all his money, +which had been in Brazilian bonds, was lost. He had not +a penny to go and seek her through the world. He forgot, +as I said, even his animals; almost forgot the use of +his tongue, for only at intervals could I make him talk. +Well, I was sorry for him!” What vindictive light lit +his eyes to her sharp vision! “I liked the place and +bought it for a toy, merely that the old man,” he continued +slowly, “might be free to go and find his daughter +who had deserted him.”</p> + +<p>The words were so gently spoken that it took all her +cleverness to grasp their meaning. He had tried to set<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> +a madman on the track of the woman who had refused +him and the man she had loved. Her eyes dilated with +abhorrence, and yet his next words came so smoothly that +she did not know what to think, and there was no one +to tell her how cunningly he was mingling the truth with +lies.</p> + +<p>“You would have pitied him, too; he had aged twenty +years in the two that had passed. All he wanted was to +find his daughter, yet when I gave him money he was too +crazy to go. He threw it before my eyes into that pond +you spoke of and went off to some lair in the woods with +his jaguars.” He did not say how pitifully inadequate +had been the purchase-money, nor that the lawful owner +had been hunted away by men with guns. “In all the +years I have been coming here I have only once had any +evidence that he was alive”—that once would have made +any other man long for the grave that he might hide his +shame there!—“and Salome, who has been in charge here +for six years, swore to me when I brought you that the +place was safe. I am more shocked and horrified than I +can say that you should have been in such danger from +that lunatic and his animals. To-morrow, if you like, I +will have my yacht’s crew scour the country till we find +him.”</p> + +<p>“Let him be,” said Andria pitifully. “Besides, if we +are going away! And we shall be quite safe with you in +the house”—“and Raimond!” she added in her mind, the +thought of him bringing light to her eyes, color to her +lips.</p> + +<p>“Yes, exactly,” he agreed quickly, though he had no +idea of sleeping in the house or letting the man he had +brought with him sleep there either. That madman +would tear him limb from limb if he could; Mr. Egerton +knew only too well that the very sight of him would +rouse boundless fury in the dumb thing that ran up and +down the deserted gardens whence his delight had fled. +He would never dare to stay in the house knowing that +his crazy enemy had ever been able to enter it.</p> + +<p>“How did he get in?” he asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t quite know,” she stammered. “I was up-stairs.”</p> + +<p>She had forgotten all about Heriot stuffed away in the +servants’ quarters till now. She had it on the tip of her +tongue to avow everything, but something furtive, dishonest, +in Egerton’s face stopped her.</p> + +<p>“Better wait,” she thought. “I can tell Raimond first. +He will know what to do.”</p> + +<p>And though Egerton had explained far more than he +had imagined to her all was not clear yet. As he rose to +go she rose, too, and looked at him.</p> + +<p>“Why did you tell me this was Bermuda?” she asked +suddenly.</p> + +<p>“From inadvertency, at first—the house is called Bermuda. +Then because I feared you would rebel against +being banished to an uninhabited part of the Azores. I +fancied you had not been accustomed to—dulness!” and +at the covert meaning of the words and the lie that began +them, she caught her breath. There had been no inadvertence +in his mention of Bermuda, first or last.</p> + +<p>“I wanted Beryl out of England, you’re right!” he +added, as if he knew what was in her mind. “I pitied +her. I had no wish to see a long arm stretched out from +the convent to claim her, for of course she has told you +her story. I hope to see her happily married, not dragging +out existence in prison, all but the name. And I +knew no other place to put her. But that,” with his queer +laugh, “will be remedied now.”</p> + +<p>Something in the assured expectancy of his voice woke +a dreadful thought in Andria Erle. Like a flash the +glamour fell from her eyes, she put two and two together. +He meant to see Beryl safely married; he had +brought Raimond Erle to this place; the things dovetailed +with horrible accuracy, though she could not see +what Raimond had to do with Egerton.</p> + +<p>“You mean——” she said; she could hardly speak.</p> + +<p>“I mean one never knows what the day may bring +forth,” he answered lightly. “If you look from your +window you may understand.”</p> + +<p>She had no need to. Their voices, Beryl’s and Raimond’s,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> +came up to her gaily where she stood. Had she +been deaf not to have heard them before?</p> + +<p>It was as if a gulf of darkness had opened under her +feet, yet she would not flinch if pride could keep her +steady. Raimond—did Egerton mean it was for her sake +he had come?</p> + +<p>Egerton, watching the hot color come and go in the +governess’ face, wondered he had never seen how beautiful +she was. She would be a dangerous rival for that +half-fledged girl down-stairs. He hoped there were not +going to be any troublesome complications.</p> + +<p>“You are not coming down to-day, you said!” he suggested. +“Perhaps you are right, and it would be well to +rest.”</p> + +<p>She was ready to say she would go down now, this +instant, when she remembered he was her master; that +governesses did not always come to the table with guests.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it would,” she answered, and the coldness of +her voice pleased him.</p> + +<p>“I have not mentioned you, at least your name,” he +had the grace not to look at her, even though he had no +idea she and Erle had ever met; “I thought, perhaps, you +would prefer not to meet strangers.”</p> + +<p>“No,” and by good luck he did not see her face, “not +strangers, though there is no earthly reason you should +not mention my name,” for Holbeach would mean nothing +to Raimond. “I will go down when you send for +me.”</p> + +<p>As the door closed behind him she caught at the table +to hold herself up. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, and +her nostrils pinched as she breathed. From the scented +shade of the oleanders below her there floated up a man’s +laugh, low and sweet. Agony racked her as even she had +not known it could without killing her.</p> + +<p>“Strangers,” she said in a dreadful whisper, “he +and I!”</p> + +<p>Her face convulsed out of all beauty, she ran to the +window and looked out behind the jalousy. In the garden, +tall, handsome in a haggard, hard-bitten way—and +oh, God, beloved!—lounged the man who had been her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> +husband for five years. It took all her will to crush back +the cry on her lips. She knew from his face it was not +for her he had come back. He had forgotten.</p> + +<p>“Then why is he here?” she asked herself. But she +dared not answer her own soul.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">BEHIND THE CYPRESS BOUGHS.</p> + + +<p>“Andria!” a soft tap came at her locked door. “Let +me in. Why haven’t you been down all day?”</p> + +<p>“I was busy,” Andria answered, shutting the door behind +Beryl. She had been busy, indeed, and if Egerton +had seen her now he would have had no fears that her +beauty might be a snare to any man’s feet. The pale +mauve gown had vanished with all the others that littered +her bedroom; in the plainest black gown she owned, +Andria stood, tall and pale, her eyes sunken, her mouth +drawn; it was as if she had aged ten years.</p> + +<p>Beryl sat down on the table, a bright rose spot burning +in each cheek.</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d come down. I don’t like it without +you,” she said restlessly. “Isn’t your throat well +enough?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I’d forgotten it. Why do you want +me? Don’t you like—him?” for her life she could not +say the name.</p> + +<p>“Who? Mr. Egerton. I’ve always loathed him,” +Beryl said angrily, “and I always shall. If it were not +for being with you, I’d rather he’d left me in the workhouse!”</p> + +<p>“No”—hesitating—“the other?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. No, I don’t think I do! I liked him +when I was with him, but I hate him when I remember +his eyes. He looked at me as if I were something to +eat,” she said pettishly. “No, I don’t like him. He +frightens me.”</p> + +<p>“How?” incredulously. Any other than Beryl she +would have turned from contemptuously if they had +dared to criticize Raimond Erle. “What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know exactly. But he wanted me to go out +in the yacht with him this afternoon, and I said I +wouldn’t without you. I wouldn’t go anywhere alone +with him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>“Without me! You said—Beryl, quick, what did you +call me? Not Andria?” white as death she stood over +the girl.</p> + +<p>“No. I did slip and say Miss Heathcote, but I corrected +myself and said Miss Holbeach. Why do you +look like that? He didn’t notice. You don’t mean he +knows you?”</p> + +<p>“Not now,” said Andria, holding herself hard. “He +did, once. What did he say when you slipped on my +name?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. Half-shut his eyes like some people do +when they smell a nasty smell.”</p> + +<p>“You’re more truthful than polite.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you asked me, and that was exactly how he +did look. Mr. Egerton swam into the conversation with +something about ‘Miss Holbeach being my governess and +an excellent woman,’ and Mr. Erle looked comfortable +again.”</p> + +<p>Andria did not wonder. “An excellent woman!” No +words could have been found that would have better set +Raimond at rest.</p> + +<p>“Did he say any more?” she asked wretchedly.</p> + +<p>Beryl turned crimson.</p> + +<p>“No, he—he’s a beast, and I hate him!” she said passionately. +“He said he was glad I did not produce you +at meals; learned ladies took away his appetite.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t interfere with it; he needn’t agitate himself! +Beryl, dear, don’t speak of me to him; don’t tell him my +Christian name, and don’t let Heathcote slip again. I +knew him once. I don’t want him to know I’m here. At +least,” hastily, “not now.”</p> + +<p>Every pulse of her longed to meet him, but not before +Egerton and Beryl. If she was to go to England in +the same ship she must see him first, but it should be +no chance meeting before strangers.</p> + +<p>“I won’t say a word about you,” and, with a rare +caress, she flung her arms round Andria’s neck—“if you +say not. Are you afraid of him, too?”</p> + +<p>“No!” said Andria sharply. “I can’t meet any one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> +I ever knew till I’m better—that’s all. See how ugly +and swollen my throat is.”</p> + +<p>“I hate you being hurt for me. I wish it had been me +that was bitten!” Beryl said, with more force than +grammar.</p> + +<p>“Did you tell him about that?”</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t! I don’t believe he would have listened +if I had. He only talked nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean he made love to you? Bah! Don’t +answer me,” she cried, “I was a fool to ask. He would +make love to a girl who kept pigs, if she were pretty.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want him to think I’m pretty!” said Beryl, +ruffled as a cat stroked the wrong way, utterly ignorant +of the way she was betraying her own thoughts. “What +have you done about Mr. Heriot? Have you told?”</p> + +<p>“No; I—waited!” answered Andria, with a ghastly +smile, knowing she had waited for what would never be. +“Beryl, come here, look! There go Mr. Egerton and—his +friend—down to the shore. What for, do you suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you know? They’re not going to stay here. +They’re going to dine and sleep on board the yacht and +come back in the morning. And Mr. Erle isn’t his +friend—he’s his nephew. That’s why I came; I thought +we might go”—flushing—“and speak to Mr. Heriot. +Didn’t you get anything out of Mr. Egerton about our +going away? And did he say anything about that dreadful +man, and the jaguars?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Andria, as if she talked in her sleep. “I’ll +tell you by and by.” She leaned from the window looking +after the man whose shoulders and walk she would +know among a thousand. He knew nothing of her being +here. Beryl’s slip of “Heathcote” had been to him only +a disagreeable coincidence, reminding him of things he +wished to forget. Then, what had brought him?</p> + +<p>“Beryl!” It was as if another person had spoken aloud +in her ear. “Egerton means to marry him to Beryl!”</p> + +<p>She could think of no reason why, and yet she was +sure. And why not? For all she knew, Beryl Corselas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> +might be any one’s daughter, and whatever her secret +history was, Egerton must know it.</p> + +<p>“He’ll never do it, never! Whether I’m Raimond’s +wife or not, I’ll stop it,” she thought, wild passion at +her heart. “I’ll tell anything, everything. Mr. Heriot +will back me up——”</p> + +<p>Beryl pinched her.</p> + +<p>“What are you dreaming about, with your face all +screwed up?” she said. “Let’s go and see Mr. Heriot. +How those two men do loiter! If they’re going, why +don’t they go?”</p> + +<p>Andria stared at her. Beryl—Raimond—Heriot—what +a tangle it was! And would Heriot back her up? He +knew nothing of her but that she had been called “the +Lovely Andria,” and had been thought to have fastened +like a leech on Raimond Erle, dragging him to that +financial ruin which had certainly overtaken him—though +not through her, Heaven knew! And when Heriot saw +Raimond here, he would never believe Andria was not +in the whole scheme, let it be what it might.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care what he thinks!” she reflected swiftly. +“Nothing matters to me but Raimond. And I may be +wronging him. Egerton may be trying to keep me out +of his way.”</p> + +<p>She turned impulsively to Beryl.</p> + +<p>“Stay here,” she said impetuously, “wait for me. I +don’t know what to do. I must go and think.”</p> + +<p>But it was not to think that she ran out into the gardens, +brushing by Salome, who tried to stop her in the +hall to say something—what, Andria neither knew nor +cared. Only one thing was in her mind—to find out why +Raimond Erle was here, if not for her. Why should +she believe Egerton; who had lied to her before?</p> + +<p>The front door was in full view of the two men, who +stood talking still just where she had first seen them. +Andria ran to a disused side veranda and dropped down +on a flower-bed. She wanted no one to see her, least +of all Beryl from her window. She vanished into a +tangle of overgrown bushes that Beryl called “the cat’s +walk.” It cut the long road to the shore—that instinct<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> +told her the two men would take—at a right angle, and +then ran parallel with it almost to the bay. There would +be only a yard of impervious thicket between her and +Raimond, if she got there in time to keep pace with him +as he walked down the wide road.</p> + +<p>She did not care as she ran that it was nearly sunset, +and that those teeth that had marked her neck might not +be shaken off twice; she was not even breathless with her +breakneck pace as she reached the angle of the path. +She need only reach it, and whatever Raimond spoke of +she would hear.</p> + +<p>“It’s low—contemptible!” she thought grimly, “but I +don’t care. I must find out what I can, and——” the +thought broke off unfinished. They were coming!</p> + +<p>White-faced over her black dress, the governess, “that +excellent woman,” crouched behind the thicket of black +cypress that was all that stood between her and the man +who had been her husband.</p> + +<p>And, sharpened as her senses were, she never dreamed +that two yards in front of her stood some one else, +equally quiet, but from widely different motives.</p> + +<p>Raimond’s voice—how the woman’s heart burned in +her at the rich note of it!—came on her ears.</p> + +<p>“You do hurry so unmercifully,” he was saying, “even +down to that confounded ship of yours. Why wouldn’t +you stay up there and sleep in a decent bed? Would +you mind waiting one instant? My cigar’s gone out.”</p> + +<p>“Light it and be good enough to come on!” returned +Egerton sharply. “It’s nearly sunset, and I have no +desire to get fever. You can talk on the yacht.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, damn the yacht! That cook has the same menu +every night. I wanted to see what your niggers would +give us for dinner.”</p> + +<p>Andria heard a match struck, then another.</p> + +<p>“Take my box,” said Egerton irritably, “and if you +must dawdle here, tell me what you mean to do. Isn’t +the girl handsome enough for you, or—you’re not still +thinking of that wretched woman in London!” said +Egerton suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“Her? Oh, Lord, no! To be candid with you, I’d<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> +had enough of that; I wasn’t sorry to be well out of it. +She was a good-looking woman, though! But I was tired +of that house in Pont Street.”</p> + +<p>“You told me the truth when you said you weren’t +fool enough to marry her?”</p> + +<p>In the dead silence the woman they spoke of heard +the man she loved puffing at a cigar that would not +draw; more interested in that than in the question on +which her life seemed to hang. The screen of trees was +thick, but if either man had seen the face behind it he +would not have known the white mask of agony. Would +Raimond never answer? When he did, it was with a +laugh, and the governess, poor fool! winced.</p> + +<p>“I was mad enough for anything—at first! When I +took her away from Lady Parr’s,” he said coolly. “But +I drew the line at that, more by good luck than good +management. At first I thought the marriage legal +enough, but then I found the man who did it was only +a student—no more ordained than you or I, though he’s +since become a priest. Oh, I’m perfectly eligible, my +dear sir,” with another slight laugh. “But though I see +excellent reasons for my marrying this particular girl, +I’m not in much haste. She looks too much of a tiger-cat, +for one thing! Now, the late Mrs. Erle had faults, +but she was never more gentle than when she was in a +furious rage.”</p> + +<p>“What became of her?” asked Egerton shortly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know, and don’t care. I don’t see why you +should, either, when you were always at me to get rid +of her. But that’s beside the question. What you don’t +seem to see is that you can’t hurry this girl. She shies +off if I look at her. You’re always too nippy. You +shoved her off here to get rid of her, and then tore +your hair because you’d done it. Let me remind you, +it was I put you on her track in the first place; without +me, you’d never have put a finger on her. You chose +to treat me as a fool, and sneaked her off here. Then +when you see that a certain Spanish grandee is dead and—oh, +don’t interrupt me; there is not a soul about—has +left all his money to a certain lady or her heirs, and that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> +those heirs are being advertised for, you fall on my neck +and beseech me to save your credit and your acres. Well, +it suits me well enough! I fancy the girl. But I’m +going to do it in my own way. So far, I beg to tell you, +you’ve made a mess of it, in yours.”</p> + +<p>“Raimond!” the man’s voice was furious. “Don’t play +the fool, don’t dare. You don’t know all that hangs on +it. It’s not the money only, nor even the succession, +it’s——” his voice dropped so low that even Andria, +whose very soul was listening, could not hear.</p> + +<p>“What!” cried Erle, startled for once. “But she dare +not tell, there!”</p> + +<p>“No; we’ve got her in our hands in a way—but only +in a way. She—Mother Felicitas, they call her now,” +with that uncontrollable, jarring laugh of his, “has long +claws! She will want the money, too, to go to the convent—and +the Lord knows she’ll have to pay well for +her seat in heaven!”</p> + +<p>“But why,” said Raimond, stupefied, “if you knew +about her all along, didn’t you have her out of the convent +long ago?”</p> + +<p>“With publicity—back debts to pay up—to take you +or leave you as seemed good to the half-fledged brat! +No! And I couldn’t have got her. If you will have it, +I’d been taken in. That woman held her over my head +till I found her—and I didn’t know about the money till +I got back from here. Before that, if I’d claimed her, +I’d have brought out old stories, ruined myself, ousted +you or saddled you with a penniless wife.”</p> + +<p>“Whereas, now, I’m made or marred by what a pale +little devil with cat’s eyes chooses to answer me,” replied +Raimond coarsely. “Well, there’s no choice! I’ll marry +her if she says yes to my somewhat mature charms. If +she says no, I fail to see what’s to be done next!”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Egerton angrily, “you’ve less sense than +I imagined. Why do you suppose I hired a yacht with +money I haven’t got, and brought her and you to this +God-forsaken hole? If she says no, she can live and die +here. She’ll never get back to England, and she doesn’t +know who she is in any case. I should fancy it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> +simple as A B C. We’ll lose the money, but we’ll save +the rest.”</p> + +<p>Raimond Erle for a long minute said nothing. The +wretched listener who shrank appalled behind the screen +of cypress could not see that he was looking the other +man up and down.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he remarked at last, “you must have been a +daredevil when you were young! But I quite agree +with you. There’s only one character in which your protégée +can be taken to England, but you must give me a +little time to play the game. Come on out of this,” with +sudden distaste. “I don’t know why, but I feel as if +there were devils behind every bush in your secluded +retreat.”</p> + +<p>“There’s one; oh, there’s one!” said Andria Heathcote, +who knew now that she had never been Andria +Erle, though she had hoped against hope even when she +was turned out on the world with ten pounds. “I’ll ruin +you—ruin you! If there’s a God in heaven, you shall +never have Beryl to torture as you tortured me!”</p> + +<p>A thousand slights, a thousand dreadful positions he +had put her in where she must hold up her head till +women called her brazen—aye, and men, too!—came back +to her. One kindly word, one pitying regret for the +woman he had once been mad for, and she might have +played into his hands for no other reason than that he +had spoken of her softly for old sake’s sake. But now—she +could hate him now!</p> + +<p>Blindly, not seeing or caring where she was going, she +stumbled forward on the rough path, and round the very +next bush nearly fell against—Heriot!</p> + +<p>Pale, quivering from head to foot, she stood quite +still. For a moment she could not speak for the ungovernable +fury of rage in her that he should have heard +her shamed.</p> + +<p>“You listened!” she cried at last. “You heard.” In +the last low rays of the sinking sun he stood before her +bareheaded.</p> + +<p>“I slipped out for some air,” he said, very low. “I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> +stood here because I did not want them to see me till +I knew what you had done. Yes, I heard.”</p> + +<p>If he had dared to pity her she would have stood like +a stone, but now something in his voice reached the heart +that felt frozen in her breast. She broke into such a +dreadful sobbing as he had never heard.</p> + +<p>“I knew it before,” she cried; “though I wouldn’t believe +it. Even when he turned me away, I wouldn’t +believe it. I thought I was his wife. He shall never have +Beryl—never, unless he kills me to get her!”</p> + +<p>“Come back to the house. It is too late to be out,” +was all Heriot could find to say. He turned away that +he might not see the shame and agony in her distorted +face.</p> + +<p>“He whispered,” she cried, distracted. “I couldn’t +hear. Why, besides the money, does his uncle want him +to marry her?”</p> + +<p>“His uncle!” Heriot exclaimed. He was glad as he +had not often been that he had heard all that had been +said, or not for a hundred oaths from her would he have +believed this woman knew nothing of the dirty work Erle +had on hand. And he had wronged her enough by judging +her. If it had not been for his self-righteousness she +would have told him everything long ago. “That wasn’t +his uncle. That was his father, Lord Erceldonne! He +is not Egerton at all.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE CRY IN THE STARLIGHT.</p> + + +<p>“Erceldonne!” the world swam with her.</p> + +<p>For how many years had that name been her terror, +its owner her evil genius. Sometimes it had been clear +even to her blinded eyes that his anger was used as a +pretext for not acknowledging her, and again she had +known when he had really put pressure on his son, and +nothing but a dogged, cross-grained temper had kept +Raimond from giving her up. And here she was taking +his money, the paid servant of the man who had ruined +her life; for if it had not been for the fear of disinheritance, +Raimond would have married her openly in the days +when love was young. And Erceldonne——</p> + +<p>To Heriot’s horror, she broke out into a harsh scream +of laughter. What would Erceldonne say if he knew +the very woman he had been at his wit’s end to get rid +of had been brought by his own accord under his very +roof? She turned to Heriot, wiping away the tears born +of that horrible, mirthless laughter.</p> + +<p>“What a merry-andrew patchwork it is!” she cried. +“‘Three blind mice, see how they run’—now you come +in, and then Raimond and the others; we’re all in the +dreadful round. And by and by the farmer’s wife will +come and cut all our tails off! Why don’t you laugh?” +she cried wildly.</p> + +<p>He might have answered with perfect truth, because +there was nothing further from his mind than laughter. +Here in the fast-growing gloom of the cypress thicket, +where Andria’s face was already but a patch of white +against the dark foliage, they were half a mile from the +house; and he knew now what the dangers were in this +place after nightfall. The very man who had brought +two women here had not cared to stay and face them.</p> + +<p>“What a fool I was to lie low!” he thought angrily. +“If I had appeared at first everything would have had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> +to be open and aboveboard. Now, I can’t come out after +slinking away as I did. I wonder why I listened to +that child?”</p> + +<p>But he knew quite well why he had listened. From +the very first day her slow, soft voice, her strange eyes, +had bewitched him. It was for more than Andria’s sake +that he was aghast at the cold wickedness of the man +who was pleased to call himself Egerton.</p> + +<p>“Come home, come back to the house!” he said +sharply. “We’ve only got to-night before us to settle +what we must do;” but in his mind there was, of course, +only one thing to be done. He must reckon with Erceldonne +in the morning.</p> + +<p>He dared not even talk as he hurried his companion +up the path. His foot was stiff still, though his strength +had come back to him; but no man’s strength and his +bare hands were going to avail anything against a madman +and two jaguars; and the woman at his side would +welcome death as a friend.</p> + +<p>If he had been alone he would have returned to the +house with his hands in his pockets—he could only die +once, and life was not so sweet to a broken man that he +should worry about it. But with this silent, listless +woman on his hands, Heriot’s heart was in his mouth at +every strange shadow in the ever-deepening dark. When +they were free of the woods he felt easier. The good +stars shone down on them as they reached the open garden +and drew near the house, and a quick compassion +ran through him for Andria Erle, whose only refuge was +under the roof of her enemy.</p> + +<p>“Look! What’s that?” he said quietly. “Let me go +first.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no need,” returned Andria lifelessly. “If +you mean that black thing in the shadow by the steps, +it’s Salome. She’s waiting for me; she saw me go out.”</p> + +<p>The woman came to them swiftly, her finger on her +lips.</p> + +<p>“Don’t speak,” she said softly; “Chloe’s in de dining-room. +Oh, my Lawd! I didn’t know where you was +both got to.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> + +<p>“Send her away,” whispered Andria, with sudden passion. +“Tell her you’ll wait on me, anything!” She would +go mad if she had to sit through dinner alone, if Heriot +must hide when there was so little time to make a plan.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell her and ’Melia Jane dey must iron dem two +white dresses for Miss Ber’l to-night. Dey won’t be no +more’n time, and when dey gits out in de wash-house,” +she said shrewdly, “dey’ll be skeered to come in again. +Dey’ll sneak up-stairs to deir beds.”</p> + +<p>“Anything, only be quick!” Heriot should stay where +he was till he heard all she had to say; all the dreadful +tale Egerton had let out about Beryl, without knowing +that she was putting two and two together. “Lock them +out, Salome,” she added feverishly.</p> + +<p>“Yes’m! You come into de house, de two of you. +Just you sit in de drawing-room an’ don’t speak till I +tell you dey’s gone.”</p> + +<p>Heriot had almost to push Andria in. It seemed as +if she courted death out under the stars.</p> + +<p>When he had bolted the heavy door noiselessly, he +followed her into the dark drawing-room. What was +Salome doing that she was so long? He heard her voice +in the back of the house; not raised in authority, but wild +with astonishment and fright. Before he could draw +breath, the fat black woman had thrown open the dining-room +door, her shapeless figure grotesque against the +lighted dinner-table as she stared into the gloom where +the two sat.</p> + +<p>“Oh, missus,” she said, “missus! And dem niggers +never told me.”</p> + +<p>“Told you what?” cried Andria. Heriot, with that +open door in front of him dared not speak.</p> + +<p>“Little miss is gone out. Dat man, de tall one, wid +de marks o’ de devil’s claws round his eyes, he come back +for her. He said you was waiting for her down at de +shore, you was both going to dinner on de yacht. An’ +she’s went wid him, after last night. Dey’ll be et.”</p> + +<p>Heriot let out an astonished oath. If it had not been +for that stupid lie about the governess and his private +knowledge, it might have seemed natural enough that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> +Beryl should dine on the yacht. But Andria’s wits were +quicker, and she knew Raimond Erle.</p> + +<p>He had been bored with his father’s society, and must +have come straight back by the short cut. The girl was +handsome. Even without getting her on board the +<i>Flores</i>, a starlight walk with her would pass the time. +That lie about the governess had been told when she +refused to go with him; it was the first thing he would +think of. She knew how obstinate he was about anything +he might take in his head. He knew nothing about +the dangers of the island; if he did, recklessness and a +revolver would make him laugh at them. A beautiful +girl, whom he must make love to for reasons he had +seen fit to exclaim at; a night warm and silent, heavy +with flower scents, the soft stars ablaze in the sky!—his +discarded wife clenched her teeth. Not anything on earth +would have balked Raimond of his evening walk.</p> + +<p>“But I will!” she cried to herself, wild and bitter in +her rebellion. “I, that he shamed and turned out,” she +fumbled blindly on a table in the dark.</p> + +<p>“I must go,” she said, with something cold and dreadful +in her voice that Salome took for fear, like her own. +“If he said I was at the shore, I’ll be there. There will +be time by the short cut.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t you do it! You won’t do no good,” cried +the black woman. “Mr. Egerton he’ll take care of little +miss—if ever she gets to de boat!”</p> + +<p>“He’ll take such care of her that she’ll never come +back,” Andria muttered.</p> + +<p>Yet it was not fear for the girl that was in her heart, +but the jealousy that is more cruel than the grave. No +one knew as she did what Raimond could be when he +chose. She did not believe for one instant that any girl +could resist him. She was past Heriot like a flash, regardless +of anything but those two walking down to the +shore in the scented night, under the gorgeous stars—a +man and a maid.</p> + +<p>“Hold on!” Heriot was at her side. “Did you think +I wasn’t coming? Though I don’t see what good either<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> +of us can do if she’s gone on board the yacht. What’s +that?”</p> + +<p>His hand, swinging against hers as they walked, had +touched something cold and sharp. Before she knew +what she was doing it was in his grasp, not hers. In the +starlight he saw what it was.</p> + +<p>“This will do to fight the jaguars with,” he said coolly, +pocketing the lean, ugly dagger just as if he had not +seen her face in the square patch of light from the dining-room +door as she ran past him. “I’ll attend to that, if +you’ll catch your charge. Hold on, that’s not the way!”</p> + +<p>“It’s the way I’m going,” she replied savagely.</p> + +<p>She began to run as once before she had run down +that path; every turn of it seemed familiar to her, even +in the veiled light. She took no more thought for Heriot +than if he had been a dog; he had the dagger; let him +take care of himself.</p> + +<p>Round the great boulders, through the thickets of +flowers, she fled as one possessed; hatred at her heart, +jealousy tearing her. Heriot, stumbling over the tough, +trailing vines, missing the dim track a hundred times, +was soon far behind. The more he hurried, the less he +got on. He had taken the dagger from her because he +had seen red murder in her eyes, yet now he almost +wished she had it. He knew from instinct that there +was more abroad in the woods than Raimond Erle and +the girl he had decoyed away. Yet not a sound reached +him as he doggedly followed the governess. He gave a +sudden, contemptuous laugh at himself for being mixed +up in such a wild-goose chase—and at Erle, who had +had to cajole a girl to go with him by a lie! The next +instant he laughed no longer.</p> + +<p>He was out of the wooded path on the open shore. +Before him was the dark figure of Andria Erle, standing +motionless; as he came up to her she pointed dumbly.</p> + +<p>The moon had risen, and perfectly distinct on the +calm waves of the bay was a boat with a solitary figure +in it, a man rowing with a quick, ill-tempered stroke.</p> + +<p>“She left him. She hasn’t gone with him!” Heriot +exclaimed. “But where is she?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Andria, with chattering +teeth. What would have seemed nothing in another place +was eery here, after the strange story of that other girl +who sang to animals. And yet her heart was lighter as +she turned away. It was something, at least, that Beryl +had not gone to the yacht.</p> + +<p>But now that her passion of rage and fear was dead, +she dared not go back to the house by that path she had +been warned not to use in broad daylight. It was by +the long way that she hurried Heriot to the house; yet +it was he, not she, who was nervous about the girl who +had gone back alone. If Egerton’s tale were true, neither +the madman nor his dreadful familiars would hurt Beryl; +but still Andria winced when they reached the house and +found she had not come in.</p> + +<p>“What shall we do?” She sat down on the door-steps +sick at heart.</p> + +<p>“Go and look for her. At least, I will. You stay +here,” but he had not gone twenty yards when he recoiled.</p> + +<p>“Did you call?” he cried sharply.</p> + +<p>“No one did,” but through her words there came the +echo of a faint cry, low and wailing like a lost soul.</p> + +<p>Heriot, running as if he had been shot out of a gun, +made for the moonlit woods.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE MADMAN.</p> + + +<p>He might well have run at that cry, for nothing but +sheer terror had forced it from Beryl Corselas.</p> + +<p>Half from real dislike of the man, half from wanton +mischief, she had dexterously slipped away from Erle +and vanished like a spirit into an opening in the thick +bush. Full of laughter, she had run and doubled like a +hare, while he crashed after her through the scrub, till, +angry and crestfallen, he had flung himself into his boat +and departed.</p> + +<p>Breathless, Beryl sat down on a convenient stone and +chuckled.</p> + +<p>“How cross he was! And that was a horrid lie about +Andria expecting me. But he has lovely eyes, and he is—yes, +he is amusing! But I don’t think I like him. I +don’t like men at all,” she said, with sudden gravity. “I +hate Mr. Egerton, for I don’t believe a word he says, and +Mr. Heriot treats me like a child. Mr. Erle doesn’t do +that.” She got up crossly and began to saunter homeward. +She was almost sorry she had not gone with Erle +in spite of that lie. It was dull at home, where Heriot +seemed only to care to talk to Andria.</p> + +<p>“I never would have stirred a foot with Mr. Erle if +Andria and Mr. Heriot had not gone off and left me +like that,” she thought, with an unreasonable lump in her +throat, her short-lived joy at having outwitted Erle all +gone.</p> + +<p>It was pitch-dark in the woods as she began to walk +back to the house. She had run and doubled so that +she was not too sure where she was, and an uneasy feeling +came over her that she was not on the right path. +There was a queer rustling, too, in the bushes, and she +listened, her heart going like a frightened bird’s.</p> + +<p>“It must be my cats,” she thought determinedly, and +with a voice that was not too steady she began her queer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> +calling croon. But not a stealthy footstep sounded anywhere; +no yellow-green eyes looked from the bushes; no +cubs bounded from the black underbrush. Instead there +fell in the wood a sudden, deathlike silence, far more +threatening to the girl than the sight of those beasts who +were tame for all their fierce looks.</p> + +<p>“The man!” Her heart gave a rending bound. “That +crazy, jabbering man. And he’s hunting me!”</p> + +<p>Wild with terror she looked round her, and had no idea +which way to run. She was lost, alone in the trackless +scrub; it was so dark she could not even see where she +walked. And only one thing could keep the cats away if +there were in sound of her call—their master’s voice that +was stronger than hers, meaningless jabber though it +was.</p> + +<p>In desperation she pushed straight before her, tearing +through the thick bushes; stumbling, great drops of +perspiration on her face from the airless heat. As she +crashed forward, making noise enough to wake the dead, +her ears caught above all the sounds of crackling branches +and tearing vines that slight, slight rustling, as of feet +that were keeping pace with her, very close beside her.</p> + +<p>She turned sharply and burst through a screen of +bushes, to find herself standing by the clear pool she had +seen one morning. The moon shone down as bright as +day, after the dreadful darkness of the woods the clear +sheet of water looked like home; and then she screamed, +a long, wailing shriek that had turned Heriot cold.</p> + +<p>At her side, almost touching her, was the apelike thing +that had bitten Andria to the bone. The next instant its +long claws of fingers were on hers. In utter despair she +shut her eyes and waited for the horror that was coming. +Would the thing tear her limb from limb?</p> + +<p>But except for that hand on hers it was not touching +her, and as she stood, sick and stony with fear, a hoarse +voice spoke to her.</p> + +<p>“Dearest of my soul,” it said in Spanish; “dearest of +my soul.”</p> + +<p>With a cry of astonishment she opened her eyes. The +man was not dumb, then, nor utterly dangerous! For he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +was down on his knees by her, kissing the hem of her +garment. The soft language she had learned by stealth +in the convent came back to her like a flash.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” she cried. “What do you want? +Why do you frighten us so?”</p> + +<p>“You have come home; come back to me!” The voice +was the voice of an old man, the kneeling figure pitifully +thin and ragged. “I am the old man who loves you—don’t +you remember me? It was I gave you that ring!” +He touched the green beryl on her finger pleadingly.</p> + +<p>She stared at him; yet she dared not say she had found +the ring.</p> + +<p>“You frightened me, you hurt my governess last +night,” she cried angrily. “Go away and let me alone!”</p> + +<p>“I did not know you liked her. I thought she was his +servant,” the old man whimpered. He began to beg her +pardon a hundred times.</p> + +<p>“I to frighten you, I that love you!” he cried. “I will +never touch a hair of any one that belongs to you. I’ll +never leave you again.”</p> + +<p>“You must go away—and never come back,” cried +Beryl, stamping her foot, seeing no meaning in the words +Andria would have understood too well.</p> + +<p>The thing crouched at her feet.</p> + +<p>“Little dearest, I will go,” said the broken old voice, +and tears of pity came to Beryl’s eyes. “But if he +comes,” it was fierce again, “call me and I will send him +away. He shall never steal you again.”</p> + +<p>“Beryl! Where are you?” The sudden shout was +stern and yet anxious. “Answer me.”</p> + +<p>Heriot’s voice. What should she do? She looked at +the crazy face beside her, in an instant all the humanity +had been wiped off it as the man scrambled to his feet.</p> + +<p>“I will call my cats,” he whispered, with the leering +grin that had terrified Andria. “They will claw him.”</p> + +<p>“No!” she said hastily. She stooped and put her hand +on those bent, repulsive shoulders. “No. Listen—this +man who’s coming is my friend, look at him well. When +I call you, you and your cats can claw—but never him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> +nor my governess. If you hurt them I’ll never let you +see me again.”</p> + +<p>He winced pitifully.</p> + +<p>“My soul is yours,” he said. “I will not come near +the house nor let the cats come—till you call us with the +song I taught you. I will keep away from the house. +But, <i>querida mia</i>, do not go with him again! This time +I will be quicker, and save you.”</p> + +<p>“Go!” said the girl in a frantic whisper, hearing Heriot +breaking through the bushes. “Go, till I do call you.”</p> + +<p>Almost as she spoke Heriot sprang out into the open +space. Was he dreaming, or did he see beside the girl in +her white gown a crouching thing like an ape?</p> + +<p>He ran to her, round the pool. There should be an end +of this thing that hunted women! Mad or sane, the man +deserved no more mercy than a venomous beast. But as +he reached the girl he stopped short. She was absolutely +alone.</p> + +<p>“Run to the house!” he cried. “That brute’s behind +you, and I’m going to finish him once for all. Did he +hurt you?” he cried savagely.</p> + +<p>She lifted her face, and he saw she was crying.</p> + +<p>“No, no,” she said as gently as Andria might. “Nothing +hurt me. And—there’s no one here!”</p> + +<p>“But I saw him,” replied Heriot grimly. “And I heard +you scream.”</p> + +<p>She laid a quick hand on his arm as he would have +passed her.</p> + +<p>“There’s no one here; if there was, he’s gone,” she +said. “I did not mean to scream. Did I frighten Andria?”</p> + +<p>“What was it?” he insisted almost roughly, for he was +certain he had seen that crouching, wizened figure at her +side, though there was no sign of it now, nor even a leaf +stirring in the warm moonlight.</p> + +<p>Instead of answering she looked him in the face with +the moonlight full on her strange, tawny eyes till they +looked like wells of light, deep and golden. Something in +them seemed to strike him like a blow. Yesterday they +had been a child’s eyes, careless, almost shallow. To-night—Heriot’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> +heart began to pound. The girl had +come into her birthright of womanhood, of a marvelous +witchery that would be a snare to the feet of men.</p> + +<p>“What made you scream, Beryl?” and this time he did +not speak as to a child. “Tell me.”</p> + +<p>“I lost myself. It was dark. I meant to call, and I +suppose I screamed.” She could not tell the truth, for +the old shame that was on her that beasts and strange +creatures loved and obeyed her.</p> + +<p>“Why did you leave Erle?” though Heaven knew it +was no business of his! “You were in his charge. What +did he mean by letting you come back by yourself?”</p> + +<p>“He couldn’t help it,” she said, with a laugh in her +eyes. “I led him a dance, you know. He went away disgusted, +for he couldn’t find me.”</p> + +<p>“Do you like him?” asked Heriot. There was a curious +look in the handsome face that had seldom darkened for +any woman’s words.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Beryl, with provocation. “When +I find out shall I tell you?”</p> + +<p>There was the faintest stir in the thicket, and suddenly +Heriot knew that whatever the evening’s adventures had +been she did not mean him to know them.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I!” he said lightly; “just as you like.” He led +the way up the path in silence till they reached the open +ground and could see the house.</p> + +<p>“I’ll watch you safely in,” and he took off his cap; +“you’ll be all right from here. Good night.”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you coming to dinner? They won’t be back.”</p> + +<p>“No!” he returned, for to be hidden in Erceldonne’s +house and eat his bread any longer was impossible.</p> + +<p>“You had better. You won’t see us much longer,” she +said coolly. “Do you know Mr. Egerton’s going to take +us away?”</p> + +<p>“If——” he stopped himself. It was no business of his. +If she chose to marry Erle, regardless of his past and +Andria’s, that was her affair. Till Andria told her, he +had no right to.</p> + +<p>“If what?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” he said awkwardly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> + +<p>“You are treating me like a child again, just as I had +begun to like you!” she cried pettishly, and the very +childlike ring of her voice appealed to him. Yet he stood +utterly silent.</p> + +<p>If he, a broken man, a penniless adventurer, should +make love to a girl who eavesdropping had told him was +an heiress, the thing would not be called by a pretty +name. He did not care two straws for the mystery about +her if only she were the waif she seemed.</p> + +<p>“Yet after all,” he thought swiftly, “even a broken-down +devil like me would make her a better husband +than Erle—supposing he’s free, which I don’t believe! +Because she may have money and I have none am I going +to hand her over to the first roué who wants her? By +George! I’m going to do no such thing.” But even he +dared not tell her what he knew about Raimond Erle.</p> + +<p>In the moonlight she stepped to his side like a lovely +ghost, and as she brushed him in passing, a quick rapture +ran through him. There was no sense in reasoning, he +loved her—for life and death and the world to come. At +a word from her he would sweep Erle and his father from +her path like straws. He would not tell her the trap she +was in, she must choose for herself freely and without +bias. But he would not let her go. If she should learn +to love Erle—and Heaven knew why, but many women +did—what would she feel when Andria made the scene +she was sure to do?</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you speak?” she broke out petulantly. “I +know what you’re thinking—that if Mr. Egerton is going +to take us away you’re going to start off through the bush +to-night and try for the town there is across the island! +You’re going to wash your hands of Andria and me.”</p> + +<p>“What else can I do, if you’re going back with him?” +and his voice was utterly grim.</p> + +<p>“You can go with us.”</p> + +<p>“In the first place I wouldn’t go, and in the second +they wouldn’t take me. No; if you’re going in the yacht +I should be off to-night, if it weren’t for leaving you and +Mrs.—Miss Holbeach to that crazy brute I let in last +night.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p> + +<p>The girl recoiled as if he had struck her. Heriot +cursed himself for having haggled at Andria’s name. But +it was not that.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” cried Beryl, with a sob of shame, “he won’t +come! He’ll never come any more, nor his cats, either. +Don’t speak to me, don’t ask me why, Andria knows,” she +was crying bitterly, “that all queer animals and things +come to me. And I met him to-night, and I did scream, +though I told you a lie! He was so old—and so pitiful—I +couldn’t let you hurt him. But he was there all the +time I said he was gone.”</p> + +<p>“Darling!” said Heriot softly. “Little brave darling, +don’t cry.” He put his arm round the bowed shoulders +as gently as a woman, and with as self-forgetful a tenderness. +He knew no other girl would have pitied a man +who filled her with terror, who had bitten like a beast before +her eyes only last night.</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry!” he repeated. “And why do you mind that +animals trust you and miserable things come to you? I +loved you for it the very first day I saw you.”</p> + +<p>“Mother Felicitas said I wasn’t human! I was half a +beast,” she sobbed. “And it makes me afraid of—who I +am.”</p> + +<p>“Beryl, look at me,” said the man softly.</p> + +<p>She stopped crying; just in time, if she had known it, +to keep her sobs from jealous ears close by.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” Heriot said, “why things like that +trust you? Because you love them and have no fear of +them. I would give half my life to have dumb animals +come to me as they do to you. Don’t you know that no +wild thing will come to any one who isn’t so good that +they know it?”</p> + +<p>“No!” she whispered.</p> + +<p>He nodded gravely.</p> + +<p>“There is something else just as true,” he said very +low. “I love you, too,” he stooped his handsome head +and kissed her hands.</p> + +<p>At the light touch of his lips she shivered.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. For his life he could +not speak above his breath.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> + +<p>“You can’t!” she cried. “No one does but Andria.”</p> + +<p>“Look at me,” he repeated more gently than ever, and +as she raised her eyes the sweetness and truth in his overmastered +her. “Tell me, can’t you love me—only a +little?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know;” but she had loved him madly, jealously, +since the very day he came. “I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“I think you do.” He had seen her eyes. “Beryl!”</p> + +<p>She clung to him suddenly.</p> + +<p>“They would murder you! Salome said so. Oh! take +me away from this place—from Mr. Egerton.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try!” said Heriot soberly. And suddenly the task +before him flashed out in its true colors. He realized that +unless he could be outwitted Erceldonne would kill the +girl before he let her get away.</p> + +<p>“You can do it if you want to!” Somehow she was +disappointed, taken aback. The slow words that were so +much better than a rash promise had chilled her almost +to distrust. Before he could answer she had broken away +from him and was scudding across the grass to the house.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE LAUGH IN THE DARK.</p> + + +<p>A weakness like the lethargy that comes before death +had bound Andria hand and foot. Where she had sunk +down on the door-step she stayed, caring nothing for the +dark shadows of the garden, or the beasts, and worse, +that might be hidden in them.</p> + +<p>Raimond had left Beryl and gone to the yacht—that +was the only thing really in her thoughts. But he would +not be so balked a second time. It would be better if +death came and took her where she sat, found Beryl in +the lonely woods, for it would cut the coil around them +both, the coil the girl understood not at all—the woman +too well. She bowed her head on the cold stone door-steps, +too hopeless to care how the matter ended.</p> + +<p>The moon rose and poured a flood of light on the +lovely, desolate figure, almost lying on the steps with hidden +face. Her misery, her shame that another had heard, +had numbed the woman’s wits. Raimond was done with +her, would care no more for her claim on him than for +his last year’s neckties. If Beryl fell in love with him she +might not care either. Andria could not think past that, +except to be sure that she would never leave the island, +even if she chose to go in the yacht with Raimond and +the girl who was to stand lawfully in her own unlawful +shoes.</p> + +<p>A sudden touch roused her. Salome, like a black +statue, was sitting beside her.</p> + +<p>“I been down in de woods,” she whispered. “I seen +him kiss her. She’s coming now. Oh, missus, dey’ll be +murder!”</p> + +<p>“Seen who?” fierce, suddenly alive in every nerve, she +sprang up. Had she been mistaken, and it was not Raimond +she had seen rowing away! “For God’s sake, Salome, +who?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Heriot,” but she sprang up, too, at the dreadful +laugh that came from Andria. “Don’t do like dat for de<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> +land’s sake!” she exclaimed. “Dey ain’t never no good +come from dat kind o’ laughin’. And I tell you he must +go out o’ dis to-night. Mr. Egerton he tell me Miss Ber’l +gwine to marry dat nephew he brung. What’ll he say +when he finds out?—for she’ll never marry him now, dat +I tell you!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Salome!” the white woman seized the black one’s +hand, more relieved than if she had brought her the riches +of the world. “What a fool I’ve been. I never thought +of that. Hush! Here’s Miss Beryl now. But—she’s +alone!”</p> + +<p>Yet as she looked at the girl’s face in the warm moonlight +she knew Salome was right. The indifferent child +of yesterday was gone. This was a woman, and surely, +surely, she would fight as women do, tooth and claw, for +the man she loved.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Mr. Heriot?” she asked softly.</p> + +<p>“Coming.” She hesitated. “Andria——”</p> + +<p>“I know,” a wave of pity came over her for the girl +whose wooing would be so stormy, and then a cold terror. +Salome knew Egerton—she knew Raimond—neither +would hesitate in this lonely island at anything that would +put out of the way the man and woman who threatened +their schemes. She looked up and saw Heriot approaching +as carelessly as if the terrors of the place did not +exist, and the foolhardy thing they were all doing came +over her.</p> + +<p>“Come in; it isn’t safe to sit here,” she cried, and as +Beryl broke from her at the coming steps she turned to +Salome. “Take her in and put her to bed. Make her +eat something,” she whispered. “I’ll talk to him.”</p> + +<p>Salome nodded.</p> + +<p>“Make him go,” she breathed. “Get him out o’ dis. +Dey’ll murder him if dey finds out. It ain’t no use his +wantin’ to marry her nor trying to fight for her. Dey’ll +just walk plunk over him, and all she’ll ever know is dat +he ain’t come back some morning.”</p> + +<p>She shambled off after the girl, but there was tragedy +in her working face.</p> + +<p>From old, old times she had known that there was no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> +way but giving in with Egerton. If the girl were meant +for his nephew he would have her in spite of ten Heriots +and without an open refusal.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” repeated Andria, as Heriot stood irresolute +in the doorway. “I think we must all be mad to stay out +of doors after last night.”</p> + +<p>She spoke with an irrepressible shiver; he looked so +handsome and debonair, and the odds against him were +so great.</p> + +<p>“I’d rather not go into Erceldonne’s house,” he hesitated, +“but there’s so much to say. And you can’t stay +out here.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you can either,” he said dryly.</p> + +<p>Then Beryl had said nothing! But there had been no +time. And after all, why should he trust their safety to +a madman’s word?</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so,” he returned irrelevantly, entering and +fastening the door. “Look here. I—I wonder if you’ll +think I’ve behaved like a blackguard? I don’t know. I +mean to marry that girl, and I haven’t one farthing to +rub against another, while she—you heard what Erceldonne +said about her?”</p> + +<p>“You told her so?”</p> + +<p>“Not about the money, nor anything but myself. I—oh, +it’s been a mad evening! Do you know she saw that +crazy old man and spoke to him?”</p> + +<p>“Then she did scream!” said Andria sharply.</p> + +<p>“Yes: but when I got there she had tamed him as she +tamed the jaguars. He could have killed her, but instead +she says he promised not to hurt us any more.”</p> + +<p>Andria turned swiftly away from the lamp that he +might not see her face as Egerton’s story about the madman +came back to her. The remembrance of all it must +mean chilled her to the bone.</p> + +<p>“Begin at the beginning,” she temporized. “How did +she get away from——” she could not say the name. She +sat silent as he obeyed. If Egerton’s story were true, +that jabbering lunatic’s daughter must have been Beryl’s +mother! And yet, how could she tell it to Heriot?</p> + +<p>A queer, dull passion rose in her and seemed to choke<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> +down the words she would have tried, perhaps, to say. +Heriot was all that really stood between Raimond and +Beryl—let him find out her history for himself.</p> + +<p>“Besides, I don’t believe it!” she thought, and knew she +lied. She scarcely dared look up lest he might ask if she +knew who the crazy creature was that haunted the place.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Heriot,” she said quickly, “you’re in earnest about +Beryl?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered very quietly, but she saw his mouth +tighten. “What right Erceldonne has to her I don’t +know, but it isn’t any better than mine. As for her being +rich,” with a quick, sweet laugh, “when I get her away +from here I’ll never inquire about her fortune.”</p> + +<p>“Or her people?” She could not keep in the dangerous +question.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care who she is as long as she’s my wife.” +But she could not salve her conscience with the answer; +she knew he would care. “Once we’re out of this, and +I’ve settled with her delightful friends down there”—with +a motion of his head toward the harbor.</p> + +<p>“You can’t settle with him!” said Andria quickly. “Do +you mean you are going to meet them in the morning?”</p> + +<p>“I fail to see any other way,” he replied, laughing. +“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Do you know what facing them would mean?” There +was an indescribable flatness in her voice. “None of us +would ever get away from the island, except perhaps +Beryl, and what would become of her I know better than +you.”</p> + +<p>“He wouldn’t marry her against her will,” he said +shortly. “And as for carrying her off, he couldn’t keep +her. There is a law in England.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no law for the dead—I mean you and I could +never rescue her, for we—they would never let us leave +this island alive! You, because you love the girl; I because——” +but she could not go on, and he knew well +enough that a deserted and discarded woman would get +short rope from Raimond Erle.</p> + +<p>She was right, of course; an open struggle would be +madness. Erle and Erceldonne he might manage, but the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> +yacht’s crew could easily overpower a man who had no +revolver. And yet he ached to try the fight.</p> + +<p>Andria looked at him, with hot, smarting eyes.</p> + +<p>“Twenty to one,” she said slowly. “Three of them you +might account for, with my dagger, and then you would +tell no tales! And Beryl, married to Raimond, would kill +herself.”</p> + +<p>“What else can I do?”</p> + +<p>“Go away,” she said very gently. “No, don’t look like +that!” for he was staring at her as if she had lost her +senses. “You think I would play into Raimond’s hands +if you did? You don’t know women! If he had loved +me still I might have been his willing tool, I’m bad +enough for that. But now”—her voice sank to an ugly +whisper—“I’m all hatred for him; when I think of him I +burn like fire. I only live to thwart him, to pay some of +an old score. Oh! talk of something else!” she cried, with +a sudden wild outbreak. “It is nothing to you that I +wake at night and long to kill him with my hands.”</p> + +<p>Heriot turned his eyes away from her ashy face. Once +he would have laughed at believing in that Andria Erle +whose name had been a byword, but he trusted her now. +If he had trusted her before this night all might have been +safely away by this time. But as it was he knew her +broken heart and her broken pride would fight a better +battle for the girl he loved than all his strength could do.</p> + +<p>“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “You have +a plan?”</p> + +<p>Andria nodded.</p> + +<p>“I want you to go and find a village and get a boat. +You are the only one who can do it. But you must go +alone, for if you took Beryl and me, even if we reached a +town Egerton’s steamer would be there before us and cut +us off. He knows every inch of the island. He’d guess +where we were going—that is, if there’s a town to get at, +as Salome says.”</p> + +<p>“There must be,” he answered quickly. “This is either +Flores or Corvo, I don’t know which. But on the eastern +side of each there’s a town.”</p> + +<p>“Across the mountain?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes. Santa Cruz in Flores, Rosario in Corvo; either +would do. But I think this is Flores. We left Fayal for +Grasiosa and were blown off our course by a southeast +wind. The boat must have gone to pieces on the southeast +point of Flores—there was too much east in the wind +for Corvo.”</p> + +<p>“Then we’ll suppose we’re on the southwest side of +Flores. How far would it be to Santa Cruz?”</p> + +<p>“Ten miles, as the crow flies. Twenty or more, allowing +for the mountain and no track. I could be there to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“And get a boat and sail back. You could slip into +some little bay and come for us at dawn the day after, if +you’d had a fair wind. I’ll bring food, and we could hide +in some tiny inlet the yacht would never notice if they +sailed round the island till doomsday. Then when they +get tired and go, we can sail to Fayal. How far is it?”</p> + +<p>“A hundred and fifty miles or so. You wouldn’t be +afraid in an open boat?”</p> + +<p>“I’d take her away from him if we had to go on a +raft,” she said hardly. “Come and eat now, and then +you’d better go. Have you a compass?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want one. I can go by my watch and the sun. +You don’t think they’ll try to take you both while I’m +gone?”</p> + +<p>“They won’t try to take me, and I don’t think they’ll +dare to hurry her so. Raimond will take his time, even in +making love. And he won’t find her very kind, if she’s +promised to marry you.”</p> + +<p>“She hasn’t, in so many words.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter,” Andria answered wearily. “She +means it. Come and eat; you must be on your way before +daylight. You’re not afraid of the man and his beasts?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid to leave you alone here for two days,” he +said shortly. “I tell you plainly I don’t like it.”</p> + +<p>She had opened the door into the dining-room where +her neglected dinner stood cold on the table. Under the +bright light of the hanging lamp she turned on him with +a wild passion that there was no gainsaying.</p> + +<p>“Listen to me!” she cried—and if her face was ghastly,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> +over her black gown her red-brown hair shone like fire +and her eyes swayed him, for all their weariness and red +rims—“listen to me. The girl is yours, but the man is +mine! It is my quarrel, and I will settle my debts for +myself. If you stay you may kill him before you’re killed +yourself, if it comes to main force; but do you think it is +death I want for the man who’s killed all the good in me? +I want more than that. I want him to live, with all his +schemes ruined; to suffer as he has made me suffer; to +starve as he turned me out to starve. If he gets the girl +he will have to kill me first—I, that was bone of his bone! +But it won’t come to that. I’ll put him off. I’ll make +Beryl make time; I’ll tell her my secret that has ruined +me, body and soul. But there won’t be any need before +you’re back,” and with a sudden listlessness she sat down +at the table. “Eat his meat and drink his wine; it will be +as good a weapon against him as a revolver,” she said, +with an evil look in her half-closed eyes. But he knew it +was not she, but what a man had made her, that had +taught her that look.</p> + +<p>“I’ve no money,” he began shamefacedly.</p> + +<p>“I have. Salome’s wages,” and she drew a roll of gold +out of her pocket. “Salome’s wages for Erceldonne’s +work!” but her laugh made Heriot wince.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go now!” he said, pushing back his plate. “Tell +her!”</p> + +<p>Andria could only nod.</p> + +<p>She was helping Beryl to freedom and happiness, and +to what was she helping herself? Only to the just payment +for her broken life. Even Mother Benedicta could +not blame her.</p> + +<p>“So,” she said, very low; “the dawn is coming. But +be quick. I can’t promise to protect her for more than +three days.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be back in one—at dawn to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>Andria sprang to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” she whispered. “Did you hear anything?”</p> + +<p>Heriot shook his head.</p> + +<p>“You’re done up, tired out,” he returned gently. +“There’s nothing—not a sound!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> + +<p>For sole answer she put out the light. He felt her +hand on his wrist as she led him in the dark across the +room and out on a disused veranda.</p> + +<p>“Go this way, and be quick, quick!” she cried in the +same toneless whisper. “It’s the only chance to save her +now.”</p> + +<p>She watched him as he ran across a narrow belt of +moonlight and disappeared in the blackness of the scrub. +Then, noiseless in her stocking feet, she searched every +inch of the wide veranda round the house.</p> + +<p>There was no one there, no one in the garden. Her +wrought-up nerves must have deceived her, and it had +been fancy that she heard out of the darkness of the +veranda behind the dining-room Egerton’s uncontrollable, +cackling laugh.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A SEALED PACKET.</p> + + +<p>Reassure herself as she might, Andria fairly fled +through the empty passages to Beryl’s room.</p> + +<p>“I’m worn out,” she thought; “I’m beginning to imagine +things. It couldn’t have been Egerton’s laugh I heard, +for he wouldn’t dare come here at night—and he couldn’t +have known he’d any reason to watch us.” But argue as +she liked, some sound had shaken her nerves till she dared +not strike a light lest some watcher outside might see.</p> + +<p>“Beryl,” she said, standing by the girl’s bed in the dark, +“Beryl!”</p> + +<p>“Hush!” said a voice, “I’m here,” and Andria made out +a white figure by the window, and groped to the girl’s +side. “Something woke me, I thought. Andria, I +thought I heard a shot! Where’s Mr. Heriot?”</p> + +<p>“A shot!” Andria turned cold, till she remembered she +had watched him safely out of sight and not a sound had +broken the stillness. “You couldn’t have,” she said, +bringing all her common sense to her aid; “you must have +been dreaming! He’s gone away, Beryl. I made him +go.”</p> + +<p>“Gone! Where—what for?” she stared in the dark.</p> + +<p>“I sent him. I was afraid to let him stay. Beryl, we’re +in a dreadful place. His going was the only chance to +save us.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean he’s to save us from?” cried Beryl, +stamping her bare foot. “If there’s anything to save us +from he’d better be here.” She was wild with misery. +That was what his half-hearted answer had meant, and he +did not care enough even to bid her good-by.</p> + +<p>“He couldn’t do anything here. They’d kill him if +they found him. Do you know what I heard to-night?”</p> + +<p>But the girl did not answer. She was putting on her +clothes in the dark.</p> + +<p>“Why did you send him—what for?” she asked harshly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> + +<p>“I sent him to a town—he says there is one—to get a +boat and come back and take us away. It’s all we can do. +Egerton isn’t Egerton at all, he only calls himself that, +and he means to carry you off and marry you to Mr. Erle +or leave you here to die.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll never go with him. Why did you send Mr. Heriot +away? There’d be time after we’re left here to run away +in a boat.”</p> + +<p>“There’d be no time for anything, for Heriot and me.” +But the words did not touch the girl. For the first time +a distrust of Andria seized her.</p> + +<p>“You sent him away because he loves me!” she cried. +“I don’t believe Mr. Erle wants to marry me. I’ve believed +everything you say, like a fool, and I don’t even +know why you call yourself Holbeach. For all I know +your name may be Heriot. He knew you when he came +here.”</p> + +<p>“My God!” said Andria Erle. No blow of her life had +ever hurt her like this one. She pulled a sealed envelope +from the bosom of her dress and thrust it passionately +into Beryl’s hand.</p> + +<p>“Look at that, and you’ll see my name,” she cried, “and +may God forgive you! I swear before Him that Heriot is +not and never was anything to me.”</p> + +<p>Something in the utter agony of the voice broke +through the suspicion, the jealousy, of Beryl Corselas’ +heart.</p> + +<p>“Andria, Andria!” she cried. “Forgive me! I don’t +want to know who you are, I don’t care, except that +you’re my Andria. I’m wild; if Heriot loved me he +wouldn’t have gone, and he may have gone to his death. +I must go out and find the old man and his cats. I’m +frightened what they may do.”</p> + +<p>“Not love you—Heriot! He loves you enough not to +care that you’re——” she stopped. She could not tell and +there was no chance now, for the girl was past her like a +whirlwind.</p> + +<p>If she had known, she could have found a better way, +and now it might be too late. These very jaguars she +had kissed and stroked might even now be tearing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> +Heriot’s flesh out on the hillside. With a throat that was +dry with fear for him, she stood in the garden and +quavered out her strange, crooning song. She believed +Andria, and yet, oh! if Heriot would only come back and +swear to her that he loved her!</p> + +<p>The moon had set, and in the hushed darkness that +comes before dawn the woods lay silent and terrible. +Trembling and desperate the girl crooned on, and presently +from far away there came a low, wailing cry. It +was so far off that she shook for fear she was too late. +Staring vainly into the darkness in the direction Heriot +must have taken, she almost cried out as a cold hand +touched hers from behind. The old man, bent almost +double, was at her feet, his dreadful pets behind him.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been?” she cried, agonized loathing +in her voice. “What have you done?”</p> + +<p>“Little dearest,” he answered submissively, “you told +me to go and I went. I was asleep; my cats were tired, +for it is nearly dawn.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen any one?” her strong young hand +gripped him fiercely. “Tell me!”</p> + +<p>“No one.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, listen!” Beryl said, tears of relief in her hot eyes, +for the man spoke quite sanely and there was truth in his +voice. “I told you to-night you must not hurt that man +who came to me——”</p> + +<p>“We have not touched him, <i>querida mia</i>,” he answered, +cringing under her hard grasp. “Was that why you +called?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she sobbed. “Try to understand. I sent him to +the town—there is a town?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he muttered, “a town of cruelty, where animals +are beaten until they die, and men laugh at you if you ask +for bread.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he’s gone there, to get a boat and come back for +me. You must catch him and bring him back now. Tell +him if he loves me he must come back, but not to the +house. You and he must hide near it, for that man in the +yacht wants to carry me off.”</p> + +<p>The dawn had come on them as she spoke, and in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> +sudden, wan light, she saw his face flush with sudden +fury.</p> + +<p>“Do you understand?” she cried sharply. “You must +make him hide, or we shall all be killed. But you must +be ready to fight for me when I call you.”</p> + +<p>“Fight!” the crazy old voice rang out with a sound that +made the two great beasts behind him bristle up and lash +their tails. “We will kill! My cats will kill. We would +have fought for you last time, but we were too late. Now +you have come back he shall never get you again.” He +began to leer and jabber at her until, brave as she was, +she feared him. Would a thing so crazy ever distinguish +between Heriot and another?</p> + +<p>“If you save me you shall never leave me again,” she +said very slowly, and with that same touch with which +she made the jaguars obey her, she laid her hand on his +wrinkled, repulsive forehead.</p> + +<p>“<i>Querida mia!</i>” he stammered, and for the first time he +met her eyes.</p> + +<p>“See,” he said painfully, “I understand. This is your +lover in the woods, but you will not leave the old man +for him. And the black-eyed one shall not steal you as he +did before. We, your lover and I, will hide near the +house with the cats. When we are there you will hear +my cats laughing, laughing loud, till the black-eyed one’s +blood turns to water. And when you call us we will come. +We will not let him get you.”</p> + +<p>“Not me, nor the woman with red hair.”</p> + +<p>“I bit her. I will never bite her again,” he shuffled +with shame. “I will go now.”</p> + +<p>“Wait!” she cried. “Can you speak English?”</p> + +<p>“English?” he clenched his hands. “No, no English! +It was English took you away.”</p> + +<p>“Then take this,” she pulled the beryl ring off her +finger, “and tell him to come back. He must know Spanish +enough for that.”</p> + +<p>“At noon we will be back. My cats will sleep there in +the shade,” he pointed to an oleander thicket. “But first +they shall laugh till you hear them.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>He turned and ran, bent so low that he might have +been a beast like the sinuous, spotted things that followed +him. Almost before she could draw breath they had all +disappeared in the scrub. Oh, it was an ill-omened messenger +to send! And yet Beryl was certain that to let +Heriot go would mean his coming back to an empty house—or +worse.</p> + +<p>“Did you find Heriot?” said Andria, when the girl returned, +pale and soaked with dew.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t try.” She turned her face away as she told +what she had done.</p> + +<p>“Andria,” she whispered, wan in the first sun rays, “I +wish I knew who I was! For I can’t help thinking I—I +remember that crazy man’s face. I can’t be anything to +him. Oh, tell me I can’t!”</p> + +<p>Andria could not answer. For pity could not tell this +girl who played with jaguars that her mother, the madman’s +daughter, had done the same.</p> + +<p>“You dreamed it,” she faltered, “you could never have +seen him. You were too little when you came to the convent +to remember anything,” but as she lied she turned +away, sick at heart.</p> + +<p>Erle would marry the girl for his own ends. He would +not care one straw for the madness in her blood. But if +she found out, would she ever let Heriot call her wife? +Child as she was, Andria knew that was beyond her.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you going to take what I gave you?” she said, +pointing to that big envelope on the floor.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Beryl deliberately, “but only to remind +myself I was a beast. I won’t open it. I’ll keep it. It’s +none of my business why you call yourself Holbeach.”</p> + +<p>Even then Andria could not bring her shame to her +lips. Beryl should never know if she could help it. If +not, she had the envelope; it would save her if Heriot +were not back and Raimond got her. He might swear +till he was black in the face and his own handwriting +would damn him.</p> + +<p>“We may just have a scene and be left here,” thought +Andria, “but somehow I don’t think so.” She looked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> +from her bedroom window with weary eyes and saw +there was no sign of any one coming off the yacht. “I +wish I knew just what they meant to do.”</p> + +<p>But it would have comforted her very little if any one +had told her that Brian Heriot had known these two +hours past.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE HAND OF FATE.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Thou sleepest? Awake!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What darest thou get for her sake?”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>Mr. Egerton stood in his cabin on the <i>Flores</i> making a +hasty toilet.</p> + +<p>His thin face was savage as he shaved, and his hand +shook as if from bodily fatigue.</p> + +<p>“Why the devil doesn’t Raimond come?” he thought, +and gashed his cheek till he swore aloud, though at the +same instant the door had opened on his son, a disheveled +object in silk pajamas.</p> + +<p>“You’d better sit down and wait a moment!” said the +newcomer. “Have a drink?”</p> + +<p>Erceldonne mopped his bleeding face.</p> + +<p>“Have the goodness not to drawl, I hate it,” he said +angrily. “You can’t be as indifferent as you pretend after +the night’s work!”</p> + +<p>“I’m not. I’m much less indifferent,” he said, with a +short laugh. “I begin to have a hankering after that little +devil, now since she’s been sharp enough to deceive you. +I believe if you threw a girl into the sea she’d come up +smiling in some man’s arms!”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t the girl. It was that damned governess. +But how the man ever got here——”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t matter now, that I can see,” answered Egerton, +with a shrug. “You’re sure it was the governess? +I thought you said she was old.”</p> + +<p>“I said she was an excellent woman,” replied Egerton +dryly.</p> + +<p>“All the same. But Mattel said he saw the girl in his +arms. Heriot’s! And the last man in the world to——But +it doesn’t matter.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t believe Mattel, like a fool! Or we could——”</p> + +<p>“We couldn’t have done any better. I thought it was +all up when I heard you laugh and saw the light go out.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> +I was in time, though. But, by the Lord, if I’d known it +was Heriot I don’t think I’d have done it!”</p> + +<p>“You would have turned out Erceldonne penniless, I +suppose, and let him walk into your shoes! You’re sure +it’s all right?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I tell you!” said Raimond, with sudden vicious +savagery. “Let it alone!” It was the son who was pale +now, not the father.</p> + +<p>“Curse Mattel and his prowling on shore,” he added, +biting his mustache. But the girl he had been willing to +marry for her money—and something else—had suddenly +grown desirable to him since another man had found her +fair. She would be hard to get, too, judging from the +way she had slipped from him to Heriot—and nothing but +the unattainable was ever coveted by Raimond Erle. If +Andria had not been too faithful he might have been at +her feet still.</p> + +<p>“If it hadn’t been for Mattel,” said Erceldonne practically, +“we’d never have known there was a man on the +island. If Heriot kissed the girl he would have married +her.” The past conditional came curiously, but to the listener +it sounded natural enough.</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake, wash your face!” he said, with womanish +disgust, or perhaps because it was not so long +since he had cleansed a like red stain from his hands. +“And throw away the water. Mattel might think things +if he saw it was bloody. He didn’t follow us, I suppose!”</p> + +<p>“Mattel is a Maltese thief, who daren’t think or do anything,” +but he was careful enough to follow his son’s advice. +“No one knows anything but you and me,” and his +hand grew unsteady again as he thought of the awful +danger he had dared last night for the sake of Raimond—Raimond +and Erceldonne.</p> + +<p>Beryl Corselas had builded worse than she knew when +she had bidden the madman and his dreadful servants to +keep far away on the night of all nights when they might +have defended her. But all Erceldonne had thought was +that luck was on his side still.</p> + +<p>“I suppose there’s no reason to stay on here,” said Erle, +with a glance of loathing out the port-hole. “I’ll do what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> +I can with the girl and we’ll take her and the governess +off to-night. I can make love to her, if I must, at sea.”</p> + +<p>Erceldonne nodded. He was himself again. No one +would have known him for the man of two hours before.</p> + +<p>“The sooner the better,” he returned briefly. “Before +they have time to wonder why he doesn’t come back.”</p> + +<p>“Let him alone!” cried Raimond, with that black rage +again. “If you keep harping on him I’ll chuck the whole +thing. I don’t care a damn for the succession, it’s only +the money—and that won’t make me stand your conversation!”</p> + +<p>“Then you’d better tell the girl so,” said Erceldonne +dryly. “Do you suppose she is going to avoid the subject?”</p> + +<p>“I know it. She thinks we don’t know anything about +him,” replied Raimond grimly. “She won’t dare give +herself away. And once married to her——” he laughed, +and Andria might have known why.</p> + +<p>But Andria, for once, was wearied out. It was no +more than eight o’clock and she knew Raimond never +faced existence till eleven. It seemed safe to sleep, and +sleep she must, or she could not think or act. If Salome +came in softly and darkened the room it was without an +idea of the mischief she was doing, nor how Andria Erle +would wake. Beryl, with a strange color in her cheeks, +a strange brightness in her tawny eyes, was freshly +dressed and out even as Andria closed her eyes. From +pure humiliation she had put that thin, sealed packet in +her pocket, but she was not thinking of it now. Up and +down the garden she stepped with a quiet fierceness that +might have been learned from the jaguars she played +with. There was no sign of the crazy old man, let her +call and search as she would; no sign of Heriot, and her +heart grew full of fear.</p> + +<p>Yet there seemed little cause for terror.</p> + +<p>If she had thought to see Egerton and his son come +hurrying up from the yacht to carry her off she was mistaken. +Neither of them appeared.</p> + +<p>She wondered wretchedly why Heriot had left her. +Surely not because they said she had money; it meant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> +nothing to her, instinct told her little to Heriot. Why did +he not come back?</p> + +<p>She was afraid of these two men who had come with +lies. Why should Erceldonne call himself Egerton to a +girl to whom neither name meant anything? It came over +her sharply that an obscure Mr. Egerton might leave +England unobserved in a yacht, while Lord Erceldonne’s +departure would have been chronicled in all the papers.</p> + +<p>“Whatever he means to do with me, he’ll do it secretly,” +she thought, trembling. “But oh, if I could only +hear the cats scream! I must just wait. Only wait.”</p> + +<p>But though she waited till the sun rose high and the +hours passed at noon, she was waiting still.</p> + +<p>And it was so that Raimond Erle came up from the +shore and saw her; standing straight and tall in the blazing +sun among the gorgeous flowers; young, lithe, magnificent +with her dusky hair and her golden eyes, and that +strange color on her cheeks; a woman any man might +covet. And for the first time he cared nothing for the +thing he had done.</p> + +<p>Every bit of color went from her face as she saw who +it was, though she had known the step was not Heriot’s.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said defiantly, “what do you want?”</p> + +<p>“Only to say good morning. You’re not going to run +away again, are you?” for she had moved restlessly under +his eyes.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to run away. Why should I?” she replied, +with a slow glance of dislike she had not known +the trick of yesterday. “I want to talk. When is—Mr. +Egerton—going to take us away?”</p> + +<p>“To-day, if you like. But don’t talk here, it’s too +scorching. Come into the house.” There was nothing +but his own comfort in the suggestion, but his glance said +it was hers.</p> + +<p>The girl shaded her eyes and looked once round the +empty garden, the stirless noontide woods. There was +not a soul.</p> + +<p>“Come in, then.” She had caught her breath curiously. +She led the way, not into the house itself, but up by an +outside stair to the veranda that opened off Andria’s bedroom.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> +From it she could see the faintest signal from the +hillside down which Heriot must come, if he came in +time; would be within call of Andria, sleeping like the +dead behind her closed shutters.</p> + +<p>Erle looked at her.</p> + +<p>She had a crushed hibiscus blossom in her hand that +was not so crimson as her mouth. He would get her by +fair means or foul, if it were only for that and her tawny +eyes.</p> + +<p>“So you’re anxious to get away?” he said slowly, but +she hesitated instead of assenting.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why I was brought here at all!” she returned +at last, frowning.</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you? I do. Look at me, don’t you remember +me?”</p> + +<p>“Look at me!”—with what different eyes another man +had said those very words!</p> + +<p>“Remember you!” she retorted. “No; how could I?”</p> + +<p>But she shivered. The man was lying, as Andria had +warned her he would lie.</p> + +<p>“Think!” he said. “Have you forgotten one evening at +Blackpool station? And a frightened girl who stood +there without anywhere to go? Because I remember, if +you don’t.”</p> + +<p>But like a flash it had come back to her. His white +duck clothes made him look different, but it was the same +face she had seen. And she remembered there had been +no pity in the man’s eyes as he watched her.</p> + +<p>“You do remember!” he said. “Well, don’t be angry +if I tell you something. I went away and you haunted +me. I couldn’t forget you. When I heard of the girl +found starving in the wreck I knew it was you. I sent +my father to get you from—the woman”—with a momentary +hesitation, since he had never known exactly +about that part of the business and dared not invent—“who +had adopted you. It was I who suggested bringing +you here,” he continued calmly lying. “I knew convent +arms are long and you weren’t safe in England. But if +you want to go back you can, though it’s a living grave,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> +a convent, for a beautiful girl,” he spoke dreamily, and so +impersonally that yesterday she would not have noticed +the flattery.</p> + +<p>“Why did you care?” abruptly. “I was nothing to +you.”</p> + +<p>“I wanted to help you live your life,” he said, with a +queer shrug. “That was all. Oh! you are a child still. +You’ve seen nothing. Not diamonds, nor satin gowns, +nor balls where the music gets into your blood and you +know half the men in the room are mad about you.”</p> + +<p>“To that life?” said Beryl slowly, for Brian Heriot had +told her none of these things. Yet she searched the +empty hillside once more with her eyes.</p> + +<p>“That, and more. I don’t know why I cared you +should be saved from the convent, but I did. You can go +back, as I said, if you like.”</p> + +<p>“No!” she said, with a shudder, remembering only the +cruelty of Mother Felicitas and nothing of the kindness +of the other nuns. “They said I had no name, that I was +a charity child. Am I? If you know anything about me, +tell me!” she could not keep back the question, though she +knew it was useless, but the slow, insolent answer turned +her blood to fire.</p> + +<p>“You are Beryl, and you have golden eyes. I don’t +know, or care for anything more.”</p> + +<p>“You do know who I am!” she flashed out at him, “else +why would your father trouble with me? If he is your +father and not your uncle, as you said.”</p> + +<p>His face changed ever so slightly. Well, Heriot was +paid for talking!</p> + +<p>“I know nothing but that I have done my best to help +you from that very first night I saw you,” he said, very +low.</p> + +<p>There was a passion on his face there had never been +on Heriot’s, but she was not old enough to know that +passion in a man is the very last reason for a woman to +trust in him. And the sudden softening of the haggard +lines round his mouth, the widening of his eyes, made her +for the first time wonder if, after all, he were speaking +the truth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> + +<p>“Where do you want to take me?” She was staring at +him with great, fascinated eyes. If he had been like this +yesterday she would never have run away from him, unwarned +as she was then.</p> + +<p>“Back to England—to London—to the world. Why +should you be buried here?” he said slowly.</p> + +<p>“But you said it wasn’t safe,” she faltered. “The convent——”</p> + +<p>“Can’t recall you if you’ll let me take care of you,” he +answered, with his voice utterly caressing. “Will you?”</p> + +<p>For the first time she saw what he meant, what he had +been meaning all along. And it was just what Andria +had said. With a start of fright she sprang up.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean you want me to marry you?” she cried, +wide-eyed, and, without her will, Heriot’s face sprang to +her memory.</p> + +<p>She was so beautiful as she stood aghast and trembling +that the man lost his head.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “just that!” and before she could move +had caught her to him and kissed her madly.</p> + +<p>She could not cry out because his lips crushed her +mouth, but the stifled moan would have brought any other +man to his senses. She fought against him till her lips +were free.</p> + +<p>“I hate you,” she stormed. “Why did I ever listen to +you when Andria—ah!” she screamed at the top of her +voice. “Andria!”</p> + +<p>If she had stabbed him he could not have let her go +more suddenly.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” he said. “Who is Andria?”</p> + +<p>But it was another voice that answered him from behind +his back.</p> + +<p>“I!” said Andria Erle, standing like a ghost in her +white dressing-gown between the open green shutters of +her bedroom window.</p> + +<p>Raimond Erle turned livid.</p> + +<p>It was Andria; Andria who was the governess, who +had been engaged to take care of the only girl in the +world she should never have met!</p> + +<p>He saw once more the pale face, the red-brown hair of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> +the woman he had called his wife—and the only emotion +it brought him was furious hatred.</p> + +<p>He looked from her to Beryl and back again and knew +what he must do.</p> + +<p>“And who,” he said calmly, “are you?”</p> + +<p>“No one,” she answered steadily, “now! Shall I tell +you who I was?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes blazed at him, standing at the window of the +very room where she had thanked God he had come back +to her. The man shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, “stand back! I will tell you what you +were, and are. A woman who is no fit companion for an +innocent girl, who is here under false pretenses and a +feigned name.”</p> + +<p>His quick ear had caught footsteps coming up the +stairs, and as Andria caught her breath at the words that +were true enough in their way, Raimond Erle turned to +his father.</p> + +<p>“So this is your governess!” he cried, before she could +speak. “Do you know who she is? A woman who was +the talk of all London—a woman no girl should so much +as see!”</p> + +<p>“Raimond!” She had been his wife for five years, or +she thought so; small wonder she cried out as if he had +struck her. She reeled where she stood.</p> + +<p>“Take the girl away,” said Erle savagely. “Don’t you +understand?”</p> + +<p>But at that cry of his son’s name Lord Erceldonne had +understood indeed.</p> + +<p>It was this woman and no other who had enslaved Raimond +for five years, and the very irony of fate had +brought her here to ruin him.</p> + +<p>“Andria, what does he mean? What does he know +about you?”</p> + +<p>Beryl had sprung between the two men and flung her +arms round Andria’s neck. But the woman stood cold as +marble.</p> + +<p>“Come!” said Erceldonne, between his teeth. He laid +his hand on Beryl’s shoulder and she tore it away.</p> + +<p>“Andria, speak to me, don’t mind them!” she cried. “I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> +believe in you. I don’t care what they say, Andria, darling.”</p> + +<p>Erle’s discarded wife caught her in her arms and stood +back, knowing that the time was come.</p> + +<p>“I am what you made me!” she cried to the man whom +once she had loved. “I will take care you have no other +girl to torture as you have tortured me. Oh, I know why +you want her, why you changed your minds about letting +her die here!” She came a step nearer to Erle, still holding +Beryl clasped in one arm. “But you forgot me!”</p> + +<p>Her breast heaved as if she could not breathe. She +kept her eyes on Raimond’s face and never saw Erceldonne +as he slipped behind her.</p> + +<p>There was no stopping the tongue of a furious woman, +but if Beryl heard her story the game was up. And without +the girl, ruin stared him in the face. Dead or alive, +they must have her, and there was no driving Raimond +when he had the bit in his teeth. He would have her +quick, not dead, in spite of all the discarded women in +London.</p> + +<p>“Come,” he repeated, with a voice he tried to make +shocked but only made angry. “This is no place for you. +And as for you, madam,” to Andria, “we will leave you +to the society of your friend, Mr. Heriot. I may say that +what I saw last night shocked and pained me inexpressibly.”</p> + +<p>He took Beryl by the arm, but she struck back at him +wildly, with all the strength of her young arm. For an +instant the man staggered; the next he had caught his +son’s eye.</p> + +<p>“Settle it,” he said, with an ugly word. And with +hands that were strong as steel he forced the two women +apart. It was done so dexterously that neither had time +to make a sound, but the girl turned on him viciously, +wrenched away from him, and fell backward down the +wooden stairs. As she fell she screamed, but another cry +covered it.</p> + +<p>Half an hour afterward Raimond Erle came quietly out +of a house that seemed strangely still. There was blood +on his hand and he wiped it away with fastidious care.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A MURDER IN THE DARK.</p> + + +<p>“Salome, I am going to shut up the house and take all +the ladies away! They have gone down to the yacht already. +Pack your things, and be as quick as you can, the +three of you. I don’t want to waste any time in getting +off.”</p> + +<p>The servants’ quarters were on the other side of the +house from Andria’s shaded veranda; the three women +had heard nothing as they sat chattering with the doors +shut to keep out the noontide heat. Yet Salome leaped to +her feet with a sudden foreboding, as she saw her master +open the door.</p> + +<p>There was a look on his face she had reason to know, +and as he spoke her own grew ashy. Yet to Chloe and +Amelia Jane his matter-of-fact words were joyful tidings +indeed, and scarcely uttered before they were gone to +gather their belongings. But Salome stood just as she +was when she sprang up and saw her master’s face.</p> + +<p>“Go!” he said sharply. “I’ve no time to wait for you.”</p> + +<p>“Where’m I going?” she asked sullenly. “Where’ve I +got to go?”</p> + +<p>“Where you like, but out of this and away from me! +I’ve no further use for a servant who harbors men in my +house in secret.”</p> + +<p>So he knew! Salome’s face grew a shade more gray.</p> + +<p>“He’s gone!” she said. “He went last night.”</p> + +<p>“He’s gone, but you’ll go, too!” he answered, with a +meaning not lost on her. “Get your things.”</p> + +<p>“Master, master!” her voice came strangled as she +threw herself at his feet. “I can’t go nowhere, you know +dat.”</p> + +<p>“It’s no concern of mine. I’ve hidden you long enough +when you betray me. You can come or stay, or drown or +hang, as you like. Thank your stars I don’t send you +back to Jamaica! You fool, who’s to know you in England?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + +<p>But she had seen his eyes as she scrambled to her feet. +There would be no England for her. She knew too much +to leave, and too much to tell where he was going. A +dark night, a high wind and a heavy sea, and—even her +miserable life was dear to her!</p> + +<p>“Dat’s true, dey’s no one’ll know me in England,” she +said softly; too softly if the man had been his usual acute +self. She turned quietly away and followed the other +women.</p> + +<p>Her master’s heart “beat quick and thick, like a madman +on a drum,” as he stood in the scorching courtyard. +No one could get to the big house without crossing the +paved yard, which no one should do. Raimond, with his +white sleeve rolled up till an ugly stain was hidden, had +carried Beryl down to the yacht. Her fall had stunned +her, and she hung heavy like the dead in his arms. What +he had begun in Andria’s room the crazy man and his +jaguars would finish, when the house lay empty and deserted, +with no one to bar the doors.</p> + +<p>Erceldonne turned with a sharp word as the three black +servants came out, each with a bundle on her head.</p> + +<p>Something had quieted Chloe and Amelia Jane, or else +it was the dreaded presence of their master that lent speed +to their feet as they hurried down the path before him. +Salome had never opened her lips as she gathered up her +clothes. She walked before Egerton with a slowness that +maddened him, for he dared not precede her. The great +door of the house stood open as they passed, and she saw +it. What man in his senses would go away and leave his +house open, for the things that haunted the place to ravage? +Yet she said nothing as they went on in the blazing +sun.</p> + +<p>There was not a sound anywhere; not a breeze even, +when they reached the corner of the path and saw the +open bay before them, with the boat waiting at the shore +and Chloe and Amelia Jane already in it in their haste to +be gone. Yet even Chloe and ’Melia Jane leaped to their +feet at the sudden strident howl that waked the noonday +hush. They had heard that cry before; in the night it had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> +broken their dreams, but in the broad daylight it brought +the terror of death on them.</p> + +<p>From far up behind the house it rang, something between +a wail and a scream, but full of a hideous menace, +a ravening fierceness. Before Erceldonne could draw +breath, it seemed as though hell had broken loose behind +him. Sharp, snarling cries ran under that awful, ceaseless +wailing, and each second were louder and louder.</p> + +<p>“Run!” cried the man, with white lips, feeling in his +pocket for the revolver that was not there. “Run!”</p> + +<p>But Salome, like a black statue, stood in his way.</p> + +<p>“Dey smells de white blood,” she said politely. “De +meat fur de jaguars’ wedding.”</p> + +<p>With a furious word, Erceldonne sprang past her. He +was brave enough, but not for the terror that runs scenting +its prey in daylight. He tripped and fell headlong +over the bundle she threw in front of him, but before she +could seize him he was up on his feet and running wildly. +In the hideous uproar that came nearer and nearer, Salome +laughed.</p> + +<p>“Run, run!” she screamed aloud. “You ain’t going +quick enough; dey got de heels of you!” She bowed and +swayed in horrible derision, as he stumbled, recovered +himself, and tore on. The next instant she had taken to +her heels and was running faster than Erceldonne himself. +But not to the boat. Something yellow and white +had flashed by her, hunting silently, without a sound. By +instinct, she ran, she knew not where; and as she ran she +shrieked.</p> + +<p>The Italian captain of the <i>Flores</i> had been a cutthroat +from his youth up, and now made an excellent livelihood +by hiring out his yacht and asking no questions. But +even he was pale as he stood on the bridge and took the +boat away from that accursed island. That there should +be wild animals in so desolate a place seemed natural +enough to a man who knew nothing of the Azores except +the name; yet he had never seen even tigers so fierce as to +hunt men in broad day. And hunt they had. Mr. Egerton +had saved his life by a bare fifty yards, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> +screams of the black servants, who had been too fat to +run, rang in the captain’s ears still.</p> + +<p>No wonder the signorina had been carried on board +half-dead, or that the two colored women crouched, weeping, +on the deck.</p> + +<p>“The place is accursed,” he said sharply to his first officer, +who would have liked to stay and hunt the strange, +fierce beast that had stood snarling at the very water’s +edge and disappeared like magic as he drew his revolver. +“If Mattel had not been a son of the devil he would not +have got off in his skin last night.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Raimond Erle drew a long breath of relief as he +sat with his father in the saloon and heard the steady +sound of the screw. He glanced at Erceldonne, seated +opposite him, and aged by ten years by that flight down +the glaring hillside.</p> + +<p>“That was a damned lucky escape,” he said slowly. “I +didn’t half-believe in your beasts before. But they’ve +done well by you now!”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>Erceldonne’s breath came unevenly still.</p> + +<p>“Do you ever read the papers?” but his own hand +shook as he lifted his whisky and soda, for, for form’s +sake, the two sat at luncheon, waited on by the servants, +who could not understand a word they said. “Well, it +will be an item: ‘Strange and Terrible Story From’—we +can find a place. But it will go like this:</p> + +<p>“‘News comes through Reuter’s Agency’—and they +shall get their information in some very natural way that +can’t be challenged—‘news comes through Reuter’s +Agency that the Honorable Brian Heriot, heir-presumptive +to Baron Heriot, and his wife have been killed while +jaguar-hunting in—South America? The late Mr. +Heriot was at one time well known in London society, +and his wife, who perished with him, was a whilom celebrated +beauty, known, for want of another name, as “The +Lovely Andria.” The present Lord Heriot is unmarried +and the title will devolve on the Heriots of Maxwellton. +No particulars of the tragedy have yet been obtained by +our correspondent.’ There, that will explain the sad tale<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> +we have to tell our charges, and everything will be perfectly +open and aboveboard!”</p> + +<p>The whisky had warmed him. He never flinched at the +thought of how Andria Erle must die.</p> + +<p>“Have you no sense?” cried Erceldonne angrily.</p> + +<p>“We dare not set any rumors going.”</p> + +<p>“Public press—nothing to do with us. Some Englishman +is certain to have been killed jaguar-hunting—South +America is a big place, and his name will do for the first +unidentified fool that gets eaten. Put a thing into people’s +heads and they’ll think it.”</p> + +<p>“That won’t explain the girl knowing of it!”</p> + +<p>Raimond leaned across the table and spoke so low his +father could just hear.</p> + +<p>“The girl is my affair,” he said slowly. “You made a +fool of yourself with your island and your governess, and +your fright of an old woman over whom you knew you +had the whip-hand the instant you found the girl. If it +hadn’t been for your crazy friend and his jaguars we +should have been up a tree. When Beryl’s my wife we +can find out who she is—and no reverend mother can get +her away then!”</p> + +<p>“How do you propose to make her sign the register? +I’ve no reason to suppose you can make a marriage under +a false name any more legal than the rest of the world!” +said his father cynically.</p> + +<p>“That’s my concern,” answered Raimond fiercely. +“You’ve managed this business so far, and you’ve made a +mess of it. If it hadn’t been for you carrying off the girl +like a pirate in a dime novel and getting the only woman +you had reason to fear for her governess, there would +have been no trouble. The girl was coming to me like a +tame bird when that red-haired devil opened the shutters! +As it is, she heard nothing to matter; your ‘excellent +woman’ had evidently kept a close tongue in her head. +But thanks to you, I’ve a hard job instead of an easy one. +I tell you plainly that if she were not as beautiful as +women are made, I’d let her go to the devil—or Mother +Felicitas!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p> + +<p>“And her money to the convent and Erceldonne to the +hammer—or you and I kicked out!”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>The brief courage of whisky had died out of him; he +was suddenly cold in the hot, close cabin. To Andria he +gave no thought except that a millstone was gone from +about his neck. But from Brian Heriot, who had been +his friend, he could not get his thoughts.</p> + +<p>That blind shot in the dark, that long carrying of a +burden under which he had sweated, though his father +had helped in the task; that sudden light of the match +the latter had struck as they lifted a man’s body for the +last time to cast it down a rocky gully that reeked with a +strange, wild scent—the man who had fired the shot +turned sick as the match burned out, for, in its flickering +light, he had seen the face that would not leave his +memory.</p> + +<p>In his amazed and horrified recognition of the man +who had been his friend, he might even then have tried +to save him, but his very start of astonishment sent the +body the faster into that black gully. What happened +next he scarcely knew. It was all a dream of mad panic, +with himself and Erceldonne flying through the night till +dawn came and found them in their boat.</p> + +<p>There was no one on watch on the deserted deck, not +even Mattel knew when they returned, careful body-servant +though he was. It had taken all Raimond Erle’s +nerve to put on his night-clothes and lie down on his bed. +He had been acting, acting ever since, except for those +few minutes alone with the woman who had risen as if +from the dead to balk him.</p> + +<p>He had feigned nothing there, only given rein to his +fury till, with a last jerk of his wrist, his work was done. +And he was tired of feigning now.</p> + +<p>“Listen!” he said, with outspoken brutality, “once for +all. If you so much as name him to me again, I’m done +with you. You can sink or swim, as you like. I will +never have him spoken of in my hearing.”</p> + +<p>For answer, a girl’s voice rang out from a shut cabin +near-by, high and shrill as voices are in delirious pain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p> + +<p>“Brian!” it called. “Brian, where are you? Heriot, +Heriot!”</p> + +<p>For a moment the man trembled, and then the very +rage of hell came over him, that it was Beryl who called +on Heriot and not Andria.</p> + +<p>So it had been for her sake that Heriot was on the +island! For a moment he grinned like an angry dog; +and then he saw the servants gazing at him in scared +amazement, and forced himself to laugh.</p> + +<p>“Let her call,” he said to his father, in the English +they could not understand. “She’s got to call louder yet +to wake the dead!”</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_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE DEATH-TRAP.</p> + + +<p>In the wild panic that had overtaken her, Salome ran +on and on, crashing in bewilderment through the thick +scrub without knowing or caring where she was going. +Fat as she was, she got over the ground with marvelous +speed, till she tripped on a tough vine and fell sprawling.</p> + +<p>The jar and shock brought back her senses. At first +she shook where she lay, lest the beast she had seen +might leap on her and tear her life out, not caring if she +were black or white. But as the minutes passed and +nothing stirred anywhere, the stout colored woman scrambled +up, and stood quivering and panting.</p> + +<p>She could hear nothing, though she listened with all +her might; those horrible, snarling cries no longer made +the woods ring. Stupefied, she felt her arms and legs, as +if to make sure they were whole, and then slowly and +falteringly began to make her way back to the house with +the instinct of a lost dog.</p> + +<p>“Dey got him dat time, sure!” she thought, stumbling +through the hot, dark undergrowth, a ludicrous fat figure +in stained white clothes, crowned with a frizzy mop of +hair that would have humiliated her, could she have +seen it.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go back to de big house; if dey ain’t gone I +kin hide, and dey can’t lock me in so I can’t get out +again. And I ain’t got nowhar else to go. Dese woods +ain’t wholesome at night; black meat and white looking +mighty like in de dark!”</p> + +<p>But as she came cautiously out on the hillside and +could see the bay, she flung herself down behind some +bushes and crept on all fours into thicker cover.</p> + +<p>The yacht was going. She could see it rounding the +point.</p> + +<p>“Glory, glory!” said the woman soberly. “Dey’s +gone. I kin go up to de house and get rested, and to-morrow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> +I’ll tramp through de woods to dat place Mr. +Heriot’s went to. I guess I kin take in washing wid +de best of ’em, and dey ain’t no one going to know me, +neither. ’Cause a man dat’s inside a jaguar ain’t goin’ +to talk—and der ain’t no one else!”</p> + +<p>She walked on wearily to the great hall door, and +was just closing it behind her when, from the hillside +behind the house, the dreadful cry of a hunting jaguar +brought her heart to her mouth. With frenzied haste +she bolted the heavy door and the lower windows; but +there came no sound of padded feet in the garden, no +soft, heavy tread against window or door. Only that +wailing cry rang out insistently, as if some beast called +to its mate in vain.</p> + +<p>Salome, safe in her fortress, had time to listen; and +knew in another instant that it was no beast that called. +The imitation was good enough for Egerton, but not +for Salome, who knew the real thing.</p> + +<p>“’Pears like de end o’ de world!” she said to herself; +but, with the end of Egerton, her heart had an +end of fear. “Dat crazy man’s on top dis time, but de +Lawd be praised, I ain’t out on no sea dis day! Oh, +my poor ladies, my poor ladies! But you’re free dis minute +same as me. De master’s dead!”</p> + +<p>She said it with a shudder, for the beast that had +passed her with long, noiseless bounds had not gone +so quickly that she had not had time to see the dreadful +teeth in its red, drooping jaw.</p> + +<p>From very force of habit, she turned and went round +the house, inspecting each bolted door. She must sleep +in here to-night, for she was too shaken to cross the +courtyard with that snarling whine ringing in her ears.</p> + +<p>She was dizzy, too, with her long run in the heat, +and she climbed up-stairs painfully. It would feel safer +to sleep up there, but her trembling legs would scarcely +carry her.</p> + +<p>The room at the head of the stairs had been the +governess’, and the exhausted Salome turned into it, +only to sink on her knees with a groan of superstitious +terror.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>The governess had gone. Then, who was this who +lay like a log on the floor, face down?</p> + +<p>“Lawd, Lawd!” moaned Salome, her eyes all whites +in her ashy face. “Missus, missus!”</p> + +<p>But the white thing on the floor never moved. Only +the rising afternoon breeze came through the open window +and lifted the long locks of loose, ruddy hair, and +through the silence came that endless, blood-curdling +wail of the madman outside.</p> + +<p>Inch by inch the black woman crawled nearer, her +eyes standing out with terror.</p> + +<p>If this thing on the floor should leap up and spring +at her, as ghosts and haunts were well known to do!</p> + +<p>But it never stirred.</p> + +<p>With the last remnant of her waning courage, Salome +stretched out a shaking, black hand, and then recoiled +with a yell of sheer horror. It was no ghost, but the +governess herself; but, whether dead or alive, the servant +could not tell. Her weariness all forgotten, she +lifted the quiet body in her arms, and saw why it had +lain so motionless.</p> + +<p>On one temple was a dark bruise, a deep, oozing cut, +such as might be made by the sharp edges of a man’s +signet ring. And a man’s handkerchief had bound the +slack wrists together; a man’s clumsy, hurried hand tied +a thick, wet bath-towel over the unconscious face, and +knotted the cord from the curtain cruelly tight around +the slim, bare feet.</p> + +<p>There were scissors on the toilet-table, and it took +Salome no time to cut the double-knotted towel from +Andria’s head and face. But it took minutes before +the almost suffocated lungs did their work again. Salome +was frightened as she dashed water on the swollen, +crimson face.</p> + +<p>“Set up, my lamb!” she cried quickly, when the first +struggle for breath was over. “You ain’t hurt. Wait, +ole Salome’ll cut your hands an’ feet loose!”</p> + +<p>To her unutterable joy, Andria began to move. Presently, +she lifted her hand to the cut on her head, but +it fell again, limply.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> + +<p>“Dat’s right,” said Salome, fanning her, “dat’s just +right. You’s coming round, honey. Lean against Salome!” +She looked down at the face on her knee, and +the torn, white dressing-gown, and poured eau de +cologne with a lavish hand on the bare, white throat.</p> + +<p>At the pungent scent of it, Andria’s eyelids flickered.</p> + +<p>“Beryl,” she said, “Beryl.”</p> + +<p>Salome nearly dropped her.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t she here?” she cried, and something in her +voice roused Andria more than all the restoratives in +the world. “Oh, missus! Ain’t she in her room?” for +if they had not taken one, surely they had not taken +the other.</p> + +<p>Dizzy and sick, Andria clutched at her.</p> + +<p>“They took her,” she said thickly, as if her throat +hurt her. “Salome, where are they? Why do you look +like that?” She raised herself till she could see the +dark face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, missus, dey’s gone!” Salome cried wildly. +“Dey’s gone in de steamer, all but him; and he’s et. +De jaguar done got him.”</p> + +<p>She pointed out the window. “Hark at dat!” she +whispered. “De ole man’s singing ’cause master’s dead.”</p> + +<p>“Gone!” Andria got somehow to her feet, and nearly +fell with the pain in her swimming head. “Quick, when—did +they go?” It hurt intolerably to speak, but the +dizziness was passing.</p> + +<p>Salome told her, but to the story of Egerton’s race +with death Andria hardly listened. Raimond had got +Beryl, and would have killed her to do it.</p> + +<p>Mad with rage at seeing her, he had struck her down +on the floor; and then, for fear of what she might +come to herself and do, had tied her, hand and foot, +and left her to the jaguars. She was a woman, and +too faithful. There is no sin on earth a man resents +so much.</p> + +<p>“Go look through the house!” she cried, holding her +aching head and feeling her hand, wet with her blood +from the cut Raimond’s ring had left. But she knew +the search was useless. And Egerton’s death was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> +neither here nor there. He might have been murdered +before his son’s eyes, but Raimond would not let the +girl go on account of it.</p> + +<p>“I fought so badly,” she thought, in wild self-reproach. +“I made him furious. And I knew, if he were angry, +he would stop at nothing. Oh, Beryl, Beryl!”</p> + +<p>Sick at heart, with the knowledge of what lay before +the girl when Raimond should tire of her—for a legitimate +wife can be neglected as well as another when her +novelty palls—she leaned against Salome, utterly motionless +and despairing.</p> + +<p>“If I’d a gun,” said the woman, suddenly and savagely, +“I’d kill dat ole man out dere! Standing yelling +at de house like a meowing cat.”</p> + +<p>“Which man?” but, as if new life had sprung in her, +Andria sat erect and listened. The cry that was +enough like a jaguar’s to deceive most people, rose +across the stillness, and the sound of it made the slow +blood come into her pale cheeks.</p> + +<p>Just so, Beryl had told her, would the old man make +his cats cry when Heriot and he came back. But for +Beryl Corselas they had come too late.</p> + +<p>“Salome!” Andria exclaimed, and for the first time +there were tears in her hopeless eyes. “It’s Mr. Heriot, +he’s come back! Come, help me. We must go out, or +he won’t know we’re alone.”</p> + +<p>“Go out—and it gettin’ on to sundown! Lie down, +my lamb,” said Salome coaxingly, “and rest your head.” +For the poor soul could only think the blow had taken +her mistress’ wits.</p> + +<p>“No, no!” said Andria. Between laughing and crying +she poured out all that Salome did not know, and +saw, even then, that the woman did not believe her. +“You can stay here,” she ended. “I’ll go. You know +the old man won’t hurt us now.”</p> + +<p>“Not wid little miss at our backs, p’r’aps,” said Salome +grimly. “How do you know he won’t say we’ve +took and killed her? Where’d we be den?”</p> + +<p>But she followed Andria down-stairs, helped her across<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> +the garden, too stanch to leave her alone, though great +beads of sweat rolled off her forehead in her fright.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Heriot!” Andria called, leaning against Salome’s +terrified bulk. “Mr. Heriot!”</p> + +<p>But nothing answered, till, in the sudden silence that +had fallen as those beastly cries ceased, her own voice +echoed back to her from the wooded hillside.</p> + +<p>“Heriot, Heriot—Heriot!” it mocked, thin and clear; +and died away.</p> + +<p>With a sob that choked her, Andria remembered that +to call the old man she must croon like Beryl had done, +and she could not remember the weird tune, or sing +it if she could.</p> + +<p>“Stay here,” she said. “I must go to them.”</p> + +<p>But Salome’s heart was white.</p> + +<p>“Might as well die as be scared to death,” she answered, +with chattering teeth, and, with her arms round +the swaying figure of her mistress, she walked on—to +death, for all she knew.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Heriot!” Andria called again, as they reached +the outlying fringes of the impenetrable scrub. The +old man’s name—if he had one—she did not know. +But as she thought it, he stood before her, come out +of the bushes as if by magic.</p> + +<p>Salome groaned as only a black person can. But +Andria saw the man’s face, and, for the first time, there +was no fleering mockery in it. In the low sunlight he +looked not the madman she had fought with in the +night, but an old, miserable creature, wizened and bowed, +and clothed in rags that were strangely clean. And +yet she recoiled involuntarily against Salome as he ran +to her, bent forward in the old way, so that his lean, +knotted hands almost touched the ground.</p> + +<p>To her utter amazement, he fell at her feet and kissed +the hem of her gown. The next minute he stood up +and began to talk very slowly in Spanish. What he +said she could not tell, but she knew it was a string +of questions. She touched her own breast with a quivering +finger, then Salome pointed, as his wild eyes met +hers, with utter despair, to the sea.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></p> + +<p>He understood her, for his face grew fierce, and his +cry of mad rage turned her cold. To her ears, he +seemed once more to be jabbering at her, but, to her +wild surprise, Salome answered him. Salome, an ignorant +black woman, a minute ago palsied with fright, had +gone boldly to his side, and was talking swiftly enough +in a strange bastard Spanish.</p> + +<p>The old creature hid his face in his hands with a +pitiful, smothered cry as he heard. Then he turned +to Andria with what—if she had known it—were miserable +wails for pardon, wretched gratitude that she had +at least tried to save the girl whom his crazed brain +still took for another.</p> + +<p>Salome, the respectful, shook Andria as if she had +been a child.</p> + +<p>“Missus, he won’t hurt us! I told him all we knows, +and he say to come to his place in de woods. Mr. +Heriot dere wid him. And he say his cats is tame, +’cept when he makes dem hunt. You hear him call out +when I say master’s dead? He say: ‘De vengeance +o’ God!’ Just dat, over and over. Missus, de black +work dat I knows been here ain’t nothin’ to what’s been +done to dis poor ole man!”</p> + +<p>“Why is Mr. Heriot in the woods?” cried Andria. +“Ask him.”</p> + +<p>“Because dey shot him; shot him like dey’d shoot a +dog!” she answered bitterly. “Come, missus, come! +We got to get him to de big house before dark.”</p> + +<p>Great tears pouring down her black face, she walked +on, not daring to tell that the old man had said Heriot +was dead.</p> + +<p>It had seemed a long, rough way last night in the +dark to that rocky gully for the two men who sweated +under their burden, with eyes everywhere for the dangers +they must dare if Heriot’s end were to be sure. +It was a risky thing—for the throwers—to cast an +insensible man down into a jaguar’s den, and they ran +for their lives afterward for what seemed miles—would +have run vainly if chance had not taken the old man +and his beasts to sleep elsewhere.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> + +<p>But it was really no distance, even for a woman +swaying with pain and dizziness, by the smooth, narrow +track the old man took. There was no room for +two to walk abreast, and the black woman put her +strong hands under Andria’s arms from behind and +steadied her, for pain made her reel.</p> + +<p>In between two high rocks they passed, and then +squeezed through a narrow passage that wound and +burrowed like the dried-up brook it was, between two +high cliffs. Over their heads the blue sky showed like +a narrow ribbon; the dark air of the passage felt like +a cellar, and, with each step they took after the crazy +man, a strange, wild smell grew pungent in their nostrils.</p> + +<p>“It’s de cats,” began Salome disgustedly, and then +yelled in Andria’s ear, and nearly threw her down with +her start. Something had touched her skirts, and over +her shoulder she saw at her very heels, what seemed an +endless procession of wild beasts, walking softly in her +footsteps.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my soul!” Salome yelled again, and scuffled +wildly to pass Andria. “Dey’s got me.”</p> + +<p>The old man turned with a grin.</p> + +<p>“Be quiet, woman!” he said, in his guttural Spanish. +“Those are my sisters and brothers and their children. +They will not touch you till I say—kill!” but at the +word the nearest beast gave a whining snarl, and Salome, +with one bound of terror, passed their master, +nearly squeezing him to death, and out of the passage +into a round, open space like a quarry that narrowed +up into the rocky gully, where last night a murderer +had thrown his victim.</p> + +<p>But Andria cared nothing for Salome or the jaguars. +Straight opposite the rocky wall of the queer place was +undermined into an overhanging cave, and under it, +rolled in a ragged blanket, was the motionless figure +of a man.</p> + +<p>“Heriot!” she sobbed, and ran to him. But he did +not open his eyes, as she knelt beside him, and the +hand she seized in hers was stone-cold in the hot, close +air.</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_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">MOTHER FELICITAS.</p> + + +<p>“Ah!”</p> + +<p>It was an indescribable sound, and it stopped sweet-faced +Sister De Sales in the serious business of laying +out her neat little account-books.</p> + +<p>Mother Felicitas sat in her straight-backed chair in +her own parlor and gripped the table in front of her, +as if only by holding fast to something could she keep +from drifting out on the great sea of death.</p> + +<p>She had not been herself since that strange disappearance +of Beryl Corselas. A constant, agonized fear +that ate at her heart had made even her agonized nerves +give way, her step that had been noiseless, heavy and +uncertain, her pale skin like parchment stretched over +bone. And this morning she had heard that which +wrung a cry from her stiff lips, though she was not +alone to bear her terror.</p> + +<p>“Dear mother, what is it?” cried Sister De Sales, +flurriedly rising. “You are ill—suffering?”</p> + +<p>For the reverend mother’s face was more grayish-white +than the whitewashed plaster of the parlor walls.</p> + +<p>Mother Felicitas nodded speechlessly. But for all +that sudden pang at her heart, she moved her hand +jerkily, so that it covered an open letter on the table.</p> + +<p>“Water—a faintness!” she managed to say. But +when Sister De Sales got back with water and wine +the reverend mother was lying back in her chair.</p> + +<p>The sister was a simple soul, and saw only that the +Mother Superior’s ill turn was over; not—what the +dead Mother Benedicta would have seen—that a certain +pale-blue, gold-embossed note that had been conspicuous +enough among a batch of business-letters had disappeared +from sight.</p> + +<p>It was the day for going over the week’s accounts, +and Sister De Sales was wont to dread it, in spite of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> +possessing a good head for figures, so sharp were the +reverend mother’s sunken eyes and so keen her instant +detection of a penny out in the balance-sheet. But to-day +she would willingly have seen her books all proved +wrong if only the superior could have strength to do it.</p> + +<p>“You are not well, dear mother; you would see the +doctor if I sent for him?” she said timidly, looking at +the gray pallor of the hard face.</p> + +<p>Mother Felicitas roused herself.</p> + +<p>“No, sister, no!” she said, with a sort of panic, and +forced her manner to its old authority. “It is nothing. +I am not so young as I was, and I forget it, perhaps. +But we will leave the accounts till to-morrow. I—I +will rest now.”</p> + +<p>She made no demur as the anxious sister placed a +stool under her feet, but at the gentle coaxing to drink +some wine she frowned harshly.</p> + +<p>“No, no! Go,” she said, “and let me rest. Those +things, as I said, can wait.”</p> + +<p>Sister De Sales withdrew, softly, aghast. Never in +all her convent-life had she known any duty postponed +“till to-morrow.” The reverend mother must be very +ill, indeed. She would see Sister Agnes; between them +they might make Mother Felicitas see reason and a +doctor. The excuse for her sudden faintness was but +the unselfish desire to spare others pain. “Not so young +as I was,” she had said, and Sister De Sales, stout and +forty-five, knew that she was the elder of the two by +a year or more.</p> + +<p>Yet behind that closed door it was an old, old +woman who dragged herself to it and shot the bolt. +It had taken all her self-control not to scream at Sister +De Sales to be silent with her foolish talk about a doctor. +She would have no doctor to speak learnedly to +the next in rank of an overworked body and a troubled +mind.</p> + +<p>“I won’t have any doctor,” she said to herself, as +she sank on her hard chair again. “I’m not dying—not +yet! I can’t die,” she whispered with a shudder. +“I should see them all standing round my coffin, I should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> +hear their astonishment. Sister De Sales, who thinks I +am a saint; Father Maurice, the new chaplain, almost +crying because I had withheld my sins from him in the +confessional.” Her face grew strong again as she +thought where they would bury her—in unconsecrated +ground.</p> + +<p>She was a clever woman; she knew even in her +wretchedness now that of all the convent not one nun +had a personal ambition but herself. She had felt the +gentle piety round her stifling often enough, though she +had managed never to show it. There had been reasons +for her to leave the world, but even here in seclusion she +had worked and strained for the power she had reached—worked +half for safety, that there might be no one over +her, half to find peace for her miserable mind.</p> + +<p>Well, she had had her way! She ruled the convent +as no one before her had ever done. The community +had never been so rich, so respected; the nuns, if they +did not love her, held her in awe for her saintly austerity, +her ceaseless industry—and here was what it had +all come to. Every one of those good and gentle women, +who were saints, indeed, would shrink from the holy +mother raised above them if her secret history were +revealed. Alive, she would be excommunicated; dead, +she writhed in her chair as she thought of the hushed +astonishment, the shocked amazement of the little world +she ruled.</p> + +<p>“No, no, no!” she said to herself. “As I have lived +I will die and be buried; no one shall ever know. But +I can’t die yet.”</p> + +<p>She stretched out her hand for the wine she had +refused, and drank it eagerly. No woman in the world +had lived a harder, more self-denying life than she. +Was it all to count for nothing now, just for the want +of a little resource, a little more courage?</p> + +<p>“No one shall know,” she said again, as the wine +brought some warmth to her slow blood. As she lifted +her eyes they caught the inscription of a picture on +the wall.</p> + +<p>“‘Death and the Judgment.’” The words struck her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> +like an actual blow, but she never lowered her startled +eyes.</p> + +<p>What she had done she had done. She was willing +to bear the brunt of it, but not the shame of humiliation +before the nuns, who revered her in their pure and +gentle hearts.</p> + +<p>“‘Death and the Judgment,’” she thought, but she +dared not say it aloud, when, for all she knew, Death +might be at her very elbow, and for the Judgment she +was unprepared.</p> + +<p>Yet no idea of a tardy repentance, a confession at +the eleventh hour, entered her fevered mind, as she +drew that terrible letter out of the folds of her habit. +She had fought her own battles; she would fight them +once more, and then die, if she must, in the odor of +sanctity. She thrust away the thought that this strange +horror at her heart was the beginning of repentance. +Almost she felt her own strong self again, as she deliberately +opened and reread the letter that had shaken +her nerve till she cried out.</p> + +<p>Yet it was only a civil, well-meaning letter from one +woman to another.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Mrs. Fuller presents her compliments to the superioress +of St. Mary’s Convent, and begs to inform her +that she knows nothing of the missing pupil of that +institution who was supposed to be traveling on the +Continent in her care. Mrs. Fuller was both surprised +and horrified to find that unscrupulous persons had +made use of her name to deceive the matron and guardians +of St. Anne’s Workhouse. The unknown woman +who carried off the girl under Mrs. Fuller’s name must +have been fully cognizant of her movements, as she +had certainly spent the winter abroad with an invalid +niece. Mrs. Fuller begged to assure the superioress of +her deep sympathy in her anxiety for the young girl +who was lost, and also to inform her that she had set +a detective to work to trace out the wretches who have +made so wicked and cruel a use of her name. As yet +no clue had been found to their identity.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> + +<p>A second note was enclosed in another hand, and it +was this that had brought the reverend mother low, +though it was but a rather disconcerted epistle from a +well-known detective to his employer, regretting that +so far he had discovered nothing.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“I may mention as a curious coincidence,” ran that +paragraph that had wrung a cry from the wretched +woman, “that if the missing girl’s name is really Beryl +Corselas, her discovery is a matter of importance, as it +may throw light on an unexplained case of murder and +abduction which puzzled the whole force years ago, and, +incidentally, may deprive a certain noble family of their +estates. But that, of course, is between you and me.”</p> +</div> + +<p>It struck Mother Felicitas that the detective’s letter +was not especially businesslike; but it would have put +fresh terror in her soul had she known why. The man +was under a deep obligation to Mrs. Fuller, had thorough +trust—this time misplaced—in her discretion, and +was ready to turn the world upside down to find out +the person who had dared to take such liberties with +her name. But as it was, Mother Felicitas had read +enough. She thought of that note written to the guardians +in which she had said that it was on her authority +Mrs. Fuller had taken the girl from the workhouse.</p> + +<p>“I can explain that if I am obliged to,” she thought +heavily. “My lawyer will bear me out that I sent him +to make inquiries,” but her brain went swiftly as she +wondered if the workhouse authorities had that letter—or +Erceldonne.</p> + +<p>If he had it, her foolhardiness alone had put it in +his hands.</p> + +<p>“He would not dare to use it,” she thought, and +wiped her upper lip, that was wet. “It must be he who +has the girl; no one else would be bold enough. And +if he has her, he would not keep her. The money that +I meant——” The pain struck her heart again, and +more dizzily than ever she caught at the table for support. +When it passed she could no longer force herself +to think.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> + +<p>Dim visions passed before her eyes of a boy she had +loved; of another, a half-grown lad, whom she had not +known existed till he was brought home from Eton and +coolly introduced to her as Erceldonne’s eldest son; of +a baby girl she had loathed because she was what a +fair-haired boy could never be; of a thing she had done +to make a man stand in terror of her, and for hatred of +a woman who had never wronged her. It had been in +that man’s interest to keep Mother Felicitas quiet—if +he knew her secret—all of it!—or not.</p> + +<p>If he knew!</p> + +<p>She groaned aloud. He must have found out something +or he would never have burdened himself with +a homeless girl, long ago thought dead and gone. He +must know about the money, and meant it and the girl +to go to his son with the hard, brown eyes, for whose +sake another lad had been turned out on the world to +sink or swim as he liked.</p> + +<p>Hand in hand, the miserable woman seemed to see +that brown-eyed boy and that baby girl, though the +years had long since made them man and woman. If +they stood so, indeed, Erceldonne could defy her, could +afford to stand aside in silence and let her old sins +come to light.</p> + +<p>Looking back, Mother Felicitas could see with what +a devilish cleverness he had always stood aside, trusting +to chance and the hour to do what he dared not put +his hand to. Only once had she known him to show any +trace of human feeling—when he took that fair-haired +boy, who had no other real name but Guy, from the +third-rate school, where he was a half-starved teacher, +and gave him five hundred pounds to start for himself +in sugar-planting in Jamaica. She knew that was true, +for she had seen the boy’s grateful letters to the man +he only knew as a distant friend of his father. It had +been sent to her, she knew very well by whom, as the +easiest way of telling a professed nun. It began: “My +dear Mr. Egerton,” but Mother Felicitas knew that +Lord Erceldonne’s conscience would not require him +to tell the truth when he did a kindness. That memory<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> +had softened her heart a little to the man she hated; +it was as well for him that she did not know the bloody +fragments of that uncashed check had lain on a sunny +hillside till they blew away, instead of being cashed at +Lord Erceldonne’s bankers.</p> + +<p>“I can’t remember that; it wouldn’t save me,” she +thought restlessly. “I must think of myself.”</p> + +<p>While there was life in her she would make one +struggle more; once more, perhaps, feel the joy of +power stir in her and bring a hard man to terms.</p> + +<p>Some one knocked at the door. To the reverend +mother it sounded like the hand of fate that will not +be denied. It seemed to her racked nerves that it must +be Erceldonne himself who stood outside, ready to cry +her shame aloud. It took all her strength to open the +bolted door, and as it swung back the two nuns who +waited there stood petrified.</p> + +<p>The reverend mother towered over them, clutching +the door-handle and glaring at them with the eyes of +a wild beast. At the sight of their startled faces she +broke into a loud, hysterical laugh that nearly made +Sister De Sales, the timid, turn and run.</p> + +<p>Holding the door-handle, the superior laughed and +laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“I’m better—quite well!” she cried, that strange laughter +ending as abruptly as it began. “But Sister De +Sales is right. I’m not myself. Next week I will go +to the retreat at the convent in Blackpool for a change.”</p> + +<p>The waters of terror were up to her very chin, but +she would wade through them as she had always done, +and get back to firm ground.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">HOPELESS AND HELPLESS.</p> + + +<p>“Oh, Salome, he’s—we’re too late!” Andria, a ghostly +figure enough in her torn white dressing-gown, in which +she had lain down to take the sleep which had betrayed +her trust, and with smears of dried blood on her face, +leaned backward where she knelt. “They’ve killed him.”</p> + +<p>“It ain’t de first,” answered Salome grimly, for all +her panic of the slinking beasts that stood round their +queer master. She dropped heavily down beside Heriot, +and would have lifted the torn blanket that covered him, +but a quiet word stopped her hand.</p> + +<p>“Wait!” cried the old man. “It is not good that +they smell the blood.” He waved his open hand with +a queer circular motion, and the great cats turned and +seemed to pour into the narrow passage in a living +stream of yellow-white fur.</p> + +<p>“I have told them to hunt for themselves,” he said +slowly. “They will not come back till dawn.”</p> + +<p>“Praise de Lawd for dat!” grunted Salome devoutly. +She could put all her mind on the dead man now, and +she swept off the blanket that covered him only to +recoil in her turn, for so blood-soaked were his clothes +that she could not tell where he had been wounded. +His face was colorless and quiet over the crimson +clothes that had been white; the woman touched him, +peered into his face, and cried out:</p> + +<p>“He ain’t dead, nor he ain’t dying,” she asserted. She +undid his bloody shirt. “De ball must o’ glanced up +on de bone. His ribs is broke from some reason—I +dunno what, unless dey flung him down here!” She +turned sharply to the old man who stood silently by.</p> + +<p>“Where you find him?” she asked in the bad Spanish +that had been her mother tongue years ago.</p> + +<p>“She sent me out to get him, and I looked and +looked. I came back and struck a track, wide like that,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> +measuring with his misshapen hands, “and blood on the +bushes. At the top of the gully it stopped, and another +track began, as if men had run—but light—with empty +hands. And my cats whined and jumped down here. +So I found him,” he answered simply. “It was not +deep where he fell like it is here.”</p> + +<p>Andria looked at the high cliff over her head and +thanked Heaven the man who did this thing had been +in the hurry that comes of mortal fear.</p> + +<p>“You moved him here! How?” she cried, and Salome +repeated her question.</p> + +<p>He took a stone and rolled it over and over. But it +was lucky for Andria she understood only the pantomime, +not the words that went with it.</p> + +<p>“I put him in the shade. Dead things bring flies in +the sun, and I wanted him for my cats if she said I +could have him. I went back to the house and called +and called to ask her, but she never came.”</p> + +<p>“Shut your head!” said Salome furiously, but also, +with prudence, in English. “We got to take him home,” +she went on; “he may die there or he mayn’t, but we +must carry him. No, you ain’t fit; you’d stumble. I’ll +take de head, and dat ole feller can carry de feet. We’ll +lift him in de blanket.”</p> + +<p>The old man nodded willingly enough when she explained, +and Andria saw that it was even with alacrity +that he lifted his end of the burden. She had reason +to know his strength, yet she marveled at it in so miserable +a body.</p> + +<p>Salome’s stout arms were tense, and her breath came +hard as she moved steadily along; but the wizened man +seemed to feel neither weight nor fatigue.</p> + +<p>Slowly and carefully the wretched procession reached +the great white house that stood open in the desolate, +red light of the sinking sun. Salome had seen wounds +before, and it was as coolly as a hospital nurse that +she did her poor best with this one. When she had +done all she could she drew back and looked at Heriot +lying on the wide, drawing-room sofa that must do<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> +duty for a bed, since it was impossible to carry him +up-stairs.</p> + +<p>“Now you can give him de brandy—just a little taste,” +she said. “It wasn’t no good to bring him to just to +wrestle wid me and jar dem bones.”</p> + +<p>But even the brandy did not rouse him, since there +was hardly any blood left in him. His eyelids flickered, +and he swallowed; that was all. Yet Salome regarded +him with a satisfied nod. He had begun to breathe better +already. She waddled off to her kitchen to get +something to eat, and sang hymns while she cooked, +talking to herself with ludicrous effect between the +verses.</p> + +<p>“Glory, glory in de shining sky!” she sang, and broke +off between tears and laughter. “He meant to leave +dem two fur de jaguars to eat alive, and he meant to +put me in de sea, for I see it in his face. And he’s +dead and gone and et himself! I’m free! I’m free!” +and in the midst of her ecstasy she stopped short at +the thought of the girl who was taken.</p> + +<p>“Pray. Miss Ber’l, pray!” she cried loudly, as if the +girl could hear her. “Pray for de grave, for we can’t +help you.”</p> + +<p>Outside in the darkness of the drawing-room, Andria +lay in a low chair, too exhausted to think, and felt a +sudden, humble touch on her arm. The old man fell +on his knees beside her and began to pour out a torrent +of whispered Spanish. Half of it she knew to be questions, +but she could not answer them, and, dazed, she +shook her head.</p> + +<p>With a hoarse cry of hopeless disappointment, the +poor wretch leaped to his feet, and before she could +call to Salome, was gone through the open door.</p> + +<p>Andria sat up and put her hands to her aching head. +It might be months before Heriot was himself again, +and by that time what could they do?</p> + +<p>There was a wounded man, herself, a black servant, +and a madman to cope with Raimond Erle, who was +already out of reach. With such poor allies and no +money, how could she hope to reach England in time—or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> +ever? With a gesture of sheer despair, she sank +back again and closed her eyes. The very thing that +would keep Raimond and Beryl apart she had never +told the girl. She cursed her cowardice that could not +speak out, that had solved itself by that photograph in +a sealed envelope. She knew she had never opened it +by the very way she had been bewildered, and looked +from one to the other. It was useless now; she would +not even look for the thing, that must be lying in Beryl’s +room somewhere. She never wanted to see it again. +It was too tangible a reminder of her trust that she +had not kept from cowardly reluctance to speak her own +shame.</p> + +<p>In the dark, hushed room there sounded the faint +breathing of the wounded man and a low sobbing that +came from the very depths of a woman’s broken, desolate +heart.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH.</p> + + +<p>“It’s no use,” thought Beryl Corselas, “nothing was +ever any use. They’ve got us, body and soul, again.”</p> + +<p>She stared at the sea through the open port-hole, as +if it would help her to think.</p> + +<p>How long had she lain in this hot, close cabin, hearing +the endless jar of the screw and the wash of stormy +water on the closed port-hole? And where was Andria?</p> + +<p>“She opened the shutters and pulled me away, and +he called her things. Oh, I can’t remember! But I’m +on the yacht again. She must be here, too, for unless +I dreamed it, I saw Amelia Jane in the cabin. I must +get up and find her. Surely, surely they would never +leave her behind!”</p> + +<p>She sat up, and did not even notice how steady the +ship was, though it was only that which had revived +her. Between a slight concussion of the brain and being +the very worst sailor possible, things had reason +to be hazy to her. But as she looked about for her +shoes and stockings the door opened softly and Amelia +Jane’s face peered in.</p> + +<p>“Amelia!” cried Beryl. “Then I wasn’t dreaming. +You were here! Where’s Miss Holbeach? Tell her I +want her.”</p> + +<p>The woman’s face changed convulsively.</p> + +<p>“You knows,” she said rudely; “what’s the good of +askin’ me?”</p> + +<p>“Answer me! Come in and shut the door.”</p> + +<p>But it was only the long habit of servitude, and perhaps +something in the yellow eyes, that made the woman +obey her.</p> + +<p>“Tell me what you mean. Quick!”</p> + +<p>Amelia Jane shrank against the door.</p> + +<p>“You knows dat poor, sweet lady won’t come to you +no more,” she said, more civilly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> + +<p>“They left her!” cried Beryl. She cared nothing for +the servant’s changed manner. “Amelia, they didn’t +leave her behind?” She flung out her hands as if to +beg the woman to contradict her.</p> + +<p>But Amelia Jane only nodded dumbly. Great tears +began to pour down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“It was dem beasts you called in,” she said. “But +dere’s no more trouble in dis world for Miss Holbeach. +She’s gone clean away from trouble. De golden chariot’s +swung low to fetch her.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean she’s dead?” Beryl’s eyes were dry, +her tones perfectly even, but Amelia Jane made haste +to nod.</p> + +<p>“Who killed her?” Beryl said, with a dreadful matter-of-factness, +her voice very low and steady. But Amelia +Jane saw nothing strange in the question.</p> + +<p>“Dem beasts,” she sobbed. “Dem beasts Salome said +was haunts. Dey got her and poor old Salome. Dey +chased master to de edge of de sea; he save you first, +but he ain’t save de others. Chloe and you and me’s +here—but——” she dropped her dark hands with a +gesture of despair.</p> + +<p>The girl sprang toward her, a dreadful, tragic figure, +in her white nightgown, her wild, dusky hair streaming.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Heriot——” she said, between her teeth, and, +weak as she was, grasped Amelia Jane’s shoulder and +shook her like a reed; “where was Mr. Heriot?”</p> + +<p>“Gone, too; dey all gone.” Amelia was curiously, +cringingly civil now. “He never got far dat night he +went away, for dey found him on de hillside. Dat was +how come dey feared de place and started to take us +away.”</p> + +<p>Beryl Corselas caught her breath hard, so that +the woman waited for the sharp cry, the torrent of +tears, that yet she did not expect. And when no cry +came she trembled.</p> + +<p>“Dress me,” came the sharp order. “Tell Mr. Egerton +I want to see him,” and something in her eyes +made Amelia Jane hurry as she had never hurried +before.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p> + +<p>“You can’t see him here,” she ventured timidly, looking +at the disordered cabin. “Better come on deck; +we’s nearly to de land.”</p> + +<p>“Bring him here!” and Amelia Jane fled for her life +at the sudden, dangerous ring in the voice.</p> + +<p>But it was not Egerton who presently knocked at +the door.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” said Beryl evenly, and did not start as +she saw Raimond Erle—only looked him up and down +with strange eyes.</p> + +<p>For a moment he could not think what to say to +her. There was something terrible in her face, something +like a beast waiting to spring in the tense lines +of her body as she stood opposite him.</p> + +<p>He stepped across the threshold in silence, and he +did not close the door behind him, but she seemed not +to notice.</p> + +<p>“Where is Andria?” she said. “Where is Mr. Heriot? +How is it that you and your father and I are alive when +they are dead?”</p> + +<p>Then Amelia Jane had told her, as she was meant +to do! It is easier to amplify bad news than to break +it. He would strike at the hardest part first.</p> + +<p>“So you knew he was there!” he said, with a shudder +that was not all put on. “Beryl, don’t look at me +like that,” using her name as if he had used it many +times to himself. “I know what you think—that only +a selfish coward could have got away from that island +and left a woman to be killed. But don’t judge me +yet.”</p> + +<p>“Answer me!” she said fiercely. “What happened to +Andria? You were with her last!”</p> + +<p>He nodded, but there was no shame on his face. “I +was with her last,” he said slowly, “but—Heriot was +with her first.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” She drew a step nearer to +him; another, and she would fly at his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Listen; be patient. I don’t know how to tell you, +but if you will have it——”</p> + +<p>“Go on.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> + +<p>He saw the wild blood in her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“It was this,” he answered very low. “That man +Heriot had been in love with her for a long time—may +have been married to her for all I know. Anyhow, he +followed her. I suppose she sent for him. I don’t +know.”</p> + +<p>“How could she send, when we were told the place +was Bermuda?” Beryl asked scornfully.</p> + +<p>“You were told that for your own safety. There +were others besides Heriot who might have followed +you,” he answered somberly. “Oh, I’m not defending +my father! He made mistakes, but he meant well.” He +dared not lift his eyes to the fierce-light gaze of hers, but +he kept on steadily: “The man knew she was there; it +doesn’t matter how. He hid in our house and crept away +in the night rather than face us.”</p> + +<p>The girl deliberately turned her back to him. He +had his eyes on the ground—anywhere but on her—and +did not see her pull a flat thing out of her pocket, +nor notice the rustle of the thin, foreign envelope that +covered the carte de visite.</p> + +<p>“Look at that if you would doubt me!” Andria had +said. She would look at it now.</p> + +<p>But when she saw and read she was struck dumb. +No wonder Andria had feared to meet him. No wonder +she had been livid with fury when he saw her. No +wonder——</p> + +<p>She wheeled and faced him, the photograph hidden +in the folds of her wide silk belt.</p> + +<p>“I——” but she stopped the words on her very lips. +Let him tell all his lies, let him think her a fool! No +one could know better than he that Heriot was not +Andria’s lover.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he knew you,” she said, with an insolence +for which he could have struck her, though he did not +know all she meant.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he knew me. Knew me,” he answered slowly, +“enough to know I would not have my father’s roof—or +you—dishonored. But his fear drove him to his +death, and hers, too.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> + +<p>“When my father came to us that morning on the +veranda, it was to say he had found a man dead, torn +to pieces, not ten yards from the house. And that, if +such things could happen, it was no place for two +women. But you were too excited to listen. You were +terrified that you might be taken away from a woman +who had no right even to speak to you. You fell backward +down the steps before you could be told of the +danger, or the strange man who had been killed by +the jaguars.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know they were jaguars?”</p> + +<p>Not a cry had been wrung from her, though her +soul was sick to think how the madman and the cats +had betrayed her. How Heriot—she dared not think +or she would break down in her icy calm.</p> + +<p>“We had excellent reason. You fell—my father told +that woman her lover was dead, and she must come +with us and you. She laughed. She said she would die +with him sooner than live with us. She—I took you +and ran with you to the boat. My father called the +colored servants and went back for the stubborn woman +up-stairs. But she tore away from him and ran—ran +straight to her death. He saw her torn to pieces before +his eyes, as he saw Salome afterward.</p> + +<p>“The other two women had gone on. They will tell +you how they sat in the boat and saw him but just +escape with his life. How they heard Salome scream.” +His face was white and damp as he finished, for what +he knew was a thousand times worse than the lying +tale he told.</p> + +<p>Beryl looked at him, and the scornful, accusing words +died on her lips. What did a lie more or less matter +when Andria and Heriot were dead?</p> + +<p>“Beryl,” said Erle softly, “try not to distrust me! +My father and I are the only friends you have. You +cannot think either he or I would willingly let such +things be. Your—the governess”—he watched her face +now for answering knowledge, for defiance that was +not there—“was nothing to us but a misguided woman. +We would have no motive——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>“What do you mean to do with me?” she said, as if +he had not spoken.</p> + +<p>“Take you with us; make your life happy, till you +forget the horrible things you have known. Hate me,” +he exclaimed with sudden passion, casting the memory +of his crimes behind him, “if you like, but let me help +you—keep you—love you——”</p> + +<p>Her voice rang in the little cabin.</p> + +<p>“You killed her!” she said, and pointed at him. +“You!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A DREAM OF VENGEANCE.</p> + + +<p>“I never touched a hair of her head,” said the man +who had merely tied her up to suffocate or be eaten. +“Beryl believe me! I knew her long ago, when first +she was Heriot’s—friend.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe you.” She was clasping and unclasping +her hands. “Oh,”—she drew her breath and faced +him like the little devil he had once called her—“not +one word you say is the truth. My cats never touched +her. I—they——” but she could not go on.</p> + +<p>He had made one mistake—one glaring blunder—that +made everything seem the lie. It was when he +had linked Heriot’s name with Andria’s to a girl who +had his own damnation in her pocket.</p> + +<p>“I will never believe you—never! You may kill me, +too, if you like,” she added, with a slow malice that +made him hasten to clinch his lie.</p> + +<p>“It’s true. The black woman told you what she saw. +If I don’t tell you all I saw, it’s because I want to +spare you.”</p> + +<p>But she was not listening. The tireless jar of the +engines had stopped; the yacht was lying quiet on a +quiet sea.</p> + +<p>“We’re at home in England,” said Erle coolly. “What +will you do?”</p> + +<p>“Accuse you—give you up,” she thought, and said +nothing. To be silent was the only chance of doing it. +She wished now that she had held her tongue, as she +felt in her sash her only proof that he might have had +a motive, since Andria was his discarded wife. She +must play her game better than this. If he feared +her he would never let her go. “Oh,” she said, with +a pitiful shrinking from the awful task of avenging the +dead, “tell me, swear to me that all you’ve said is true.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> +Then I’ll go away with Amelia and Chloe and never +trouble you any more.”</p> + +<p>“Look!” said Erle, and pointed out the port-hole. +There in a boat with their bundles were Chloe and +Amelia Jane.</p> + +<p>“You can’t; they won’t take you. All they want is +to get safe on shore. Let them go, ungrateful beasts! +Do you know they dared to say you had the evil eye?”</p> + +<p>Amelia Jane’s queer manner and terror of her returned +to Beryl’s memory, all of a piece with her hurry +to be gone. He was telling the truth now, and her +face grew white and vacant. The black woman had +deserted her.</p> + +<p>She was too stunned to imagine the truth, that they +were being hurried off to join an outbound vessel for +Jamaica; they knew too much to be let stay in England.</p> + +<p>Erle was quick to see his advantage.</p> + +<p>“Let them go,” he repeated, “I do not want any +servants who say of you what you say of me—that it +was through you death came.”</p> + +<p>“Through me!”</p> + +<p>“They said—oh, it’s ghastly nonsense! But they said +it was you who could make those jaguars come and +go as you pleased; that it was you who set them on. +You see, I am not the only person who is thought—guilty!”</p> + +<p>He did not say how, when Amelia Jane had owned +to seeing Beryl play with jaguar cubs, it had been easy +to put the rest of the wicked thought in her head, nor +who had put it there. But the girl in dumb agony saw +where she stood. She was utterly in his power. He +might ask her where she meant to go, but it was all +pretense. She would never get away from him and +his father.</p> + +<p>With a strange quiet she turned from him, but it +was the silence of danger, not of despair.</p> + +<p>“You see,” he said, with the soft voice women had +loved, “other people might be as hard to you as you +have been to me, mad as it sounds. Can I never make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> +you understand we are your only real friends? If we +turn against you——”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, “I hear you. Please go, Mr. Erle. +I—I can’t talk any more.”</p> + +<p>Was the man utterly callous that he did not care that +his wife was killed, that he could lie about the dead? +As the door closed behind him she stood rigid, in raging, +biting desire for vengeance.</p> + +<p>“I made a mistake when I taxed him with it,” she +thought. “But I know it’s true, for I saw him wince. +Oh, my Andria!” the tears coming at last to her burning +eyes. “I should have stayed by her, held her tight, +never let her go. She warned me what he was like. +Why did I ever listen to him? And what am I, that +he wants me—that he means to have me, even over a +grave? Andria—Heriot——” She crushed her hands +against her mouth that she might not cry out the names +she loved.</p> + +<p>“You died for me,” she whispered, anguish shaking +her; “because I am what I am; they killed you to get +me. That man was right. It was I who killed you. +Oh, who am I, that they drag me with them? That +they want me? I would give”—she stopped short, her +strange eyes dilated—“I’ll give my life, Andria; I have +no more!” she whispered.</p> + +<p>Two hours afterward there came a knock at her +cabin door. To Erle’s astonishment, she opened it quite +readily and stood quietly before him. It had grown +dark, and the electric light in the cabin dawned slowly +and lit up her face that was white as chalk, but absolutely +indifferent.</p> + +<p>“Come,” he said, hiding his surprise, “we are going +ashore. Let the stewardess pack your things.”</p> + +<p>“I have none—not even a hat.”</p> + +<p>“It’s dark and warm; it doesn’t matter. You shall +have all you want as soon as you land.”</p> + +<p>He could hardly take his eyes from the strange beauty +of her face. Transcendental, unearthly, she stood in +the pale electric light as one who sees a vision. The +quick thought came to him that she meant to drown<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> +herself as they landed. But, though he kept at her +elbow for fear, she never even glanced at the dark +water round the ship.</p> + +<p>Only as Erceldonne spoke to her did her strange +calm flicker; hatred sprang into her eyes as she turned +silently away.</p> + +<p>In the boat, on the pier, at the station, Erle waited +breathlessly for her to break away. But she stood like +a statue, and never asked a question—moved when he +led her without a sign of dissent. If Mother Felicitas +had seen her face she would have been ready for some +outburst, effective as it was unexpected. The two men +merely thought the shock of what she had heard had +cowed her.</p> + +<p>All that night as she sat in a railway-carriage, one +thought rang like bells in her head. The man at whose +door two deaths lay should pay for them. And to do +it she must go with him, find out who she was and +why she was desirable. If she tried to run away they +would catch her; if she went back to the convent she +could find out no more than if she were in her +grave. She sat with eyes shut till they thought her +asleep, and planned and replanned her revenge; that +she might not remember Brian Heriot and fall to crying +for the face that she would see no more.</p> + +<p>They changed carriages at dawn, where, she did not +know, nor where they were taking her. She looked for +hours at the flying country and could not tell, till, as +the train stopped, great, black letters on a white sign-board +caught her eye. “Blackpool,” she read in the +veiled sunshine of the February morning, and remembered +it was here she had first seen the haggard, listless-eyed +man who had been her evil genius.</p> + +<p>“We change here,” said Erle, rising and not noticing +her as he leaned out of the carriage window to glance +at the station, which was fuller than he liked. But he +was reassured by the look of the crowd, who were excursionists. +Neither he nor his father saw her glance +at the lining of the hat they had bought for her when +they landed. “Pearce, Plymouth,” was stamped on it.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> +They had come all the way across England here; they +must have a reason. Were they taking her back to +the workhouse at St. Anne’s?</p> + +<p>She got out as quietly as if she neither knew nor +cared, but half-way across the station she gasped and +stood still.</p> + +<p>Opposite her, with her back to her, but unmistakable, +was Mother Felicitas, Sister De Sales at her side!</p> + +<p>They stood, as religious women do, with their eyes +cast down; they had not seen her.</p> + +<p>“Mother Felicitas!” she said, with a horrible fear, +not for herself, but for the vengeance that would slip +from her if the superior saw and claimed her. An instinct +like an animal told her she would get no credence +of her tale in the convent.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” said Erceldonne in her ear furiously. “Go +on!”</p> + +<p>The girl faltered, almost fell, and at Erle’s wondering +exclamation Mother Felicitas looked up. Her terror +was before her eyes!</p> + +<p>For one instant she stood speechless. Before she +could move, Beryl Corselas had been hustled into a +train that was already moving out of the station.</p> + +<p>“The reverend mother has overtaxed her strength,” +said Sister De Sales quickly to a porter. “Water, +please, and I will get her to a cab.”</p> + +<p>She was short-sighted, and had seen nothing. If she +had, she would merely have marveled that the reverend +mother should lean heavily against her in sudden faintness +at the sight of a runaway schoolgirl.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">A LITTLE GOLD.</p> + + +<p>“I couldn’t help it,” said Andria, “they were too quick +for me. I am slow-witted. I see now it was madness +to have sent you away, and worse to send that dreadful +old man after you. He might have saved us.”</p> + +<p>“How long have I been laid up?” Heriot, pretty +white and bloodless, lay propped with pillows on the +sofa; he was stiff, and his wound was painful, but his +mind was clear. “How did I get her ring?” for the +green beryl glowed on his finger.</p> + +<p>“Not a week,” replied Andria wretchedly, for by now +the yacht must have reached England. “I told you +every two or three times, but it didn’t seem to reach +you.”</p> + +<p>“It all seemed a part of the pain, I thought—‘beryls +bring bad dreams,’” he quoted. “I wish this was one.”</p> + +<p>“The old man must have put the ring on your finger. +Oh, if he would only go away and not sit outside and +moan!”</p> + +<p>“Why? What is it to him?”</p> + +<p>Even then she could not tell him. She turned away. +“Call the man,” said Heriot sharply.</p> + +<p>Andria never looked up as the forlorn wretch shambled +in and stared at Heriot with lack-luster eyes. What +would he tell? or, rather, what would Salome make of +it in her translation?</p> + +<p>“She is gone,” he said slowly in Spanish. “This +time it is forever.”</p> + +<p>Andria started.</p> + +<p>Heriot understood—was answering him in as good +Spanish as his own. Salome stood goggle-eyed, straining +every nerve to comprehend. Only to Andria was it +an incomprehensible medley of sounds.</p> + +<p>“What does he say, Salome? Tell me,” she ordered +frantically; but Salome only waved her aside and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> +groaned aloud. It seemed hours as the words she could +not understand went on.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lie, Mr. Heriot!” broke out Salome fiercely. +“She ain’t look like him; she ain’t be like him——” +But the words died on her tongue remembered how +the girl had mastered the jaguar as it ravened at the +bars.</p> + +<p>So the secret was out!</p> + +<p>“Salome, hush—wait!” cried Andria frantically. “Mr. +Heriot, stop him; tell me what he says.”</p> + +<p>“He wanders,” said Heriot; his bloodless face was +ghastly. “He’s mad; he’s—my God, he says she’s his +daughter!”</p> + +<p>“Then it was true.” Andria covered her face. “I +knew; Egerton told me—let it slip,” she whispered. +“But it is her mother who must have been his child, +not she.”</p> + +<p>She thought of the strange moods of the girl, her +miraculous power over animals, of the strain that must +be hereditary in her young blood.</p> + +<p>“This is the story,” said Heriot. His face was set. +“Erceldonne and another man came here in a yacht. +The second man never came up to the house, apparently; +certainly never had anything to do with the girl.” +(Oh, the pity of that first girl’s silence about the man +who truly never came to the house, but who met her +in secret, unknown!) “And Erceldonne came every +day, and the girl would have nothing to say to him—hated +him. One day the old man heard her scream—not +once—many times. He ran down to the shore, +and was just in time to see Erceldonne put her into +a boat and shove off with her. He had no boat himself, +and I think he must have had a fit there in the +sun. For all he knows after that is that he lost all his +money in Brazilian bonds; he couldn’t follow her. The +servants apparently all left him; he used to sit all day +on the shore with his jaguars—and one day Erceldonne +came back.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Andria breathlessly, for Heriot paused.</p> + +<p>“He said he never took the girl; that she left the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> +yacht that same night with the other man—all lies, of +course. He landed with men and guns, shot the jaguars—though +two of them got off into the woods without +his knowledge—and, of all things—offered to buy the +house from the miserable father; wanted him to take +the money and go and look for the girl.”</p> + +<p>“De ole man crazy,” Salome burst in, “but cunning—oh, +cunning! He says yes, he sell de place. He +creep away into de woods to find his jaguars dat was +left, and he sit and sit again to watch. One day he +catch master, sure!”</p> + +<p>Heriot nodded.</p> + +<p>“Erceldonne gave him money—something adequate—but +the poor soul threw it in that pool. ‘Gold,’ he said, +‘a little gold to pay for much flesh and blood,’ so he +threw it away. But he got no chance at Erceldonne, +for he went off again the next day. God knows why +he wanted the place!”</p> + +<p>“He wanted the crazy man to go on the track of +the girl and her lover,” Andria cried. “The other man +must——”</p> + +<p>“Beryl,” said Heriot slowly, “is in some way the +living image of Lord Erceldonne. No! Don’t say it; +let me finish,” for he knew what was on her tongue.</p> + +<p>“There were years after that when no one came to +the island. Then one day Erceldonne came back, opened +the house and put in it Salome and a lad of twenty and +went away. The jaguars tore the boy to bits.”</p> + +<p>Salome threw up her arms.</p> + +<p>“It’s true,” she cried. “It’s true! I set here and +hear dem in de broad day. After dat he brung Chloe +and Amelia Jane, and why, I never knew. He brung +me because—oh, missus, I had a child! I killed it in +Jamaica because it had de master’s eyes. He bring me +here and leave me because—oh!” wildly, “I couldn’t +help myself. I was young den, and he took me for to +keep house. I was mad wid de shame, wid de eyes ob +de white child.” She cowered at Andria’s feet as she +stood aghast. Was there no end to this man’s crimes?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<p>The next moment she put her hand on the black +woman. Who was Andria Erle, to judge her?</p> + +<p>“Poor Salome! Poor soul!” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“He brung me,” sobbed the woman. “He didn’t care +whether I live or die. He say dey hang me if ever I +dare leave dis place.”</p> + +<p>Heriot said something under his breath. Jamaica +had been his first abode when he left England; he remembered +a queer story he had heard there about a +woman named Salome who wanted to murder her child +because it was white. She and her lover had fled, leaving +the dead child where it lay, and afterward——</p> + +<p>“Listen, Salome,” he said quickly, “the child was +asleep, had slept all day. You were frightened and +shook it——”</p> + +<p>“I shook de life out of it; it died,” she said, with a +hoarse groan. “It died.”</p> + +<p>“It didn’t die,” returned Heriot, with a queer laugh. +“A woman found it and ran with it to the doctor. It +had been put to sleep with morphia; it’s alive now! +And so is the chemist that sold the morphia to a white +man. Your master had excellent reason on his own +account to retire from Jamaica!</p> + +<p>“I saw your boy running round selling papers in Kingston, +and some man told me his history. Your shaking +couldn’t have killed a boy like that, Salome, even when +he was a baby.”</p> + +<p>She could only stare at him. Then she broke out into +incoherent words—into dreadful laughter.</p> + +<p>“My soul’s clean!” she screeched, “clean! I’m free; +I’m free!” laughing still. She rushed out of the house +and leaped and danced in the blazing sun.</p> + +<p>“Let her be,” said Heriot softly. “The man was an +iniquitous devil, but he’s paid for it.”</p> + +<p>“But Beryl——” Andria’s lips were white. Had the +story of Beryl’s mother put her out of Heriot’s heart?</p> + +<p>“I can’t travel for another week,” said Heriot simply, +and a shame came over her at the matter-of-fact words. +“Then we’ll take her away from Erle somehow.”</p> + +<p>“But—if he’s married her?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + +<p>“He can’t. Don’t you see, she must be Erceldonne’s +daughter?”</p> + +<p>“He can’t be—his son! That must be what they whispered,” +she was whispering herself. “Don’t you see that +solves the whole thing? Her money will set them on +their feet—oh! the money must be a lie to get Raimond +to marry her. She can’t have any money—and neither +have we. How are we to get to England?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the easiest part,” Heriot added something to +the old man who stood looking from one to the other, +with eyes that were frightened but sane enough.</p> + +<p>He leaped to his feet at the word and ran out after +Salome.</p> + +<p>“It’s the succession,” Andria cried, harking back to +her own thoughts. “Raimond will be all right if he +marries her.”</p> + +<p>Heriot moved gingerly on his pillows; his face was +pale, but his eyes were shining.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to marry her myself,” he said quietly. “I +don’t care if the devil’s her grandfather.”</p> + +<p>The old man came running in and poured a stream of +wet, green coins on Heriot’s bed.</p> + +<p>They were Erceldonne’s own sovereigns!</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE BEGINNING OF THE JUDGMENT.</p> + + +<p>Mother Felicitas grew strangely worse at Blackpool. +She only stayed for a week in the quiet convent, and +neither rested nor slept till she was back in her own +place.</p> + +<p>But if she had thought to find there a letter from the +man she dreaded she was mistaken. Three weeks went +by, and instead of being reassured by his silence she was +more terrified as each day passed without a letter.</p> + +<p>She had known him well enough at the station. Sixteen +years and more had not changed a line in his face. +If his son married the girl, her history would have to +come out—if she were to be a profitable bride. And +Erceldonne could tell it with such iniquitous cleverness +that it would not be he who should be involved in crime +or shame.</p> + +<p>Mother Felicitas would have liked to send out messengers +to ransack all England for Beryl Corselas—she had +learned easily enough that they had not taken her to +Erceldonne—since, with the girl in her hands, she could +once more have dictated terms to the man who had been +too clever for her. But she had no one to send; would +not have dared if she had had the cleverest detective in +England to let him try to get the girl and fail.</p> + +<p>And if Erceldonne did not write, the real Mrs. Fuller +did: She assured the reverend mother, with great gusto, +that every effort was being made to find the missing girl.</p> + +<p>“It is no business of a stranger’s—an outsider’s!” +Mother Felicitas said, with stony calm that covered fury. +“Why does this Fuller woman make it hers?”</p> + +<p>But even while she asked the question of the bare +walls of her own convent parlors she knew the answer.</p> + +<p>Years ago there had been a hue and cry over the sudden +death of a woman and the disappearance of her +child. It was Mrs. Fuller’s friend the detective that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> +was so hot upon the trail. To solve a mystery that thirteen +years ago had been given up by the whole force +would make his reputation.</p> + +<p>The woman who said to herself that she never repented +was perilously near to repentance now. The dread +of shame and disgrace distorted her face where she sat +alone.</p> + +<p>“He means that son to marry her—for the Corselas +millions that are crying for their owners, for the succession +that can be assured in no other way. And the announcement +of that marriage under her own name or her +mother’s will spring the mine under me! And I can’t +stir a finger. It’s a month since I saw them with her; +it may be too late now. Every one in England but me +may know the missing girl is found.”</p> + +<p>She could not keep her hands still nor her mouth +steady. Retribution was coming to her—punishment for +those long years when her whole life had been a blasphemous +lie. She had no hope that Erceldonne would +hold his tongue when the announcement of his son’s +marriage brought a stern order for an explanation from +the law of the land; from chancery, too, that had the +Corselas money in trust. There was one point where +nothing but the truth would clear Erceldonne himself, +and there was no hope that he would not tell it.</p> + +<p>“If I could stop the marriage!” almost she said it +aloud.</p> + +<p>But she could think of no way that a dying woman +in a convent could balk the will of Erceldonne.</p> + +<p>A sharp clang of the old bell that was just outside the +parlor door made her start. It was Tuesday—visiting-day. +She drew herself together to clap her hands for a +lay sister and say that Sister De Sales must see the +anxious mothers of pupils—that she herself was too +weary.</p> + +<p>The portress was a new one and not used to her work. +Before the reverend mother had more than lifted her +shaking hands a knock came to her door—a stereotyped +convent knock such as pupils gave—not a visitor’s.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> + +<p>“Come in!” cried Mother Felicitas, and straightened +up in her chair.</p> + +<p>She was nearly ruined, and her power would soon be +a byword; but at least she could still crush a pupil who +dared to come unsummoned to her private room.</p> + +<p>But it was no girl with a grievance who opened the +door. On the threshold there stood a tall and beautiful +woman whose eyes were less gentle than her mouth, and +whose red-brown hair——</p> + +<p>“Andria Heathcote!” said Mother Felicitas, who never +forgot a face.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the visitor, and involuntarily curtsied, as +she had never dared to enter that room without doing. +Yet the next instant she had coolly turned and shut the +door behind her.</p> + +<p>Old pupils often came back to visit the convent; there +was no reason for the return of this one to be more than +ordinary, yet the Mother Superior seemed to lack strength +to hold out her hand. Andria, after the first glance, +could hardly look at her. She had been handsome once +in a hard, ascetic way; now her face was but skin drawn +over bone, and her sunken eyes like fires long burned +out.</p> + +<p>“You are surprised to see me, reverend mother?” she +began gently. She had never liked Mother Felicitas, but +that might have been her own fault, and the superior was +her one hope now.</p> + +<p>“I am not well. I see few visitors,” was the slow answer. +“As you see, there have been many changes even +here since your day.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Mother Benedicta!” said Andria, and could not +go on. She had no right to stand in this quiet convent +parlor and play the hypocrite to a woman who might be +hard and cold, but was, nevertheless, a saint in her way.</p> + +<p>“Happy, happy Mother Benedicta,” her successor was +thinking passionately. “Free among the dead!” But she +only said slowly.</p> + +<p>“Surprised? No; many girls come back. They think +of us sometimes. I suppose you have married, Andria!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> +with perfunctory interest, wishing the inopportune visitor +would go.</p> + +<p>“Married!” said Andria, who once had thought she +was Andria Erle. “No!”</p> + +<p>The words were almost a cry, and for the first time the +Mother Superior looked at her.</p> + +<p>“Mother Felicitas,” she began, forcing herself to speak +out under those unfriendly eyes. “I have no right to be +here, no right to force myself on any one like you—but +one. I am in great trouble. I have been a wicked +woman, but—I am in great trouble.”</p> + +<p>“And you want to come back!” came the answer +slowly. Trouble was the only thing that ever brought +them back—to stay!</p> + +<p>“No,” said Andria, looking round her with a shudder; +she would eat her heart out here. “No! Mother Felicitas, +I told you I had been wicked—a fool——”</p> + +<p>“They are the same,” said Mother Felicitas shortly.</p> + +<p>“But I woke up from my dream. I tried to do faithfully +the work that was put into my hands, and—I +failed! I have no one to turn to; I am in despair, yet, +perhaps, there is time to save my trust yet, if you will +help me. No one else can.” She held her hands clasped +tight before her, and spoke in a whisper. “Oh! reverend +mother, who was Beryl Corselas?”</p> + +<p>The quiet room heaved like a sea before her hearer’s +eyes. The black letters under the picture she dreaded +seemed to spring into life, to speak aloud:</p> + +<p>“Death and the Judgment!”</p> + +<p>Well, Death was coming, and here, against all canons, +was the beginning of the Judgment before it! Yet the +superior managed to answer:</p> + +<p>“Is that your trouble?” she said. “It is a very old one, +and I know no more about it than you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother Felicitas, think! Try to remember,” +with sudden gentleness that was more dangerous than +the other woman’s passion. “You knew once. Long, +long ago you told Beryl her mad temper came to her +honestly—that her mother was the same.”</p> + +<p>“I!” The superior was, for an instant, staggered.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span> +“If I did I was much to blame,” she went on lamely +enough. “We thought at one time we had a clue to her +parentage, but it proved a wrong one. When she ran +away from us we knew it.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, listen!” said Andria, more gently still. +“You don’t know what hangs on it. Even now that +poor child may be trapped into a marriage she hates—may +be——”</p> + +<p>“You know where she is?”</p> + +<p>“If I did I would not come to you.” That quick cry +had made her old distrust wake armed. “But I know +who has her. When you know, you may perhaps remember—something—that +may help me to find her.</p> + +<p>“I have been a governess since December, and Beryl +Corselas was my pupil.”</p> + +<p>Mother Felicitas leaned back and gripped the table in +the old way. She could not speak.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">“A BOY!”</p> + + +<p>“Last autumn,” Andria looked straight at the rigid +figure in the chair, “I was in London, deserted, nearly +starving. A man who called himself Egerton engaged +me, without a character, to travel with his ward. And +the ward was Beryl.</p> + +<p>“He said we were to go to Bermuda, but he took us +to a place the merest child would have known was not +that. A lonely island with one house, in miles of scrub”—there +was no change on the superior’s face; could she +have heard of that island before?—“a house that was +locked every night like a fortress for fear of a crazy man +and of wild beasts that hunted to the very door. He left +us there to die, with no one but three black women to +protect us. To die, reverend mother, as a boy died whom +he took there five years before.”</p> + +<p>Death—Death and the Judgment! Mother Felicitas’ +face bore no longer the look of a human countenance.</p> + +<p>“Five years,” she said. “A boy?”</p> + +<p>“He seemed a boy, Salome said, because he was so +young in his ways, had such merry gray eyes and was so +gay; but he was twenty. And the jaguars tore him to +bits, as they were meant to tear us.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, no!” and if there can be such a thing as a +whispered shriek it came from the tortured lips of the +Mother Superior.</p> + +<p>“I frighten you? It’s too horrible to hear? It was +more horrible——”</p> + +<p>“The boy!” Mother Felicitas clutched Andria’s arm +as she had been clutching the table. “The—the poor +boy! You said he was called——”</p> + +<p>She had said nothing, but she did not remember.</p> + +<p>“Guy, Salome called him, but I never heard his other +name.”</p> + +<p>“Guy.” All hell had opened under Mother Felicitas,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> +but not the hell she had feared. Pain a thousand times +worse than the disgrace she had dreaded made her groan +aloud, and then a very recklessness of fury shook her, as +it might a mother whose only son has been murdered.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” she said, and drew her breath through her +teeth. “Er-Egerton took him there—and he died.”</p> + +<p>“He was killed! Then we came and Beryl could master +the jaguars, could master the madman afterward; +they never touched us. But we were left for worse than +jaguars. Egerton came back, and his son, Raimond Erle. +Egerton—I say—but I mean Lord Erceldonne—and they +plotted to take Beryl away and marry her to Erle for +her money and something else. Think, Mother Felicitas! +Can’t you remember anything? Who was the girl that +they wanted a waif like her?”</p> + +<p>“I—I never knew!” and then in her terror strength +came back to her. “I tell you,” she cried fiercely, “I +know nothing. How could I know, who have been dead +to the world these thirteen years?”</p> + +<p>“The year Beryl Corselas was brought here.”</p> + +<p>It was said musingly, and yet it carried meaning.</p> + +<p>The reverend mother could grow no paler, but her +eyes were like living coals now instead of dead ones.</p> + +<p>“Is that all?” she said. For the moment Beryl Corselas +was nothing to her. She could only think of the +boy who had been taken to the uttermost parts of the +earth to be got rid of, from mere wanton weariness of +his face.</p> + +<p>“No, they took—at least Raimond Erle took—Beryl +away and left me tied up with cords, towels, anything, +that I might die like the boy. Lord Erceldonne—oh!” +she cried, “Mother Felicitas, Lord Erceldonne is dead. +The jaguars killed him as he meant them to kill us, before +something made him change his plans and want +Beryl to go with him and marry his son.”</p> + +<p>“Dead! When? Speak, Andria.” But if for an instant +a fierce hope glowed in her, the next it died.</p> + +<p>“Five weeks ago, on the island.”</p> + +<p>The Mother Superior dragged herself to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Go!” she said, and her voice was strong and resonant.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span> +“Go. You said well that you were a wicked woman, +when you dare to come here with lies.”</p> + +<p>It was a trap. By a very hair she had escaped it. +Erceldonne himself must have sent this woman here.</p> + +<p>But Andria never stirred. She had been right about +what the superior knew—for Mother Felicitas was +afraid!</p> + +<p>“I’ve not finished,” she said as she looked straight into +those awful eyes that seemed to see things that had +shriveled them to look on. “That madman said Erceldonne +had taken away his daughter years ago, that Beryl +was this same daughter come back again. He said——”</p> + +<p>“What is it to me?” cried Mother Felicitas. “I know +none of them. Why do you come to me?”</p> + +<p>For a moment a spirit as harsh as her own looked out +of Andria Heathcote’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“You do know,” she retorted, “and you will know +more unless you help me to stop this marriage and save +Beryl Corselas. Do you think if Erceldonne had sent me +I should have let out that story about the boy who was +killed on the island that you—know of? And he could +not send me, for he’s dead!”</p> + +<p>She turned to go, but a hand colder than death fell on +hers.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” said Mother Felicitas, “wait!”</p> + +<p>She tottered to her chair, and signed to Andria Heathcote +to lock the door.</p> + +<p>She was speaking the truth according to her lights, +and the reverend mother knew it.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE DARK HOUSE.</p> + + +<p>That Beryl Corselas was not at Erceldonne Mother +Felicitas knew. But that he owned a disused, rat-haunted +house in Westmoreland even the superior had +almost forgotten.</p> + +<p>And it had been a very simple business to double on +their own track at Blackpool and get off at a desolate +little station in Westmoreland.</p> + +<p>It was pouring rain. Beryl, hurried into a close carriage, +had not time to see the whilom convent “boy of all +work” was the driver. They drove on endlessly it +seemed to the girl. Through the rain she could see nothing +but endless, rolling moors. When at last they +stopped it was pitch-dark. Dazed and weary Beryl got +out and for the first time trembled.</p> + +<p>A dark house, without a lighted window, stood before +them. Erceldonne was unlocking the door with a key +from his pocket, and as he swung back the door a close, +cold air of emptiness and desolation came out on the girl. +What were they going to do with her? How could she +avenge Andria here?</p> + +<p>She fought down the cowardly thought that at least +she would have been safe in the convent, and followed +Erle into the dark hall. The cold air of it breathed like +death and the grave.</p> + +<p>He struck a match and opened the first door he came +to.</p> + +<p>“Why is it like this?” he said to his father angrily. +“Do you want us to die of cold and discomfort? Where +is the woman?” But before there was time for an answer +a door opened, and against a blaze of light that +made her blink Beryl saw the woman who had taken her +from the workhouse.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Fuller!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” returned the woman slowly, “Mrs. Fuller.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> + +<p>She was not given to pity, but for one weak instant +compassion rose in her. The next she swept it away. +There was no need to pity the girl. Erle meant to marry +her. She drew back as Beryl ran to her.</p> + +<p>“Your dinner is ready,” she said to Erceldonne. +“Such as it is.”</p> + +<p>Tone and manner were so changed from the Mrs. +Fuller she had known that Beryl stood astounded. Then +it came to her with an awful sinking of her heart that +this woman was in the plot against her, was a part of the +mystery she loathed and feared. There would be no help +from her.</p> + +<p>She looked around the room into which Erle led her +gently. There was a huge fire, a mean lamp, a table +with meat, bread, and wine. Everything else was bare +and desolate. She was suddenly conscious that this was +her prison, where she might live and die unless she did +what they told her. All her fine dreams had come to +this. For she knew by the tinned food on the table that +the pale woman with golden hair had put it there, and +that there was not another soul in the house.</p> + +<p>She sat down and could not eat—only looked up with +a start to see Erle and Mrs. Fuller finish and leave the +room. She was alone with the man who called himself +Egerton.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” he said coldly, stretching his feet out and +lighting a cigarette. “My son tells me you say he killed +your governess and the man you and she saw fit to hide +in my house. You had better disabuse your mind of +that; and to help you I will tell you who you are—the +granddaughter of that crazy old man on the island. You +may break away from here and tell all you imagine, and +if you do I will prove you as mad as he.”</p> + +<p>He waited for an answer, but she only cowered as if +he had struck her. Somehow it was no surprise. All +her life she had been told there was something about her +that was inhuman, horrible. She knew what it was now—remembered +with horror how she had soothed the +madman’s cats with a song she must have inherited the +trick of.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> + +<p>“You see,” he said, “you can do nothing. Your +friends, as you chose to think them, are dead.”</p> + +<p>“I can go back to the convent,” she muttered, for at +least she could hide her head there.</p> + +<p>“You can go nowhere,” he answered coldly. “We did +our best to take care of you, and you repay us with ingratitude. +If I were wise I would put you in an asylum +at once before you had a chance to spread your crazy +imaginings. But I will give you a chance. See,” he went +on slowly, “if with solitude and quiet you will perhaps +come to your right mind. My son——”</p> + +<p>“Why did you say he was your nephew?”</p> + +<p>This man could only kill her, and at least she would +strike back at him first.</p> + +<p>“Did I?” he returned coolly. “If you think, you will +find it was Salome who told you that.”</p> + +<p>The memory of that morning flashed back on her. It +had not been Salome who introduced “My nephew, Mr. +Erle.”</p> + +<p>“You see,” he pursued, with a shrug, “you cannot remember +anything correctly.”</p> + +<p>“I remember this much,” and a tide of fury swept over +her, taking all her terror away. She sprang up and faced +him, with the resemblance to him more marked than +ever. “You knew that island wasn’t safe, but something +made you change your mind about letting me die there. +The evening you went back to the yacht because you +were afraid to stay after what happened to Andria, she +followed you. She heard every word you said to your +nephew where you stood behind the cypress thicket—and +Heriot heard, too. You have done nothing but lie to +me. Even your name isn’t true!”</p> + +<p>She shook with passion where she stood over him and +for once he lost his self-control.</p> + +<p>“This knowledge didn’t last long,” he said brutally, +for he was not afraid of the dead, “nor will yours, if you +make me angry. Your governess was a treacherous, infamous +woman, who made use of my house to send for +her lover.”</p> + +<p>“She never sent. He was wrecked there,” she could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> +hardly speak for rage. “Oh, you did well to kill him! +In another day he would have saved us both.”</p> + +<p>Erceldonne’s face was livid.</p> + +<p>“I have had enough heroics,” he said. “No one has +murdered any one, as you are crazy enough to think, and +if you were in your right mind no one would be kinder +to you than I. As it is, all I mean to do with you is to +keep you here till you come back to your senses. You’ll +never get away while you rave like this. I told +you who your mother was—that lunatic’s daughter, but +I did not tell you who your father was. You little fool, +I am your only relation, your only legal guardian!”</p> + +<p>“No, no!” she cried, and covered her eyes with her +hands that at least she might not see his face when he +said he was her father. Yet if he did it would make +Erle her brother, unless he were really his nephew!</p> + +<p>“You’re quite wrong,” said Erceldonne, with his jarring +laugh, as he saw that at last he had made her +flinch. “It was not I who had the doubtful felicity of +being your parent.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am——” she faltered; she did not believe his +denial of her. What could she be, who had madness and +wickedness for father and mother?</p> + +<p>“You’re no one,” he answered shortly, “while you +cling to your crazy delusions. If you give them up you’ll +get away from me and be Raimond’s wife. But he +doesn’t want a crazy one, and you can think that over at +your leisure.”</p> + +<p>An older woman would have realized that whoever she +was, she must be worth having for them to care nothing +for her strain of lunacy; or else that there was a lie +somewhere. Beryl was ignorant of the world.</p> + +<p>The old vacancy came into her eyes as she stared at +the dying coals on the hearth. This house was her +prison; she would never get away from it except as the +wife of a man who, instinct told her, was a murderer. +And she had let them take her past Mother Felicitas, +trusting in her own strength to bring home crime to men +like these.</p> + +<p>In all the world there was no one to help her; those<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> +two she had loved were dead. This was a house the +world thought empty. No one would come here, or +hear her if she screamed her life out. She did not even +know where it stood.</p> + +<p>She looked up to see Erceldonne was gone, and Mrs. +Fuller standing by her.</p> + +<p>“You had better go to bed,” the woman said, not unkindly. +“You are to sleep with me.”</p> + +<p>But the girl never answered.</p> + +<p>Oh! why had she not died with Andria?</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">DREAMS.</p> + + +<p>As if she were blind and dumb Beryl Corselas followed +Mrs. Fuller up-stairs to a bedroom as bare as the rest of +the house.</p> + +<p>The woman would have talked to her, but she shrank +away, conscious that she was a prisoner, and Mrs. Fuller +one of her jailers. She saw another thing as time went +on—that day and night changed places in this house. +There were no blazing fires in the daylight, only smoldering +coals that made no smoke that tell a tale of habitation. +And the doors were never unlocked, nor was she +ever alone to try them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fuller and Erceldonne were with her turn about. +Erle had vanished, and all count of time seemed to have +vanished, too.</p> + +<p>Day after day went by, and Beryl never opened her +lips. Her sullen silence was as hopeless as her pale face, +but both got on the nerves of her jailers. If Lord Erceldonne +had dared, with what good-will he would have put +an end to them!</p> + +<p>Raimond had gone to London, and sent back a letter +by the round-faced boy that made his father curse at each +day passed with nothing done. Would he never come +back? Was he out of his senses that he did not see there +was no time to lose? Why was he “unexpectedly detained”?</p> + +<p>As the third week crawled by Lord Erceldonne lost +patience. Night after night he paced the gravel, listening +for the wheels that never came. But when the fourth +was gone, and the fifth, he dared not listen, for he imagined +wheels in each gust of wind. And the wind blew +eerily at nights over the moorland.</p> + +<p>“The boy is mad!” he said to himself, aloud, alone in +that lonely room down-stairs, when the two women were +gone to bed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></p> + +<p>Behind him some one laughed, or was it outside the +open window?</p> + +<p>Lord Erceldonne forgot patience. He stared round +the empty room, flung open the thick wooden shutters +on the gusty spring night, and called aloud:</p> + +<p>“Raimond! Raimond! Why the devil don’t you come +in?”</p> + +<p>There was no answer. From far away he heard the +sound of a moorland brook that his strained ears had +surely turned into mocking laughter. Yet he drew +sharply back from the window, and shut it with frenzied +haste. It was no brook that had whispered in his very +ear from the darkness under the window.</p> + +<p>“Mad, mad!” like an echo.</p> + +<p>“It’s the solitude, the cursed waiting.” He wiped his +forehead. “It’s got on my nerves.”</p> + +<p>For the whispers had been labored, un-English, as if +some one repeated sound, not sense; the voice that of the +madman on the island. Imagination was making a fool +of him; the thing was impossible. Yet he dared not go to +bed, and his thoughts even Mother Felicitas might not +have envied.</p> + +<p>The next afternoon, in broad day, he fairly gasped +with astonishment, for his long-looked-for son drove up +to the door. Lord Erceldonne, opening it, could hardly +contain himself as he saw he was not alone. A quiet +man, in black clerical clothes, sat in the carriage.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been?” said Erceldonne in a whisper +almost soundless, as his son got out, “Who are you +bringing here? You’re mad—to dare!”</p> + +<p>“Shut up,” returned Raimond, shaking hands as if he +greeted him. “Open some windows in this musty hole; +make everything look all right. This is the very man we +want, and an old friend of mine,” raising his voice, +“whom I’ve had hard work to find. Father Maurice,” +turning quickly, “this is my father. And he is afraid +you will find it rough work staying in a shooting-box like +this.”</p> + +<p>“I have seen worse places,” said the man.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p> + +<p>As he stood on the door-step Erceldonne saw he was a +clergyman of the Church of Rome. Might have seen +also that here was a man impossible to coerce or deceive, +a strange friend for Raimond Erle; but Lord Erceldonne +was not the quick-eyed man he had been. Bad dreams +had wrought on his nerves.</p> + +<p>“Raimond’s friends are always welcome,” he said +stiffly, “but we are indeed roughing it here,” and he +cursed Raimond silently for having called the place a +shooting-box when there was not a gun in the house.</p> + +<p>And there were no servants! It was enough even to +make “an old friend” suspicious.</p> + +<p>“Why did you bring him?” he said, when the priest +had been put in his own room for want of another habitable +one. “And where have you been?”</p> + +<p>“Finding out things.” And now that they were alone +his face was haggard enough. “Do you know there is +five hundred reward offered for her? Some detective’s +at the bottom of it, but God knows who is offering the +money!”</p> + +<p>“And you stayed away all this time, knowing that?” +cried Erceldonne, with uncurbed fury.</p> + +<p>“I stayed because I could not help it. I had to get +some one to trust, and I had to scour all England for +this man,” little knowing by what chance he had found +him ready to come.</p> + +<p>“Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“He had the honor,” said Erle cynically, “of marrying +me to the first Mrs. Erle!”</p> + +<p>Erceldonne cursed him up and down for a fool.</p> + +<p>“Then why, of all things, do you want him here?” he +ended.</p> + +<p>“To marry me to the second. Oh, don’t waste your +breath! I know what you’re going to say, but it will be +legal enough this time. He had no right to do it before. +I found out afterward that it was before he had entered +the church. I can hold that over him if he kicks. But +he won’t. He’s sorry for me, because my wife died so +soon. He will tie this knot with true pleasure.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span></p> + +<p>“Do you think that sullen vixen up-stairs will have it +tied without raving to him? For I don’t.”</p> + +<p>Erle laughed.</p> + +<p>“I think she will,” he said suavely. “You can’t manage +women with sledge-hammers—unless they love you. +That’s where you go wrong! Take the priest out of the +way—anywhere—round the moors, and send Beryl here +to me. But don’t warn her I’m here.”</p> + +<p>Out of doors a mountain mist had fallen, and the damp +twilight of it made him nervous as he waited. There +would be no coercing her if the wet drove Father Maurice +back before the work was done. He went to the +window, and fancied he saw the black figures of his +father and the priest dimly visible through the fog; and +turned impatiently to go to this Vashti who would not +come. But the door opened before he could reach it, and +even in the twilight he started at Beryl Corselas’ eyes.</p> + +<p>“You!” she said, full of amazement not only at his +presence, but at the changed look of the room, whose +windows were unshuttered as she had never seen them. +But it had been a week and more since she had left her +bedroom, and they might well have grown careless.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said. “I—dear; what have they done to you +while I was gone? Have they frightened you? You +look so pale. I should never have left you. My father +is hasty, unjust! But I’ll take care of you now.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want you to,” she said lifelessly. Her eyes +were on the window that was open to the fresh air, and +she went to it, like a prisoner who is strange to the light +of day.</p> + +<p>Erle took no notice; it was too high from the ground +to be dangerous. He went to the fire, and threw on dry +wood till the room was light as day. There was no sense +in mystery or concealment now, since the thing must be +done and published before a week at farthest. After that +detectives could root out what they liked.</p> + +<p>As he turned his back she leaned from the window, +and her helplessness stung her afresh as she breathed +the damp, sweet air. She was high above the ground, +there was not even grass to break the fall if she dared to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> +jump out. There was ivy, but not directly below the +window; its trails swayed at the sides out of her reach. +Swayed—she watched it with vague wonder. Why +should it move in the stirless air? Why did the woody +stems creak in the twilight at her right hand?</p> + +<p>A log Erle laid on the fire slipped, and rolled blazing +on the hearth. He kicked it back impatiently, with a +noise that must have startled her in the silent room, for +she gave a queer, stifled cry.</p> + +<p>“Confound the thing!” he said irritably, for the log +had slipped again. As he wrestled with it he did not notice +her lean from the window perilously, and stare +through the twilight at something that was not an ivy +branch; something that moved, but not with the chill, +evening air.</p> + +<p>A lean hand she knew, a hand no one could mistake +who had once seen it, was stretched out to her from the +ivy where something clung like a hat. It pressed a scrap +of paper into her outstretched fingers; a voice whispered +in her very ear. But she had no time to hear the low +words; Erle’s light, delicate step was coming toward her.</p> + +<p>Clutching a scrap of paper, she drew back from the +window just in time.</p> + +<p>Erle was at her shoulder. And oh! was she mad as +they said, to dream she had seen the lunatic she had left +thousands of miles away? Her heart thumped till she +was sure Erle must hear it. How could she get rid of +him long enough to read that paper that seemed to sting +in her hand?</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” he said quickly. “Don’t shake +like that; I’m not going to hurt you.”</p> + +<p>He looked over her shoulder out the window, fearful +the wet would drive back his father and the priest; and +Beryl’s heart contracted. Had he seen—been nearer +than she knew?</p> + +<p>“I’m cold!” she said sharply, and walked away from +him to the fire. If he had seen, that paper should burn +before he got it! But he did not even follow her.</p> + +<p>“What has my father done to you?” he said, his worn,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> +handsome face haggard in the firelight. “But I needn’t +ask—I know! I was a fool ever to leave you.”</p> + +<p>“Why? I did not miss you.” She stood before the +fire, her hands behind her back, so that her face was in +shadow, while the light played on his.</p> + +<p>“Do listen and try to trust me,” he said slowly, hunting +for words that would terrify her into submission. +“You’ve made my father hate you, because of those wild +things you said of me when you were shocked, frightened, +not yourself. He’s a strange man, and takes fancies +that are soon over. His liking for you was one of +them.”</p> + +<p>“He always hated me,” she said calmly.</p> + +<p>Erle shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“That is nonsense. But what I am going to say is +earnest, horribly earnest. My father insists you are not +in your right mind, that——”</p> + +<p>“I am the granddaughter of a madman.” She was +strangely cold by the fire. “Well?”</p> + +<p>“He’s going to put you in an asylum,” replied Erle +brutally. “He will send you away to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>Send her away! The house that was her prison +seemed suddenly the only place she could not leave.</p> + +<p>“He can’t—he daren’t!” she cried. “I would tell all I +know.”</p> + +<p>“A story of an island, of jaguars, of madness and sudden +death,” he continued slowly. “Can’t you see that +story would make any doctor call you mad? He wants +to get you out of his way; he would stick at nothing to +be rid of you.”</p> + +<p>“Let me go there!” she muttered.</p> + +<p>“Where?” He came toward her, his face changing. +“Beryl, do you know what I heard in London? Mother +Felicitas is offering a reward for you! How far would +you get before she would have you?”</p> + +<p>“Mother Felicitas!” she recoiled. She had almost forgotten +her.</p> + +<p>“A living grave in a convent, or in an asylum, there +is not much to choose.” He watched her standing rigid +with fear. “Don’t look like that!” he cried, as if pity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> +had overmastered him. “You sha’n’t go to either. I’ll +help you; no one shall lay a finger on you.”</p> + +<p>“You!”</p> + +<p>“I know you hate me,” he said softly, “but I—love +you! I’ve forgotten all the cruel things you said, you +had had a shock that was enough to drive you wild. +And, hate me or not, I mean to take you out of my +father’s hands.”</p> + +<p>“How?” But she knew.</p> + +<p>“In the only way I can. Beryl, marry me. Come +away with me out of this nightmare.” He was not acting +now, for excellent reasons his very soul was in his +eyes. “What have I done to you, but tell you the truth +about a woman who was not fit to be near you? Come +to me and forget all that. You don’t know what life can +be. Are you going to throw yours away? If I could +convince my father you are in your right mind I would +not tell you all this, but I can’t. All I can do is to make +you my wife, and then not all the world can harm you.”</p> + +<p>“It is your father who wants you to marry me,” she +broke in scornfully. “Why do you pretend?”</p> + +<p>“My father would get me the earth if I fancied it. +And you may believe me, if he could see you dead rather +than my wife, it would suit him equally well, take it or +leave it.” For the first time there was a threat in his +voice. Where did she get her courage, that she never so +much as shrank as he leaned over her?</p> + +<p>“To-morrow you can go to the asylum, or marry me! +After to-morrow I won’t try to save you. For all I care +you can do both!” The words were so easily said, so +sinister, that nothing but the scrap of paper in her hand +kept her from crying out.</p> + +<p>“Scream if you choose,” he said, seeing her tightened +lips; “there is no one to hear you. Think, and try, and +place, you will see there is no one to help you but me. +Oh, Beryl, is it so hard to trust me! You make me +brutal, because you make me despair of helping you——”</p> + +<p>“Liar! murderer!” she said in his face. For three +fierce sentences he had dropped his mask, and she knew +there was no love in him, but only most evil passion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span></p> + +<p>She wrenched away from the hand he stretched out to +seize her, and ran from the room.</p> + +<p>For once her own was empty. Mrs. Fuller was in the +kitchen making ready a decent meal with furious, incapable +fingers. Had she been able she would have poisoned +the man who forced her to be a servant in his +house. Beryl knelt by the fire, and unrolled the paper, +all creased from her hot clasp. The next instant she +threw it in the fire. It was all a trap. That hand she +thought she knew must have been another’s like enough +to serve, for the paper held only one sentence, in English, +that the madman did not know: “Do all they tell +you.”</p> + +<p>Dull, lifelessly, Beryl watched it turn to ashes; saw +Mrs. Fuller come in and lay a white gown on the bed. +And Mrs. Fuller was crying, “Beryl,” and she threw her +arms around the motionless girl, “marry him. Give in. +Don’t you see?” she pointed to the bed, “it’s a wedding-dress,” +she sobbed, for she was frightened for herself +now.</p> + +<p>“It will do very well,” said Beryl Corselas, with stiff +lips, “for a shroud.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">TAKEN UNAWARES.</p> + + +<p>“You have a chapel?” asked Father Maurice.</p> + +<p>He was an abstemious man; his vile dinner had not +troubled him. Indeed, if he had not been afraid to risk +weakness, he would not have eaten a crust in this house.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The late owners of the place had been Catholics.</p> + +<p>“But it is disused; in sad repair.”</p> + +<p>“It is the only place for a marriage,” said the priest, +and Raimond smiled, remembering the inn parlor in +which this very man had married him to Andria Heathcote. +“If you will allow me and provide me with some +candles, I will go and prepare it early in the morning. +You wished to have the wedding at seven?”</p> + +<p>He looked at Raimond.</p> + +<p>“At six. I should have liked you to have seen the +bride to-night, but——” he laughed, “well, she was shy! +I could not induce her to come down.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” said the priest hastily, and rose, that they +might not see his face. “I will go to my room if you +will excuse me. I am tired, and must rise early.”</p> + +<p>“Your friend may be trustworthy, but he’s damnably +unpleasant,” said Erceldonne, as soon as the priest’s back +was turned.</p> + +<p>“It won’t matter what he is to-morrow morning after +the register is signed.”</p> + +<p>But even Erle was not easy about the task before him.</p> + +<p>“Call Mrs. Fuller, will you? I want to talk to her.”</p> + +<p>The low hum of their voices reached Father Maurice, +where he paced up and down his room. Regardless of +the damp outside, he opened his window and leaned out, +and if there had been any one to see his face, something +in it might have made them marvel. It was not the face +of a fool, or of a friend of Raimond Erle’s.</p> + +<p>Then he did a strange thing for a priest and a guest.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span> +He took off his shoes, and left the room without a sound. +He was gone perhaps ten minutes, and when he came +back there were only two voices in that murmur from the +room below. Mrs. Fuller’s was missing. He went to the +window again and scanned the misty darkness, as if he +expected some one, but nothing stirred.</p> + +<p>“At dawn,” he thought. “I pray I have not acted unwisely. +There are many hours till dawn,” and he sat +listening and watching, long after the house was silent.</p> + +<p>His task was abhorrent to him; he loathed this semblance +of doing evil that good might come, yet he saw +no way out of it. When the night changed to dawn, he +went his way to a deserted chapel that stood in the +grounds.</p> + +<p>It was open, and he lit candles on the desolate altar. +He was strangely pale after his night’s vigil, and he +watched the growing light with grudging eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he said suddenly. He turned away into the +moldy vestry and knelt down to pray. When he came +out into the empty chapel a beam of sunlight struggled +through the dusty glory of the stained windows, and +shone like an auriole round him as he stood in his vestments. +But to Erceldonne, who entered at that moment, +it looked as if the priest were bathed in blood.</p> + +<p>Without speaking, he motioned to some one behind +him.</p> + +<p>Raimond Erle took a girl’s passive hand and laid it on +his father’s arm; and passed on to the right hand of the +altar.</p> + +<p>Step by step, Erceldonne advanced with a terror at his +heart for which he had no reason, since the license was +right, by what means his son best knew.</p> + +<p>The bride, all in white, with a thick lace veil over her +dusky hair and pale face, never looked up as she leaned +on his arm; made no sign of surprise or dissent as she +saw the waiting priest.</p> + +<p>Father Maurice, book in hand, never moved as they +approached him, but as they sank on their knees he +raised his hand, and his voice thrilled through the cold<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> +chapel. But not in the familiar Latin Erceldonne, who +had been a Catholic when he was anything, expected.</p> + +<p>“‘Behold, I will repay, saith the Lord,’” the strong, +clear words rang out over the kneeling wedding-party. +“‘I have laid a snare for thee, O Babylon; and thou art +also taken, for thou wast not aware.’”</p> + +<p>“The Presbyterian will come out!” thought Erle, +mindful of the priest’s history, and never stirred a finger +at the magnificent cry of denunciation.</p> + +<p>But Lord Erceldonne knew better.</p> + +<p>He had seen the priest’s finger that pointed to something +behind him; had turned his head, sprung up, and +stood turned to stone.</p> + +<p>The chapel was empty no longer.</p> + +<p>Between him and the sunlight outside the open door, +between him and the desire of his eyes, stood two that +were risen from the dead. Behind them, strange men in +plain clothes. To Erceldonne the place seemed swarming. +He could not draw his breath, and he shook from him +the terrified woman’s hand that clutched his arm.</p> + +<p>The strange pause made the bridegroom turn. But +even he could not speak.</p> + +<p>Andria—Andria stood there, with her eyes on his. +And Heriot held her hand! Heriot, that was dead in +Flores!</p> + +<p>Father Maurice stepped to Erle’s side, and touched +him lightly on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Be glad,” he said, “that you have not had time to +take another sin upon you! There stands your wife, +whom you deserted and left to die. Go to her, ask her +pardon on your knees. You told her I was no priest; +that I had no right to marry you. I was a minister in +the Church of Scotland, and you know it. You were married +as hard and fast as I could marry you to-day, when +I am an unworthy servant of the Catholic church.”</p> + +<p>But Erle never answered. He stood as if he did not +feel that hard, light hand on his shoulder, and stared at +the woman who was, after all, his wife.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lie!” cried Erceldonne fiercely. He caught his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> +son’s nerveless hand. “Raimond, it’s a plot! The +priest’s in some one’s pay!”</p> + +<p>“The priest,” said Father Maurice, “is in the service +of God. Lord Erceldonne, I am the chaplain of St. +Mary’s Convent. It was Mother Felicitas who sent me +to find your son, and save an innocent girl.”</p> + +<p>“Mother Felicitas!” But his jarring laugh stopped +unfinished. There was something in the priest’s face, +something in the absolute silence of the strange man at +the door, that killed his laughter in his throat.</p> + +<p>“Your Mother Felicitas is a—a—you fool, she was my +mistress! She——”</p> + +<p>“She is dead,” said Father Maurice, with a voice that +rang. “Her sins lie buried with her. Her confession is +in my hands, her repentance in the hands of God, her +temptations—are put down to the account of a man +whose crimes cry aloud. Long ago, Lord Erceldonne, +it seems to you, you tried to take from an old man by +violence his adopted daughter. Adopted, not his own, as +you well knew. Your elder brother saw you, saved her +in one of your own yacht’s boats, and married her. +When your elder brother died, leaving a wife and a young +child, who was it sent a woman to them? A woman, +who thought herself your wife, who loved you till she +forgot God in heaven; a desperate, miserable woman, +who saw nothing but that her son and yours was disinherited +if that little girl lived. Who gave her the morphin +that killed Lady Erceldonne? Who asked no +questions when the child disappeared and was never +found? Who, when a most unhappy woman came to +him with all her sins on her head, laughed and told her +she was no wife of his—that she and her son were nameless?</p> + +<p>“She had done your work. You had no more need of +her. But, to keep her lips shut, you promised to care for +her boy, to bring him up away from you, but happily, as +long as she was silent. And silent she was—till she +learned how you kept your promise. How you wearied +of supporting the lad, and sent him to the other side of +the world to be killed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span></p> + +<p>“You had no thought, Lord Erceldonne, that such a +sinner would confess; that the girl you kidnaped and +meant to let die would be your ruin, as soon as you +found out that if she lived her mother’s money would set +you on your feet. You said she was a madman’s daughter, +and you knew all the time she was of the best blood +in Spain. A child who was a born dompteuse, an animal-tamer, +who had run away to a circus, whose owner +retired and took her and his animals to his home in the +Azores. Her brother died a year ago; since then, you +know best how every part of the world has been ransacked +for the daughter of the lost sister, to whom he +left his fortune. Beryl, she was christened, for a ring +her mother had always worn till she left the circus; +Corselas, because the murdered Lady Erceldonne always +hoped to take the child to Spain and find her relatives. +It was under that name, which seemed a fancy one, that +she was left at the convent. That name, which has led +to the unraveling of all. The church’s arm is long, Lord +Erceldonne, for you. For that most miserable woman, +Mother Felicitas, her mercy is infinite.”</p> + +<p>“You have no proofs! It is a conspiracy, a lie!” said +Erceldonne, but his lips were white.</p> + +<p>“This is not a court of justice, nor am I your judge,” +returned Father Maurice icily. He beckoned to the men +at the door, but some one was nearer, quicker than they.</p> + +<p>From an empty vestry there ran a strange figure, bent +almost double, that screamed in Spanish as it ran.</p> + +<p>“Liar! You said you knew nothing of her? You +swore you had no brother. You took the light from my +eyes with your story of a stranger, and her shame.”</p> + +<p>Before any one could reach him, the jabbering thing +had sprung at Erceldonne’s back, and stabbed him with +that very dagger that had lain so long idle in his own +house.</p> + +<p>A shriek ran through the chapel, but it was not Lord +Erceldonne’s; he lay quiet on the stone floor, face down.</p> + +<p>It was Salome, whom he had wronged, whose life had +been hell through him; and the shriek was savage, exultant.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></p> + +<p>“Be silent,” said Andria fiercely.</p> + +<p>As she spoke, the madman flew by her, running and +leaping like a monkey, two of the strange men at his +heels.</p> + +<p>What was the matter with Beryl, that she neither +spoke nor came to her; that she never looked up as +Heriot laid a hand on her shoulder? Had they drugged +her—was she——</p> + +<p>Andria Erle ran to the strange figure that was hidden +under the lace veil.</p> + +<p>“Beryl!” she cried, “it’s I, Andria! You’re safe!”</p> + +<p>She put the veil back from the face and stared aghast.</p> + +<p>A strange woman stood before her, painted, hollow-eyed; +her head covered with long locks cut from Beryl’s +hair, wound deftly round it.</p> + +<p>“Father! Father Maurice!” cried Andria, in the one +breathless instant before the priest could speak and tell +her this strange bride was part of his last night’s work. +She turned and ran from the church like an arrow from +the bow after some one else who had also stared unbelievingly +at the false bride.</p> + +<p>All she thought was that this was not Beryl, and that +Raimond had had a minute’s start of her in the confusion, +when all eyes were on the escaping madman and +the dead man on the floor.</p> + +<p>Across the wet grass, in the light of the wet morning +sun, she ran, into the desolate house. Up-stairs, through +endless passages, sobbing, stumbling, calling, she went +in wild fear.</p> + +<p>And each door she opened showed an empty room, +each passage led to nothing.</p> + +<p>“Beryl!” she screamed. “Beryl!” and from somewhere +heard a sound.</p> + +<p>She was here, then. And she had read Raimond’s face +aright.</p> + +<p>“Heriot! Father Maurice!” Andria shrieked from a +stair-window, and dared not wait for their coming. She +ran on blindly, and burst into the room that was Beryl’s +and Mrs. Fuller’s.</p> + +<p>There, having waited irresolute a little too long, instead<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> +of running to the carriage Father Maurice had told +her would be waiting by the chapel, was Beryl Corselas +struggling hideously with a man, who had also a carriage +waiting with a bullet-headed boy for driver.</p> + +<p>“Raimond!” Andria cried. “Run—they are coming! +Let her go.”</p> + +<p>At her voice he let Beryl go; stood an instant, staring.</p> + +<p>“Go!” said Andria, in a dreadful whisper. “Go! +Thank God that I am your wife, and must hold my +tongue. It is my shame that I ever loved you.”</p> + +<p>“Andria,” said her husband softly, very easily. “The +Lovely Andria!”</p> + +<p>He came toward her, with the long, easy step she had +loved.</p> + +<p>“Devil!” he cried, and struck her between the eyes.</p> + +<p>But there was no force in the blow. A girl’s whole +weight had caught him back from behind. He shook it +off, and ran down a back stair. Lord Erceldonne’s son +had nothing to stay for.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE EXPIATION OF MOTHER FELICITAS.</p> + + +<p>“Andria!” said Beryl wildly, unbelievingly.</p> + +<p>“Andria, they told me you were dead.”</p> + +<p>She had never spoken when the woman she thought +dead had run in; pale, breathlessly, but Andria herself +and no ghost. She had only gazed dumfounded; then +leaped with the instinct of an animal, and caught Erle’s +arm as he would have paid his debt to his wife in full.</p> + +<p>“Oh! how did you get here?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you in a minute.”</p> + +<p>Erle’s fist had only grazed her, yet she was leaning +helplessly against the wall. She hated him, despised +him, and yet—he had struck her; and if he had held out +a finger instead she would have gone to the ends of the +earth with him still. He was gone out of her sight forever. +What ailed her that she could not be glad?</p> + +<p>“Didn’t know I was coming?” she forced herself to +speak. “Didn’t Father Maurice tell you?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing but that Mrs. Fuller was to take my place +and I was to run to the carriage. We spoke to her out +in the hall, and she was like a child. She did everything +he said. She hated Erceldonne, but she was afraid of +him. She had owed him money she could not pay; he +had her note and could have taken everything she had. +Father Maurice told her I would pay everything she +owed if she helped me. It was she who thought of cutting +off my hair for a wig. Oh, never mind all that! +Tell me what has happened?”</p> + +<p>She dared not ask for Heriot, lest only one, not two, +might have come back alive from Flores.</p> + +<p>“Look!” said Andria gently. “Salome and the poor +old man saved us.”</p> + +<p>Her heart contracted as she thought of the lunatic running +over the moors for his life. He had seemed sane +enough till now; had begged them with tears to take him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> +to England to see the dearest of his soul again. Had been +times messenger to Beryl before they dared come themselves, +and now would finish his life in an asylum, away +from the animals that he loved.</p> + +<p>But Beryl thought of only one thing, one person. +Here in the doorway, behind the priest, stood Brian +Heriot, alive. He stretched out his hands, and she ran +to him. At the sight the woman whom love would know +no more turned away.</p> + +<p>“Father Maurice,” she said, “let us get away from this +dreadful place.”</p> + +<p>“Wait,” the priest whispered, “they are bringing him +in. It is better for her not to see.”</p> + +<p>“Him!” she stammered, thinking of the man who had +run from the house.</p> + +<p>“Lord Erceldonne.”</p> + +<p>He laid a hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Erle has gone,” he said quietly, knowing she +would never speak that name again. “I must stay and +arrange matters for the funeral.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t really understand yet,” Beryl cried out +still in the embrace of Heriot. “You were shot and——”</p> + +<p>“The poor old crazy man you sent saved me. Salome +nursed me back to life again.”</p> + +<p>“The old man!” she cried, with a cry that stopped +Father Maurice and Andria in their low talk. Beryl +dragged her hand from Heriot’s.</p> + +<p>“Let me go,” she said, “don’t touch me! I am his +granddaughter. It was no wonder I could manage the +cats. I am like him, I——”</p> + +<p>“You are no relation to him,” said Father Maurice +quietly. “Your mother was his adopted daughter; but +he had gone too crazy to remember it. She ran away +from him and married Lord Erceldonne’s elder brother. +You are their daughter.”</p> + +<p>“My mother?” she said, in a thick whisper.</p> + +<p>“Died long ago,” he would not tell her how yet, “and +you were stolen and hidden away in the convent. Only +Mother Felicitas knew you were the heiress of Erceldonne. +The Lord Erceldonne you knew had never any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> +right to the title, which is one of the few that descend +in direct line to male or female heirs. You would have +been left to die on that island, but for a fortune left you +by your mother’s brother. The papers were full of advertisements +for you; so, you see, you were suddenly +worth more alive than dead. A marriage with you +would not only secure the succession to Raimond Erle, +but set him and his father on their feet as to money. +You would not have been told of your parentage till you +were married. A penniless waif might accept without +question a husband whom a viscountess in her own right +would refuse.”</p> + +<p>“But Andria! He couldn’t have married me.”</p> + +<p>“Not if she lived. But he thought her dead. It was +she, under Heaven, who saved you. Raimond Erle was +married to her by me, at that time a minister in the +Presbyterian church, who had given up my charge because +I could not preach those things I no longer believed. +When he heard, afterward, that I had become a +priest of the Catholic church, he made use of it to tell +her she was not, nor never had been, his wife.</p> + +<p>“Wife or no wife, she was a menace to him; he left +her to die. The black servant saved her; the madman +gave money to her and Mr. Heriot which brought them +to England; to Mother Felicitas, to me, who had performed +the ceremony Erle dared call null and void.”</p> + +<p>“Mother Felicitas!” she cried. “Do you mean I must +go back to her? I won’t! I’ll——”</p> + +<p>“Mother Felicitas is dead,” the priest said gravely. +“But you are wrong to hate her. She was your friend—in +the end. It was she who, when Erceldonne was found +tenantless, thought of this Moorland house. She, who, +on hearing Mrs. Erle’s story, sent for me, the chaplain of +the convent, the only person in all England, by God’s +grace, who knew of her marriage. I went to London +and discovered Mr. Erle as if by accident; I seemed to +believe all he told me. And when I came to this evil +house, his wife, Heriot, and the police were at my heels. +But I had no time to tell you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> + +<p>“But Mother Felicitas,” she said incredulously. “She +hates me!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered slowly, “she hated you, but not as +you thought. She was a great sinner, but she died like +a martyr. She repented.”</p> + +<p>Even now he remembered with how great a courage. +There had been no half-measures in her atonement; no +shielding of herself, or of that reputation that had been +dearer than life.</p> + +<p>He had been as stunned as the nuns when, after a +service for the dead for which she asked him, the Mother +Superior had risen in her stall in the chapel and faced +them all—every nun in the convent and himself.</p> + +<p>She was the color of ashes, even to her lips; and she +swayed as she stood.</p> + +<p>She began very quietly; she asked their prayers, their +patience.</p> + +<p>When her long story was done, each nun was on her +knees. Was the reverent mother raving, that she should +call herself a murderess, a hypocrite, a blasphemer? +That she gave chapter and verse of her sins, her great +humiliation?</p> + +<p>She stood in the silence that was full of hushed weeping, +and beckoned to the convent chaplain, then led the +way to the confessional.</p> + +<p>In agony she wrote a deposition, in agony she gave +those directions that had saved Beryl Corselas, and fell +on her knees.</p> + +<p>“You will excommunicate me!” she said.</p> + +<p>Father Maurice had raised his hands, and spoken. +And as he finished a great cry rang out to the listening +nuns.</p> + +<p>He had absolved her, as One Higher than he had forgiven +the dying thief on the cross. But when he would +have raised her from her knees, she was dead.</p> + +<p>He roused himself now, and looked for a long moment +at Beryl Corselas.</p> + +<p>“Pray,” he said gently, “that you may make as good +an ending.” Then he went away, to begin his watch by +the dead.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span></p> + +<p>“Come,” said Heriot softly. “Let us go.”</p> + +<p>And, with Andria’s hand in hers, Beryl Corselas, who +was Beryl Corselas no longer, left that house of crime.</p> + +<p>There is little more to tell.</p> + +<p>The madman who had paid his lifelong debt to Lord +Erceldonne was never found. If he perished miserably +on the wild moorlands, his misshapen bones were never +discovered; if with the cunning of madness, he made his +way back to the Azores, there was no one who suggested +it to the police, though perhaps Andria Erle might +have been able to, had she wished.</p> + +<p>Raimond Erle, rather than face bankruptcy and disinheritance, +slipped away to Mexico; and there he died in a +gambling-brawl.</p> + +<p>In his stead there reigned Beryl, Viscountess Erceldonne, +whose husband was the Honorable Brian Heriot, +next heir to the baronage of Heriot, for his brother never +married. He was true to his word; he never touched a +penny of her vast fortune. She spent it nearly all in +helping the outcast and wretched.</p> + +<p>The sham Mrs. Fuller was a white slave no more. +She lived at peace with the husband she loved—the man +whom Lord Erceldonne had sworn to ruin, and thus had +maintained an overmastering influence over her.</p> + +<p>Ebenezer Davids lighted lamps no more. He and his +wife left the lodge at the great gate of Erceldonne, and +he prided himself greatly that it was he who first discovered +his present mistress was “the spit and image of his +lordship.”</p> + +<p>And the whole truth about Mother Felicitas Lady +Erceldonne never knew. There is no loyalty like that of +religious women. Not a nun in the convent ever opened +her lips, not one but was helped on the narrow path by +the memory of the expiation of Mother Felicitas.</p> + +<p>Salome, faithful still, worshiped Beryl’s child, which +was named Andria.</p> + +<p>And Andria?</p> + +<p>At twenty-four no one can say their life is done.</p> + +<p>Andria Erle took up hers and was living it, not a pensioner +on Beryl’s bounty, nor a nun in a convent.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p> + +<p>On the boards of the Queen’s Theater she became an +actress whom princes were glad to applaud, whom great +ladies visit. Men laid titles and fortunes at her feet, +but she remained Andria Erle; beautiful, gentle, and a +little unapproachable!</p> + +<p>Time, instead of adding lines to her face, had +smoothed the hardness and bitterness from it.</p> + +<p>But to no one had she ever spoken of Raimond Erle.</p> + + +<p class="center">THE END.</p> + + +<p>No. 1119 of <span class="smcap">The New Eagle Series</span>, entitled “In +Love’s Paradise,” by Charlotte M. Stanley, is bright and +entertaining from the first line and will keep the reader +engrossed until the last chapter is read.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="15c">15c</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">is the right price—the fair price under +present conditions.</p> + +<hr> + +<p class="center">Therefore, the</p> + +<p class="center large"><b>S. & S. Novels</b></p> + +<p class="center">sell at fifteen cents, no more, no less.</p> + +<p class="center">We have an established reputation +for fair dealing acquired during sixty +years of active publishing.</p> + +<p class="center">The reduction in the price of our +novels means that we are living up to +our reputation.</p> + +<hr> + +<p class="center"> +STREET & SMITH CORPORATION<br> +79 Seventh Avenue New York City<br> +</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<hr> +<p class="center"> +<i>Adventure Stories</i><br> +<i>Detective Stories</i><br> +<i>Western Stories</i><br> +<i>Love Stories</i><br> +<i>Sea Stories</i><br> +</p> +</div> +<hr> + +<p class="center">All classes of fiction are to be found among +the Street & Smith novels. Our line contains +reading matter for every one, irrespective of age +or preference.</p> + +<p class="center">The person who has only a moderate sum +to spend on reading matter will find this line +a veritable gold mine.</p> + +<hr class="r5"> + +<p class="center"> +STREET & SMITH CORPORATION,<br> +79 Seventh Avenue,<br> +New York, N. Y.<br> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="transnote"> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.</p> + +<p>Table of contents has been added and placed into the public domain by +the transcriber.</p> + +<p>The line: “‘Miss Holbeach; thank you!’ He just glanced at” was missing +from the book due to a typesetting error; the lost text was restored +from the original serial appearance in <i>Street & Smith’s New York +Weekly</i>, v. 54, no. 50 (September 30, 1899), page 1. +</p> + +<p>On page 214, the line “the words died on her tongue remembered how the +girl had mastered the jaguar” appears to be missing words. The original +serial installment for this chapter could not be located, and this is +reproduced here as printed in the book version.</p> + +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75930 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75930-h/images/cover.jpg b/75930-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e188272 --- /dev/null +++ b/75930-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75930-h/images/i1.jpg b/75930-h/images/i1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..deae50d --- /dev/null +++ b/75930-h/images/i1.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5dba15 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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