As I lay huddled up in that deep arm-chair, watching what was going on, I noticed with satisfaction that they took no more notice of me than if I had really been in the drunken slumber in which they assumed me to be—which was well for my purpose. So carefully and deliberately had I thought the matter out, that I had even arranged my position in the room with a view to the proving of my suspicions; for I had seen, in the bringing of this quite unnecessary bottle of wine, something about to be done which should concern the girl. And everything in the attitude of the doctor and Martha Leach seemed to scream "Danger" to my ears.
The position I had chosen was such that I could see not only the room in which Harvey Scoffold, the doctor, and Debora were standing grouped about the table, but also behind the screen which hid the many bottles in that part of the room I have called the surgery. The better to keep up the illusion of my drunkenness, I now began feebly to wave my arms, and to croon a song, as I lay doubled up with my chin sunk on my breast; and I saw the doctor look at me with some contempt, and shrug his shoulders, and then glance at Martha Leach, who had remained waiting as though to assist with the bottle and glasses. The glance he gave her spoke as plainly as words could do his satisfaction in my condition—Debora's protector was inert and useless.
What now happened was this. Harvey Scoffold, who I am convinced had nothing whatever to do with the business in hand, had engaged the girl in conversation, and had interposed his broad bulk between her and the doctor and Leach. He had his legs set wide apart, and his hands were clasped behind his back, and he was talking in a loud tone to Debora, who seemed somewhat mystified by the whole proceedings. And the doctor and Martha Leach had drawn close together, and while the doctor watched the broad back of Harvey Scoffold, he covertly whispered to the woman.
"And so, my dear young lady, I am to have the pleasure of toasting you in a special glass before I retire to my humble bachelor quarters—eh?" Harvey Scoffold was saying in his loud tones. "This is a new experience for me—bright eyes—sparkling wine—merry hearts!"
"I don't think anyone wants any more wine to-night," I heard Debora say quickly. "One, at least, of us has had more than enough."
I knew that was meant for me, and my heart was bitter at the thought of what she must be thinking of the man who had called himself her friend. But there was no help for it; I had to play the game out to the end, for her sake.
The doctor had made a quick sign to Leach, and she had gone behind the screen. From where I lay, with my hands foolishly and feebly waving, and my lips crooning out the song, I could see her distinctly; and what I saw caused my heart almost to stand still. She picked up a small phial from the corner of a shelf, and slipped it within the folds of her dress; and the next moment was standing beside the doctor again. I saw their hands meet, and I saw the phial pass from the one to the other. Then the doctor slipped both hands into his pockets, and moved towards the table, which, as it happened, stood between him and Harvey Scoffold.
He kept his eyes fixed on Scoffold and the girl, and very quietly and very stealthily drew the phial from his pocket, and opened it. Moving his hand a little to the right, he dropped the contents of the phial into the glass nearest to me. It was a mere colourless liquid, and would not have been noticed in the bottom of the glass. Then the phial was slipped back into his pocket, and somewhat boisterously he picked up the bottle and proceeded to open it. Martha Leach, with one long glance at the girl, passed silently out of the room, and closed the door.
"Come—just one glass of wine before this merry party separates!" cried Bardolph Just as the cork popped out. "And we'll have no heel-taps; we'll drain our glasses. I insist!"
Harvey Scoffold turned round and advanced to the table. Bardolph Just had filled that glass into which he had dropped the contents of the phial, and was filling the second glass. I felt that the time for action had arrived. Just as he got to the third glass I staggered to my feet, apparently tripped on the carpet, and went headlong against him and the table. I heard him splutter out an oath as the table went over and the glasses fell with a crash to the floor.
He swung round upon me menacingly, but before he could do anything I had wrenched the bottle from his hand, and with a wild laugh had swung it round my head, spilling the wine over me as I did so. Then, with a last drunken hiccough, I flung the bottle clean against the window, and heard it crash through, and fall to the ground below.
"To the devil with all drink!" I exclaimed thickly, and dropped back into my chair again.
For a moment the two men stared blankly at each other, and at the wreck of glass and wine upon the carpet. I was waiting for an attack from the doctor, and bracing myself for it; but the attack did not come. True, he made one step towards me, and then drew himself up, and turned with a smile to Debora.
"I'm sorry, my child," he said, in his most winning tones. "I did not mean to have had your pleasure spoilt like this. If you will go to your room, I will try to get rid of this fellow. Harvey," he added in a lower tone to Scoffold, "give an eye to him for a moment."
He followed Debora out of the room, closing the door behind him. I had determined by this time to show my hand, and Harvey Scoffold gave me the opportunity. He strode across to me, and took me by the shoulder, and shook me violently.
"Come, pull yourself together; it's time you were in bed," he said.
I sprang to my feet, and thrust him aside. I think I never saw a man so astonished in all his life as he was, to see me alert and quick and clear-eyed. "That's all you know about the business," I said. "I'm more sober than either of you. Now, hold your tongue, and wait; I've a word to say to Bardolph Just, and it won't keep."
Bardolph Just opened the door at that moment, and came in. By that time I was standing, with my hands in my pockets, watching him, and something in my face and in my attitude seemed to give him pause; he stopped just inside the door, staring at me. Harvey Scoffold looked from one to the other of us, as though wondering what game was afoot.
"Now, Dr. Bardolph Just," I said, "I'll trouble you for that phial. It's in your right-hand trouser pocket. Pass it over."
Instead of complying with that request, he suddenly sucked in a deep breath, and made a rush at me. But he had mistaken his man; I caught him squarely on the jaw with my fist, and he went down at my feet. After a moment or two he looked up at me, sitting there foolishly enough on the floor, and began to tell me what he thought of me.
"You dog! So this is the way you repay my kindness to you, is it?" he muttered. "You scum of a jail!—this is what I get for befriending you."
"Never mind about me," I retorted, "we'll come to my case presently. Just now I want to talk about Miss Debora Matchwick, and I want to know exactly what it was you put into the wine destined for her to-night."
"You're mad!" he said, getting slowly to his feet, and looking at me in a frightened way.
"No, I'm not mad; nor am I drunk," I retorted. "You and the woman Leach thought you were safe enough; look at me now, and tell me how much you think I have seen. Your fine words mean nothing; murder's your game, and you know it!"
All this time Harvey Scoffold had said nothing; he had merely looked from one to the other of us, with something like a growing alarm in his face. But now he stepped forward as though he would understand the matter better, or would at least put an end to the scene.
"My dear Just, and you, Norton Hyde, what does all this mean? Can't you be reasonable, and talk over the matter like gentlemen. What's this talk of phials and stuff put into wine, and murder, and what not?"
"It's true!" I exclaimed passionately. "This is the second time that man has tried to kill her, but it shall be the last. The thing is too bare-faced—too outrageous!"
"Well, my fine jail-bird, and what are you going to do?" demanded the doctor, having now regained the mastery over himself. "Fine words and high sentiments; but they never broke any bones yet. Tell me your accusation clearly, and I shall know how to meet it."
So I gave it them then and there, in chapter and verse; thus letting Harvey Scoffold know, for the first time, of that business of the eastern corridor, and of the mysterious door that opened only once to the road to death; moreover, I put it plainly now, that I had seen the woman Martha Leach take the phial and hand it to him; that I had pretended drunkenness to lull his suspicions of me, and to be ready when he least expected me to upset his plot.
He listened in silence, with his teeth set firmly, and his dark eyes glittering at me; then he nodded slowly, and spoke.
"And the man you accuse is one holding a big position in the world—a man against whom no breath of scandal or suspicion has ever been sent forth," he said. "A man known in many countries of the world—member of learned societies—a man with a name to conjure with. And what of his accuser?"
I knew that he would say that; I knew before-hand the helplessness of my position. But I was reckless, and I did not care what I said or what I did.
"Your accuser is a fugitive from the law; a man who lives under an assumed name, and who has taken advantage of the death of an innocent man to begin life again on his own account. You need not remind me of that," I went on, "because I admit it all. So far, I am in your power; but my position, as something outside the pale of ordinary society, gives me a greater power than you think. I have everything to win; I have nothing to lose. If you had chosen a better man, and had given him the chance to pry into your secrets, you might have had some hold upon him. So far as I am concerned, I am utterly reckless, and utterly determined to save this girl."
"Brave words—very brave words!" he said, with a sneer. "And how do you propose to set about it?"
"I intend to get her out of this house. I intend to look after her, if I have to steal to do it. I'm an adept at that, you will remember," I said bitterly, "only this time I shall do it in a good cause. I mean to get her out of this house, and it will go ill with you if you try to prevent me."
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders; then he turned to Scoffold. "If he were not so mad he would be amusing, this fellow," he said. But Harvey Scoffold, somewhat to my surprise, was silent, and did not look at him. I saw a frown come quickly upon the face of Bardolph Just.
"And pray what's the matter withyou?" snapped the doctor at him.
"Nothing—nothing at all!" said Scoffold, in a constrained tone. "I'll say good-night!" He turned towards the door, and I noticed that his head was bowed, and that he looked at the carpet as he moved.
Bardolph Just stepped suddenly in front of him. "Look here, you're not going like that?" he said. "I'll have some word from you about this affair before you leave my house."
Harvey Scoffold looked up quickly. "Then here's the word," he said aggressively. "I'm rather inclined to believe your friend here, and I don't like the business. It's a dirty business, and I've seen enough of it, and of you. Good-night!"
He thrust his way past the other man, and swaggered out of the room. I was so surprised and so relieved that I was in a mood to run after him, and hug him, in sheer joy at finding an honest man; but I refrained.
With the closing of the door the doctor stood for a moment, dazed; then he opened the door again, and ran out after the other. I pitied him for his weakness in doing that, because I felt absolutely certain in my own mind that he would not change Harvey Scoffold's opinion of him. I had hated Harvey Scoffold pretty cordially on my own account, and by reason of my misfortunes; now I began to see (as, alas! I had seen so often with other men, and all to my own undoing) that I had cruelly misjudged him. However, I had said all I wanted to say to the doctor, and I started off to my room.
Now, had I been of a suspicious nature, I must have been disturbed at the sight of the doctor and Harvey Scoffold engaged in earnest talk at the end of the corridor which led from the study; but as, the moment I appeared, Scoffold shook himself angrily free of the other's clutch, and burst out with a shout, I was more than ever convinced that the doctor had been pleading with him in vain.
"I tell you I'll have nothing to do with you!" exclaimed Scoffold. "I wish I'd never come into the house. Not another word; I've done with you!"
I heard the great hall door bang, and I knew that Scoffold was gone; the doctor, retracing his steps, favoured me with a scowl as he went past, but said never a word; while I, greatly elated at having found a friend in this business, went off to my room, determined that in some vague fashion I would put matters right in the morning, and defy Bardolph Just to do his worst.
As ill luck would have it, I had forgotten one important point. In the eyes of Debora I had disgraced myself; she had every reason to believe me the drunken madman who had hurled bottles, and broken windows, and upset furniture the night before. I had forgotten that when I entered the breakfast-room in the morning, and found her standing by the window. I made my way eagerly to her. To my momentary surprise, she drew back, as though fearing contact with me.
"Debora!" I began eagerly; but she drew herself up and looked at me haughtily.
"Mr. New, your memory is a poor one," she said. "I'm afraid you don't remember what happened last night."
"My dear Debora," I exclaimed eagerly, "I can explain all that—I can show you——"
I heard the door open behind me, and I stopped. Bardolph Just came into the room, and stopped on seeing me, looking at me frowningly. It was with a very virtuous air that he addressed me.
"I'm glad to see you are striving to make your peace with Miss Matchwick," he said. "She has been in the habit of dealing with gentlemen, and is not used to such scenes as she witnessed last night."
I gave him a look which showed him I understood his drift; he was silent for the moment or two that it took us to get to our places at the table. But he evidently felt that he must labour the point, for he was at me again before ever I had tasted a mouthful.
"I expect you'll have but a poor appetite this morning, John New," he said, "therefore I won't trouble you with food. Take Mr. New a cup of tea," he added to Martha Leach, who stood behind him.
I felt that that was rather petty, but somehow worthy of the man. I drank my tea, and went without the substantial breakfast I should have been glad to have eaten. After all, I felt that the game was in my hands, and that I could well afford to let him wreak such petty vengeance as this upon me. I waited eagerly until the meal was finished; I meant to get speech with the girl, by hook or by crook, at the earliest opportunity. I knew how pressing was the need; I knew how relentless the man at the head of the table and the apparently docile woman behind him would be in regard to Debora, and how powerless I, a creature of no real name or position, would be in the matter, unless I could win the girl to believe me.
I found that a more difficult task even than I had anticipated. Indeed, she avoided me for some time, and when at last I came in touch with her, she drew herself up, with that pretty little lift of her chin I had noticed before, and warned me away.
"I want nothing to do with you, Mr. New," she began. But I was not to be repulsed; the matter was much too urgent for that. I walked close up to her, determined that I would have the matter out then and there.
"You must let me explain," I said. "If you don't you will regret it all your life. You thought I was drunk last night, but I was not."
I waited for some response from her, but she said nothing. I went on again eagerly.
"I was shamming, and with a purpose. Only by that means—only by making the doctor think that I was practically unconscious of what he was doing, was I able to observe him clearly. They tried to poison you last night."
I suppose she saw the truth in my face; she came suddenly to me, and laid her hands on my arm, and looked at me with startled eyes. "To poison me?" she echoed breathlessly.
"Yes, the doctor and Martha Leach. That was why I upset the table and flung the wine away. If you had seen me five minutes after you left the room, you would have known what my real condition was. The doctor knew it, I can assure you!" I laughed at the recollection.
Debora looked quickly all round about her, with the frightened air of one who would escape, but sees no way; there was a hunted look in her eyes that appalled me. "What shall I do?" she whispered. "I am more frightened than I care to say, because I know Dr. Just, and I know how relentless he can be. Don't you understand, John," she went on piteously, "how utterly powerless I am? Anything may happen to me in this dreadful house. I may be killed in any one of a dozen ways; and this well-known physician and scientist, against whom no word of suspicion would be spoken, can give an easy account of my death. What am I to do?"
"I can't for the life of me understand why he should wish to kill you," I said, "unless it be a mere matter of revenge."
"It isn't that," she answered me slowly. "You see, my poor father trusted him so completely, and believed in him so much, that in addition to placing me under his guardianship he put a clause in his will which, in the event of my death, leaves the whole of my property to Dr. Bardolph Just."
Now, for the first time, I saw into the heart of this amazing business; I had probed the motive. He would have secured the girl if he could; failing that, he would secure her property. As he knew that she might, in any ordinary event, pass out of his life, if only by the common gate of marriage, he had determined to get rid of her, and so secure easily what was hers. The whole thing was explained now clearly enough.
"What you must do," I answered steadily, wondering a little at my own bravery in suggesting it, "is to come away from this house with me. You must trust me to look after you."
I realise now how mad a proposition that was; but I did not see it in that light then. I loved her, and I dreaded what might happen to her; more than all else, I saw no greater happiness than in gaining for myself the dear privilege of watching over her. You may imagine what my feelings were when I heard her glad and eager assent.
"Yes, yes, I will come willingly," she said. "Where will you take me?"
"I don't know," I said a little ruefully, "but we can settle that matter afterwards. Far better for us to tramp the roads, side by side, in safety, than for you to remain in this place a day longer. Now listen to me, while I tell you what my plan is."
We were pacing up and down a grass-grown walk while we talked; we were well out of sight of the house. While I write this I seem to see again her glowing face turned towards mine; to feel the touch of her hands in mine; to hear the quick, eager whisper with which she answered me. I had cause to remember that afterwards, with bitterness, as you shall presently hear.
"The chances are that we shall be watched," I began, "because I was foolish enough last night to tell the doctor of my intention. Consequently, we must not be seen together during the day; we must escape under cover of darkness. At ten o'clock to-night walk quietly out of the house, as though you were going for a stroll in the grounds; when you come to the gate, go out into the road, where I shall be waiting. After that we must leave the rest to whatever good or ill fortune awaits us. At some convenient time during the day put whatever you need to take with you in the old summer-house where we first met; no one visits that, and you can easily take the things from there when you finally leave the house."
So it was settled; and for that time I knew that we should both wait eagerly. I laughed a little ruefully to myself at the thought of how little money I had in my pocket; but that matter did not greatly trouble me. The future must take care of itself; I liked to think that Debora and I were two waifs, setting out alone together, to explore a great unknown world in which as yet we had neither of us had any real chance of living. I painted a wholly impossible future for us both; for my own part, I think I felt capable of conquering worlds, and carving out a position for myself and for her.
The doctor chose to shut himself up in his study during the day, and although Debora and I had lunch and dinner together in the big dining-room, the woman Martha Leach never left us for a moment, and our conversation was, perforce, confined to the most trivial things. To any outside observer Martha Leach would have appeared to be merely a highly-trained servant, devoted to us, and anxious to anticipate our every want; to my clearer understanding she was a spy, eager to bring about that which the doctor wished, at all costs. I seemed to see her again slipping the phial into the doctor's hand.
So closely were we watched during the progress of those meals, and so careful did we deem it necessary to be in our behaviour towards each other, that I had no opportunity of learning whether Debora had succeeded in getting her hat and coat and such things as she might need, into the safe shelter of the summer-house. Therefore I determined, about an hour before the time arranged for the girl to meet me, that I would saunter down to the place, to see for myself that all was well. My preparations were soon made; I had merely to put my cap in my pocket, and so saunter out of the house, as though about to stroll in the grounds.
So I came to the summer-house, and, walking quickly into it quite unsuspiciously, came face to face with Mr. Harvey Scoffold, seated on the bench, with his head leaning back against the wall, and his eyes closed. He had a cigar between his lips, at which he was lazily puffing. And beside him on the seat was a little bag, and Debora's hat and coat.
Here, I felt, was an end of the game—so far, at least, as that day was concerned. How he had contrived to blunder upon the affair I could not tell; I only knew that the mere presence of those things there at his side must have given away the little plot at once. While I stared at him he opened his eyes, and looked at me with a smile.
"Well, dear boy, so here you are at last!" he exclaimed pleasantly. "I've been waiting for you."
"Much obliged to you," I retorted curtly. "What are you doing here at all?"
He shook his head at me, with an air almost of whimsical sadness.
"My dear boy—my poor, misguided boy!" he said, "why will you always blunder so infernally over your friends and your enemies?"
"I can distinguish pretty well between them, thank you," I assured him with meaning.
He shook his head again and laughed. "Indeed you can't," he answered. "Now, at the present moment, you never needed a friend so much in all your life; and yet you endeavour to insult one who stands waiting to help you. Didn't I show last night what my real feelings were in regard to this business?"
I hesitated, for I remembered how loyal he had seemed to be to Debora, and how much repugnance he had shown to what the doctor had endeavoured to do. I suppose now he saw his opportunity, for he began to push the matter home.
"My dear boy," he said eagerly, leaning forward towards me, "what earthly chance will you have of helping this girl, if you set out on a wild goose-chase through the world with her, without enough to pay even for a night's lodging? Think for one moment: she has been used to every comfort, she is a lady in every sense of the word."
"God knows that's true!" I exclaimed fervently.
"Very well, then; don't you see how mad it is?" he pleaded.
"Nevertheless, I mean to do it," I said doggedly. "Besides, how comes it that you know what we're going to do?"
He shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. "My dear boy, the thing is so transparent! I know enough of you to guess that you wouldn't allow her to stay in this place; and then, by the merest chance, I saw her creeping through the grounds this evening, and making for this summer-house. Later I discovered these things which she had left. There's the whole matter in a nutshell."
"And I suppose you think you'll prevent our going—or warn the doctor?" I said, in a threatening tone.
He threw up his hands with a gesture of despair, and seemed to appeal to the very trees and the stars against me. "Look at this fellow!" he exclaimed. "What is one to make of him? As if I had suggested trying to stop you—or suggested warning Bardolph Just! On the contrary, I swear to you that I am here to help you."
He seemed so honest about the matter, and had taken my suspicions so good-temperedly, that I was disarmed. "Tell me," I said, "what do you mean to do? How will you help us?"
He sprang to his feet, and spread out his arms; and then suddenly touched me lightly with his fingers on each shoulder—almost as though he would embrace me. "My dear boy," he said in his eager fashion, "I am all for romance. When I see a boy and a girl taking their way out on to the great highway of life, ready to walk hand in hand together to the very end of the road, my heart leaps out towards them. Consequently, when I guessed your secret, I asked myself what I could do to help you. And I have found a way."
"What is the way?" I asked.
"Our common foe is Dr. Bardolph Just," he said, lowering his voice, and looking about him as though he feared that even in that secluded spot we might be overheard. "Now, Dr. Bardolph Just does not know that I have changed my abode; he is totally unaware of the fact that I reside within a mile or so of this house. Consequently, what is to prevent your bringing the young lady to that little cottage of which we both know, and where there is a decent woman to look after her? Let the future take care of itself, if you like—but be careful of the present. I will provide you with what money is necessary, so that while the doctor is eating his heart out with rage, and is moving heaven and earth to discover the runaways, you will be lying snug at my place, making your arrangements for the time to come."
I began to think that it was a good enough plan. I would, of course, infinitely have preferred to start off with Debora on some journey of which we did not even know the end; but that was, perhaps, a foolish idea, and not one to be encouraged with a young girl to be considered. More than that, as Harvey Scoffold had blundered upon the story, it was quite impossible to keep him out of it; and I knew that he was a man of that temper that, if I curtly refused his offer, he might well betake himself to Bardolph Just at once, and let him into the whole secret. There were many reasons urging me to close with his offer, and, although with reluctance, I did so.
"Very well, then; I accept," I said. "Only, heaven help you if you play any tricks with us!"
He shrugged his shoulders, and laughed again. "I hope some day to be able to convince you that I am not a scoundrel," he replied lightly.
That Debora might not be disconcerted by coming upon the man unexpectedly, I persuaded him to walk on a little towards his house. I would meet the girl, and follow him. To that he consented, and together we walked to the gate leading into the road. Mindful of what I had promised Debora, I stepped out into the road myself, and watched the man as he strode rapidly away. Then I set myself to wait, with what patience I could muster, for the coming of Debora.
It was a fine night, and as I leaned against the wall, waiting, I heard a clock in the distance chime the hour of ten. Then I heard the click of the gate, and my heart gave a little leap as I thought of who was coming. Imagine my surprise when, on turning my head, I saw a man advancing towards me through the shadows. I was turning abruptly away, not desiring to be seen by anyone then, when the man quickened his steps and came after me.
"'Ere, 'old 'ard!—'old 'ard a bit!" he called; and I stopped and faced about.
The man was George Rabbit, and he was in altogether different trim from anything I had seen before. The shabby clothes were replaced by a suit of tweeds of a rather smart cut, and a billycock hat of a sporting type was perched on his head. He nodded impudently, and held out his hand. Of that I took no notice.
"Too proud to shake 'ands with a pal—eh?" he said. "There's some people wants to be learnt a lesson, it seems to me. I've jist bin up to the 'ouse, and 'is nibs there says 'e don't know me, an' don't want anythink to do wiv me. An' I on'y wanted to touch 'im fer a quid."
"You've had all the money you'll get out of either of us," I said sternly. "And you'd better go away now; I don't want to talk to you."
"That's w'ere we differ, guv'nor," said Mr. Rabbit impudently. "I'm goin' to stick to you fer a bit, an' see if I can't make summink out of yer."
I wondered what I was to do. I knew that in another moment that gate might open again, and Debora come out; and I was quite certain that George Rabbit would be only too eager to follow us, and to make capital out of our adventure. I thought I would try something more than threats; so I advanced upon the man, and suddenly took him by the throat, and banged his head lustily with the flat of my hand.
"When I tell you I want you to go away I mean it," I said between my teeth, as I towered over him in my wrath. "If you don't get out of this I'll kick you into the middle of next week."
He wriggled out of my grasp, and picked up his billycock hat, which had fallen into the road. He gave me an ugly scowl as he backed away.
"I'll knife yer one of these days," he whimpered—"see if I don't. You know wot I could say if I'd a mind to say it—an' I——"
The door in the wall had clicked again, and I saw Debora coming swiftly towards me. The voice of George Rabbit died away as he gazed on this new apparition; he stood still at the other side of the road. I took the bag from Debora's hand, and turned, and hurried away with her without a word; but I had an uneasy feeling that Rabbit was following. I stopped once in the darkness, and looked back; and I was certain that he stopped, too, and waited. I did not wish to alarm the girl by calling out to him; I could only hope that we might manage to elude him before coming to Harvey Scoffold's cottage.
On the way I told Debora exactly what had happened, and explained to her that this seemed the best and the only thing for us to do. She was a little disconcerted, and urged me to remember that Harvey Scoffold was a personal friend of the doctor; but on that point I endeavoured to re-assure her, by telling her of the scene in the study the night before, and of the attitude Scoffold had taken. Looking back on the matter now, I wish with all my heart that I had adopted her suggestion, and had flung caution to the winds, and had gone off with her in some new direction; how much sorrow and misery might have been spared us if we had done that you shall know hereafter.
We came at last to the cottage where Harvey Scoffold was lodging, and there I found the man awaiting us. He was courtesy itself to Debora; put a finger on his lips mysteriously when she would have thanked him; and introduced us both to the old woman who kept the house. I was beginning to think that all was very right, when I heard a knock at the door of the cottage, and the old woman, who had been preparing supper, came out of some room at the back to answer the summons. And then for the first time I remembered George Rabbit.
It was his voice, sure enough; he wanted to speak to "the gent 'oo'd jist gorn in." I gave a glance at Harvey Scoffold, and went out into the passage to speak to the man; for I felt that I was in a tight place.
"Nah then," said George Rabbit loudly—"you an' me 'as got to come to some sort of unnerstandin'. I'm a honest man, I am, wot's worked out 'is time, and done 'is little bit right an' proper; I ain't no blooming jail-bird, wot's cut 'is lucky afore 'is time."
I clapped a hand over his mouth; but it was too late. Even as I struggled with him, I saw the door of the room in which Harvey Scoffold and the girl were slowly opening, and the face of Harvey Scoffold looked out. George Rabbit slipped out of my grasp like an eel, and rushed to the door of the room, and forced his way in. He was absolutely mad with rage, and not responsible for anything he said.
"What's to do here—what's to do?" asked Scoffold mildly; yet I thought he watched Debora as he asked the question.
"Ask that man 'is name!" cried Rabbit, pointing fiercely to me. "Ask 'im 'is name—an' w'ere 'e come from—an' wot jail 'e broke out of!"
I stood still, watching Debora; my fate lay in her hands. Very slowly she came across to me, and looked into my face, and asked me a question.
"What does the man mean, John?" she asked. "You must please tell me."
I glanced appealingly at Harvey Scoffold; and in a moment I read in his grimly set lips that he meant that the exposure should be carried through. I knew that if I did not tell the tale he would, in some more garbled fashion. Therefore when I spoke it was to him.
"If you'll take this man away," I said slowly—"I'll tell her the truth."
"The truth is always best, dear boy," he said, with a grin.
So I waited in a horrible silence, while the two men went out of the room. Then when the door was closed I turned to the girl, who was more to me than life itself; and my heart sank at the thought of what I had to say to her.
For what seemed a long time, but was after all but a matter of moments, we stood in that room, facing each other; and perhaps the bitterest thing to me then, with the knowledge in my mind of what I had to say, was that when at last she broke silence she should speak to me with tenderness.
"John, dear," she said softly, "there is some mystery here that I don't understand; I want to know all about it—all about you. I trust you as I trust no other man on earth; there can be nothing you are afraid to tell me."
Having struck me that unconscious blow, she sat down calmly, and smiled at me, and waited; I thought that never had poor prisoner trembled before his judge as I trembled then.
"I want you to throw your mind back," I began at last, seeing that I must get the business over, "to the night when last you saw Gregory Pennington."
She started, and looked at me more keenly; leaned forward over the table beside her, and kept her eyes fixed on my face.
"I remember the evening well," she said. "We stood together in the grounds of the house; he left me to go into that house to see my guardian. And I have never seen him since."
"When you met Gregory Pennington that night," I went on, "I lay in the darkness quite near to you, a forlorn and hunted wretch, clad in a dress such as you have never seen—the dress of a convict."
She got up quickly from her chair, and retreated from me; yet still she kept her eyes fixed on my face. And now I began to see that my cause was hopeless.
"I had broken out of my prison that day, a prison far away in the country. I was hunted, and hopeless, and wretched; the hand of every man was against me. I had taken money that did not belong to me, and I had received a savage sentence of ten years' imprisonment. I had served but one, when the life and the manhood in me cried aloud for liberty; and on that night when you met Pennington in the garden I was free."
"Why were you in that place at all?" she whispered.
"That place was as good as any other, if it could provide me with that I wanted, food and clothing," I answered her. "I saw young Pennington go into the house; a little later I followed him. Only, as you will understand, I could not enter by the door; I broke into the place like the thief I was."
"I understand that that was necessary," she said, nodding slowly. "I do not judge you for that."
"When I got into the house," I went on hurriedly, "I found that a tragedy had taken place. I implore you to believe that I am telling the truth and nothing but the truth; I could not lie to you. Your friend Gregory Pennington had met with an accident."
She read what was in my face; she drew a deep breath, and caught at the back of the chair by which she stood. "You mean that he was dead?" she whispered.
I nodded. "For what reason I know not, although I can guess; but Gregory Pennington had hanged himself."
She closed her eyes for a moment, and I thought as she swayed a little that she was going to faint. I had taken a step towards her when she opened her eyes suddenly, and I saw a great anger and indignation blazing in them. "It's a lie!" she exclaimed, "he was the last person to do such a thing. He was the brightest, and best, and sweetest lad that ever loved a girl, and loved her hopelessly."
"There you have it," I suggested. "Had you not told him that night that you could not love him?"
"Yes, but that would not have sent him to his death," she retorted. "But go on; I want to know what was done, and why I never heard about this until now."
"I want you to understand, if you can, two things," I went on steadily. "First, there was a dead man and a living one; and the living one was a hunted fugitive. Second, there was, in a slight degree, a faint resemblance between the dead man and the living, in colouring, and height, and general appearance."
She looked at me for a moment or two in silence; then she nodded her head. "Yes, I see that now," she answered, "although I never noticed it before."
"While I was in the room with the dead man, Dr. Just put in an appearance. To be brief, he wanted to keep the matter from you, because he knew the boy had been your friend; he took pity on me, and wanted to save me. He knew that they were hunting for a convict, who might perhaps be thought to be something like the dead man; at his suggestion I changed clothes with Gregory Pennington, and started under another name."
I turned away from her then; I dared not look at her. For a time there was a dead silence in the room, broken only by the curious slow ticking of an old eight-day clock in the corner. I remember that I found myself mechanically counting the strokes while I waited for her to speak.
When at last I could bear the tension no longer I looked round at her. She stood there, frozen, as it were, in the attitude in which I had seen her, looking at me with a face of horror. Then at last, in a sort of broken whisper, she got out a sentence or two.
"You—you changed clothes? Then he—he became the convict—dead? What—what became of him?"
"He lies buried—in my name—within the walls of Penthouse Prison."
She stared at me for a moment as though not understanding; seemed to murmur the words under her breath. Then she clapped her hands suddenly over her face.
"Oh—dear God!" she cried out.
I began to murmur excuses and pleadings. "The fault was not mine, the boy was dead, and no further harm could come to him. I wanted to live—I was so young myself, and I wanted to begin life again. I never thought——"
She dropped her hands, and faced me boldly; I saw the tears swimming in her eyes. "You never thought!" she cried. "You never thought of what it meant for him, with no sin upon him, to lie in a felon's grave! You never thought that there was anyone on earth might miss him, and sorrow for him, and long for him! You wanted to live—you, that had broken prison—you, a common thief! You coward!"
I said no more; it seemed almost as if the solid earth was slipping away from under my feet. I cared nothing for what might happen to me; I knew that I had lost her, and that I should never touch her hand again in friendship. I stood there, waiting, as though for the sentence she must pronounce.
"I never want to see your face again," she said at last, in a low voice. "I do not know yet what I shall do; I have not had time to think. But I want you to go away, to leave me; I have done with you."
"I will not leave you," I said doggedly. "You are in danger!"
She laughed contemptuously. "Then I won't be saved by you!" she exclaimed. "There are honest men in the world; I would not trust you, nor appeal to you, if I had no other friend on earth."
"I know the danger better than you do," I answered, "and I will not leave you."
"That man who burst into the house just now, he seemed to know you," she said, after a moment's pause. "Who is he?"
"A fellow jail-bird of mine," I answered bitterly.
"Then go to him," she said. "Are you so dense that you don't understand what I think of you, you thing without a name! Will nothing move you?"
"Nothing, until I know that you are safe," I answered.
There was a light cane lying on the table with Harvey Scoffold's hat and gloves. In a very fury of passion she suddenly dropped her hand upon it, and caught it up. I know that my face turned darkly red as I saw what her intention was; but I did not flinch. She struck me full across the face with it, crying as she did so, "Now go!" dropped the cane, and burst into tears at the same moment. I could bear no more; I turned about, and walked out of the room, and out of the house. I did not seem to remember anything until I found myself walking at a great rate under the stars, down towards London.
My feelings then I will not attempt to describe. I seemed to be more utterly lost than ever; the sorry comedy was played out, and I walked utterly friendless and alone, caring nothing what became of me. If I remembered that Debora stood in peril of her life, and had but small chance of escape from some horrible death, I tried to thrust that thought away from me; for the blow she had struck me seemed to have cut deep into my soul. Of all the homeless wretches under the stars that night, surely I was the one most to be pitied!
I found myself after a time on Hampstead Heath, and lay down there in a quiet spot under the trees, and stared up at the stars, wondering a little, perhaps, why Fate had dealt so hardly with me, and had never given me a real chance. I remembered my unhappy boyhood, and my long years of drudgery in my uncle's house; I remembered with bitterness that now to-night I was a creature with no name and no place in the world, with no hopes and no ambitions. Tears of self-pity sprung to my eyes as I lay there in the darkness, wondering what the day was to bring me.
I had a few shillings in my pocket, and when I knew the dawn was coming I started off down into London, in the hope to lose myself and my miseries in the crowded streets. But there I found that apparently everyone had some business to be engaged upon; everyone was hurrying hither and thither, far too busy to take note of me or of my downcast face. The mere instinct to live kept me clear of the traffic, or I must have been run over a hundred times in the day, so little did I trouble where I walked, or what became of me. When my body craved for food I went into an eating-house, and sat shoulder to shoulder with other men, who little suspected who I was, or what was my strange story. But then everyone against whom one rubs shoulders in a great city must have some strange story of their own to tell, if they cared to say what it was.
I spent the long day in the streets; but at night a curious fascination drew me across Hampstead Heath, and so in the direction of the cottage in which Harvey Scoffold lived. I had no hope of seeing the girl; I only felt it would be some poor satisfaction to me to see the house in which she was; perhaps my very presence there might serve in some vague way to shield her from harm; for by this time I had come to the conclusion that Scoffold was as much her enemy and mine as anyone else by whom she was surrounded.
I wandered about unhappily there for more than an hour; I was just turning away, when the old woman I had seen on the previous night came out of the door of the cottage, and advanced down the garden to the little gate in the fence. I think a cat must have got astray; for she called to some animal fretfully more than once. She was just turning away again, when I ventured to step up to the gate.
"I hope the young lady is quite well?" I said, in a low tone.
She looked at me curiously; looked especially, I thought, at the long livid weal across my face. "Ah! I remember you now, sir," she said; "I didn't recognise you for a moment. But, bless you, sir, they've all gone away."
"Gone away?" I echoed.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Scoffold and the young lady went off early this morning, sir; Mr. Scoffold said that letters were to be addressed to him at the house of Dr. Bardolph Just. I've got the address inside, sir, if you should want it."
I told her I did not want it, and I turned away abruptly. I could not understand the position at all; I wondered how Harvey Scoffold had persuaded her to go back to that house, and to the man she so much dreaded. I saw how badly I had blundered in the matter, and how I had done the very thing I had striven not to do. She would trust Harvey Scoffold; she would believe in his honesty, as I had believed in it; and I was convinced now that he was working hand in glove with Bardolph Just. I stood out there in the darkness, cursing myself, and the world, and everyone, with the solitary exception of Debora Matchwick.
On one point I was resolute; I would go on to the house of the doctor, and would be near at hand in case the girl wanted me. It was a mad idea, and I now recognise it as such; but at the time it seemed that I might be able to do some good. I set off at once, tired out as I was, for Bardolph Just's house.
It was not yet late, and the house was still lighted up when at last I came to it. I opened the gate in the wall noiselessly, and went in; crept forward among the trees, until I was quite near to the house. I think I had a sort of vague idea that I would get in somehow, and confront the doctor; for, after all, nothing much worse could happen to me than had already befallen me. While I waited irresolutely in the grounds, a door opened at one side of the house, letting out a little flood of light for a moment; then the door was closed again, and I saw a figure coming swiftly towards me through the trees. I drew back behind one of the trees, and watched; presently the figure passed so close to me, going steadily in the direction of the gate, that I could see the face clearly. It was Martha Leach, habited for a journey.
There was such a grim, set purpose in the face that, after she had gone a yard or two, I turned on an instinct and followed her. I heard the latch of the gate click, as she went out, closing the gate after her; unfortunately it clicked again a moment or two later, when I in turn passed out in her wake. I flattened myself against the wall, because Martha Leach had stopped in the road, and had looked back. Fortunately for me she did not return; after a momentary pause she went on again rapidly, taking a northern direction.
Now, by all the laws of the game I ought to have returned to the house to keep my vigil there; for what earthly purpose could I hope to serve in chasing this woman about the northern suburbs of London, at something near to nine o'clock on a summer's evening? But I felt impelled to go on after her; and my heart sank a little when presently I saw her hail a four-wheeled cab, and range herself up beside the front wheel, to drive a bargain with the cabman. Without her knowledge I had come to the back of the cab, and could hear distinctly what she said.
I felt at first that I was dreaming when I heard her asking the man if he could drive her to an address near Barnet; and that address was the house of my Uncle Zabdiel! After some demur the man agreed; and the woman got inside, and the cab started. And now I was determined that I would follow this thing out to the bitter end; for I began to understand vaguely what her mission was to my uncle.
As I ran behind the cab, now and then resting myself by perching perilously on the springs, I had time to think of the events that had followed the coming of George Rabbit to the doctor's house, and his discovery of me. I remembered that light I had seen in the loft; I remembered how Martha Leach had come from that loft, carrying a lantern; I remembered how she had threatened to find out who I was, and from whence I came. And I knew now with certainty that she was on her way to my uncle, with the purpose of letting him know the exact state of affairs.
I own that I was puzzled to know why she should be concerning herself in the matter at all. That she hated Debora I knew, and I could only judge that she felt I might be dangerous, and had best be got rid of in some fashion or other. The newspaper reports of my trial and sentence had made my life, of necessity, common property; she would be able easily to discover the address of Uncle Zabdiel. That she was working, as she believed, in the interests of the doctor I could well understand; but whether by his inspiration or not it was impossible for me to know.
The cab stopped at last outside that grim old house I remembered so well, that house from which I had been taken on my uncle's accusation. By that time, of course, I was some yards away from it, watching from the shelter of a doorway; but I heard the bell peal in the great, hollow old place, and presently saw the gate open, and Martha Leach, after some parley, pass in. Then the gate was closed again, and I was left outside, to conjecture for myself what was happening within.
I determined at last that I would get into the place myself; it might be possible for me to forestall Martha Leach, and take some of the wind out of her sails. Moreover, the prospect of appearing before my uncle in a ghostly character rather appealed to me than not; he had given me one or two bad shocks in my life, and I might return the compliment. For, of course, I was well aware that he must long since have believed that I was dead and buried, as had been reported. I went near to the house, and tried the gate; found, somewhat to my relief, that it was not fastened. I slipped in, and closed the gate after me, and found myself standing in the narrow garden that surrounded the house.
Strange memories came flocking back to me as I stood there looking up at the dark house. How much had I not suffered in this place, in what terror of the darkness I had lain, night after night, as a boy, dreading to hear the footsteps of Uncle Zabdiel, and yet feeling some relief at hearing them in that grim and silent place! I thought then, as I stood there, how absolutely alone I was in the great world—how shut out from everything my strength and manhood seemed to have a right to demand. And with that thought came a recklessness upon me, greater even than I had felt before, almost, indeed, a feeling of devilry.
I had been questioning myself as to my motive in coming there at all; now I seemed to see it clearly. The woman now in the house was doubtless giving my uncle chapter and verse concerning my strange coming to life; left in her hands, I was as good as done for already. I felt sure that the first thought in Uncle Zabdiel's mind, if he realised the truth of what she said, would be one of deadly fear for his own safety; for he believed me reckless and steeped in wickedness, and he knew that I had no reason to love him. He would seek protection; and in seeking it would give me up to those who had the right to hold me.
Nor was this all. In giving me up he must perforce open a certain grave wherein lay poor Gregory Pennington, and show what that grave contained. He must drag that miserable story into the light, and must drag Debora into the light with it. I could see Uncle Zabdiel, in imagination, rubbing his hands, and telling the whole thing glibly, and making much of it; and I determined that Uncle Zabdiel's mouth must be closed.
If in no other fashion, then I felt that I must silence him by threats. I was an outlaw, fighting a lone hand in a losing cause; he would know at least that I was scarcely likely to be over-scrupulous in my dealing with him or anyone else. But the first thing to do was to get into the house.
Now, I knew the place well, of course, and, moreover, it will be remembered that in those night excursions of mine which had led to so much disaster I had been in the habit of coming and going without his knowledge. It seems to me that I was born to make use more of windows than of doors; but then, as you will have gathered by this time, I was never one for ceremony. On this occasion I recalled old times, and made my way to a certain window, out of which and into which I had crept many a night and many a morning. It was a window at the end of a passage which led to my own old room, in which for so many years I had slept. I got in in safety, and crept along the passage; and then, out of sheer curiosity, opened the door of that old room, and went in.
And then, in a moment, I was grappling in the semi-darkness with what seemed to be a tall man, who was buffeting me in the wildest fashion with his fists, and shrieking the very house down with a high, raucous voice. Indeed, he let off a succession of yells, in which the only words I could discover were, "Murder!" "Fire!" "Thieves!" and other like things. And all the while I fought for his mouth with my hands in the darkness, and threatened all manner of horrible things if he would not be silent.
At last I overmastered him, and got him on his back on the floor, and knelt upon him there, and glared down into his eyes, which I could see dimly by the light which came through the uncurtained window.
"Now, then," I panted, "if you want to live, be quiet. I can hear someone coming. If you say a word about me, I'll blow your brains out. I'm armed, and I'm desperate."
He assured me earnestly, as well as he could by reason of my weight upon him, that he would say not a word about me; and as I heard the steps coming nearer, I made a dart for the head of the old-fashioned bedstead, and slipped behind the curtains there. The next moment the room was filled with light, and I heard Uncle Zabdiel's voice.
"What's the matter? What's the matter? What the devil are you making all that bother about? I thought someone was murdering you."
Peering through a rent in the curtain, I could see that the man I had grappled with, and who now faced my uncle tremblingly, was a tall, ungainly youth, so thin and weedy-looking that I wondered he had resisted me so long. He was clad only in a long white night-shirt, which hung upon him as though he had been mere skin and bone; he had a weak, foolish face, and rather long, fair hair. He stood trembling, and saying nothing, and he was shaking from head to foot.
"Can't you speak?" snapped Uncle Zabdiel (and how well I remembered those tones!).
"I had—had the nightmare," stammered the youth. "Woke myself up with it, sir."
"I never knew you have that before," was my uncle's comment. "Get to bed, and let's hear no more of you. What did you have for supper?"
"Didn't have any supper," replied the youth. "You know I never do."
"Then it couldn't have been that," retorted Uncle Zabdiel. "Come, let's see you get into bed."
Now, the unfortunate fellow knew that a desperate ruffian was concealed behind the curtains of the bedstead; yet his dread of that ruffian was so great that he dared not cry out the truth. More than that, I saw that he dared not disobey my uncle; and between the two of us he was in a nice quandary. At last, however, with a sort of groan he made a leap at the bed, and dived in under the bedclothes and pulled them over his head. Without a word, Uncle Zabdiel walked out of the room, and closed the door, leaving us both in the dark. And for quite a long minute there was no sound in the room.
I began to feel sorry for the youth in the bed, because I knew what he must be suffering. I moved to come out into the room, and he gave a sort of muffled shriek and dived deeper under the clothes. I stood beside him, and I began to talk to him as gently as I could.
"Now, look here," I whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you if you keep quiet. Come out from under those clothes, and let me have a look at you, and tell me who you are."
Very slowly he came out from his refuge, and sat up in bed, and looked at me fearfully; and very ghostly he looked, with his fair hair, and his white face, and his white garment, against the dark hangings of the bed.
"I'm old Zabdiel Blowfield's clerk," he said slowly.
"Well, you're not a very respectful clerk, at all events," I retorted with a laugh, as I seated myself on the side of the bed. "And you don't look a very happy one."
"This ain't exactly a house to be happy in," he said. "It's grind—grind—grind—from morning till night, and nothing much to eat—and that not very good. And I'm growing so fast that I seem to need a lot more than what he does."
"I know," I responded solemnly. "I've been through it all myself. I was once old Zabdiel Blowfield's clerk, and I also had the misfortune to be his nephew."
"Oh, Lord!" The boy stared at me as though his eyes would drop out of his head. "Are you the chap that stole the money, and got chokey for it?"
I nodded. "I'm that desperate villain," I said, "and I've broken out of 'chokey,' as you call it, and have come back to revisit the glimpses of the moon. Therefore you see how necessary it was that Uncle Zabdiel should not see me. Do you tumble to that?"
He looked me up and down wonderingly, much as though I had been about eight feet high. "Old Blowfield told me about you when I first came," he said. "He said it would be a warning to me not to do likewise. But he put in a bit too much; he said that you were dead."
"He wanted to make the warning more awful," I suggested, for I did not feel called upon to give him an explanation concerning that most mysterious matter. "And don't think," I added, "that I am in any sense of the word a hero, or that I am anything wonderful. At the present time I've scarcely a coin in my pocket, and I don't know where I'm to sleep to-night. It's no fun doing deeds of darkness, and breaking prison, and all that sort of thing, I can assure you."
The youth shook his head dismally. "I ain't so sure of that," he said. "At any rate, I should think it would be better than the sort of life I lead. There's something dashing about you—but look at me!"
He spread out his thin arms as he spoke, and looked at me with his pathetic head on one side. I began to hate my uncle with fresh vigour, and to wonder when some long-sleeping justice would overtake him. For I saw that this boy was not made of the stuff that I had been made of; this was a mere drudge, who would go on being a drudge to the end of his days.
"What's your name?" I asked abruptly.
"Andrew Ferkoe," he replied.
"Well, Mr. Andrew Ferkoe, and how did you come to drop into this place?" I asked.
"My father owed old Blowfield a lot of money; and my father died," he said slowly.
"And you were taken in exchange for the debt," I said. "I think I understand. Well, don't be downhearted about it. By the way, are you hungry?"
"I'm never anything else," he replied, with a grin.
"Then we'll have a feast, for I'm hungry, too."
I started for the door, with the full determination to raid the larder; but he called after me in a frightened voice—
"Come back, come back!" I turned about, and looked at him. "He'll kill me if I take anything that doesn't belong to me, or have me locked up."
"Oh, he'll put it down to me," I assured the boy. "I'm going to interview him in the morning, and I'll see that you don't get into trouble."
I left him sitting up in bed, and I went out into the house, knowing my way perfectly, in search of food. I knew that in that meagre household I might find nothing at all, or at all events nothing worth having; but still, I meant to get something, if possible. I got down into the basement, and found the larder, and, to my surprise, found it better stocked than I could have hoped. I loaded my arms with good things, and started to make my way back to my old room.
And then it was that I saw Martha Leach and my uncle. The door of the room in which my uncle used always to work was opened, and the woman came out first. I was below, in an angle of the stairs leading to the basement, and I wondered what would have happened if they had known that I was there. Uncle Zabdiel, looking not a day older than when he had spoken to me in the court after my sentence, followed the woman out, bearing a candle in his hand. He had on an ancient dressing-gown, and the black skull cap in which I think he must always have slept—certainly I never saw him without it.
"I'm much obliged to you, my good woman," he said in a low voice—"much obliged to you, indeed, for your warning. It's upset me, I can assure you, to hear that the fellow's alive; but he shall be hunted down, and given back to the law."
I set my teeth as I listened, and I felt that I might be able to persuade Uncle Zabdiel to a different purpose.
"The difficulty will be to get hold of him," said Martha Leach. "I only heard the real story, as I have told you, from the lips of his fellow-prisoner—the man they call George Rabbit."
"Then the best thing you can do," said Uncle Zabdiel, touching her for a moment on the arm, "the wisest thing you can do, is to get hold of George Rabbit and send him to me. Tell him I'll pay him well; it'll be a question of 'set a thief to catch a thief.' He'll track the dog down. Tell him I'll pay him liberally—I'm known as a liberal man in my dealings."
While he went to the door to show the woman out, I crept round the corner of the stairs, and up to the room where I had left the boy. I found him awaiting me eagerly; it was pleasant to see the fashion in which his gaunt face lighted up when I set out the food upon the bed. He was so greedy with famine that he began to cram the food into his mouth—almost whimpering over the good things—before I had had time to begin.
We feasted well, sitting there in the dark; we were very still as we heard Zabdiel Blowfield pause at the door on his way upstairs, and listen to be sure that all was silent. Fortunately for us, he did not come in; we heard his shuffling feet take their way towards his own room.
"Safe for the night!" I whispered. "And now I suppose you feel better—eh?"
He nodded gratefully. "I wish I'd got your courage," he answered wistfully. "But when he looks at me I begin to tremble, and when he speaks I shake all over."
"Go to sleep now," I commanded him, "and comfort yourself with the reflection that in the morning he is going to do the shaking and the trembling for once. Bless your heart!" I added, "I was once like you, and dared not call my soul my own. I'll have no mercy on him, I promise you."
He smiled and lay down, and was asleep in no time at all. I had removed the dishes from the bed, meaning to take them downstairs so soon as I could be sure that Uncle Zabdiel was asleep. I sat down on a chair by the open window, and looked out into the night, striving perhaps to see some way for myself—some future in which I might live in some new and wholly impossible world.
Most bitterly then did I think of the girl who was lost to me for ever. My situation had not seemed to be so desperate while I carried the knowledge in my heart that she believed in me and trusted me; but now all that was past and done with. In the morning I must begin that fight with my ancient enemy as to whether I should live, or whether I should be condemned to that living death from which I had escaped; and I knew enough now, in this calmer moment, to recognise the cunning of the man with whom I must fight, and that the power he held was greater than mine.
Sitting there, I must at last have fallen asleep, with my head upon the window sill; it was hours later when I awoke. The dawn was growing in the sky, and the boy still slept heavily. I gathered up the dishes silently, and crept out of the room, and put them back in some disorder into the larder; for to the consumption of that meal I meant to confess solely on my own account. Then I began to mount the stairs again, to get back to the room I had left.
I heard a noise above me in the house, and I knew instinctively that my uncle had been roused, and was coming down. There was no chance for me to hide, and above all things I knew that he would search the place from top to bottom until he found the intruder. More than that, the inevitable meeting must take place at some time, and this time was as good as, if not better than, any other. So I mounted the stairs, until at last I saw him on a landing above me, standing in the grey light of the morning, with a heavy stick poised in his hands, ready to strike.
"It's all right, uncle," I said cheerfully, "I was coming to meet you."
He lowered the stick slowly, and looked at me for a moment or two in silence; then I heard him chuckle ironically.
"Good-morning, nephew," he said; "welcome home again!"