"No, sir, of course not!" He looked much happier.
"Zen put on zis waterproof of mine, so. Button it opp to ze chin. Ach, Himmel, zat is goot! Now mein friend, zis cap, so! button ze flap under ze chin! So, sehr goot, your mutter not know you now, hein!"
He looked in the glass and laughed aloud at his reflection. I took off my goggles and handed them to him. "Put on dose!" I said, "und dat is all!"
He obeyed me, and I almost shouted out in my delight, he looked so very like a man disguised.
"Now mein friendt, you can go!" said I.
"Where to, sir?" he enquired.
I gave him a handful of silver. "You take a cab," I began, "and you drive to ze Marble Arch, zere you get out, und you take a 'bus to Cricklewood, you mind dat?"
"Yes, sir."
"Vell, ven you come to ze Cricklewood terminus, you find a man zere vaiting for you—a big Sherman gentleman, like me. You say to him: "Doctor!" und he vill take you at once across a hill to his house, und he give you a small box! You bring that box back to me quick, und take care not to lose it—for it is vorth much geld—zat is money. You know now what you do? Hein?"
He assured me that he understood, and would follow my instructions to the letter, whereupon I dismissed him to his fate. In another moment I had changed my fang teeth for a more fashionable set, and ten minutes later I slipped out of the passage, locking my door behind me, as smart a dude as ever stepped from a Bond Street band-box. My facial disguise consisted of a monocle, a dark wig, black eyebrows, and a sweet little silky black moustache. I walked with mincing steps, and I screwed up my features till they looked as vacuous and expressionless as possible. I found on turning the corner that a gentleman, whose figure I recognized, was standing before the elevator door. For a second I went cold. "Had my decoy then failed of its purpose?" I asked myself. In a fever of anxiety I began to descend the stairs, straining my ears to listen. No signal bell rang—but I heard swift footfalls in the passage. In a flash I understood. Two of my three shadowers had followed the waiter, Clint, but the third had remained behind to watch my room. He would certainly be furnished with a master key, and within a minute, he would open my door and discover my escape. Moreover, he would know for certain whom he must thenceforth follow, for he had given me a sharp look as I passed him.
Instead of hurrying, however, I walked more leisurely than before. Three spies would have been too much for me, but one I did not care for. I felt confident I would elude him as soon as I pleased. As it transpired we reached the ground floor almost together, for he descended in the elevator. I took a good look at him, and marched to the street door. Beckoning to a porter, I directed him in mealy tones to fetch me a hansom. One stood already by the kerb, but instinct told me that it belonged to my spy. The porter blew his whistle, and a second hansom soon appeared. I threw the porter half a crown and sprang aboard. "Streeters', Bond Street!" I cried, and we were off. My mission was to dispose of my bank-notes; for well I knew that their numbers would be noted, and that the longer they remained in my possession the more certainly would they provide a clue to the ultimate establishment of my identity. On the other hand, to pay them into my bank would have been equivalent to making a present of my secret to my enemy. I would, it is true, lose something by the exchange, but I could well afford to pay handsomely for my security. My shadower followed me so closely, that I perceived he was no longer anxious to conceal his occupation. We alighted from our cabs within ten paces of each other, and he trod upon my heels as I entered the great jewellers. I had a mind to turn and offer him my arm. I bought two magnificent necklaces, and a long string of splendid brilliants under his very nose, paying therefore my £10,000, and receiving two hundred pounds in change. I then purchased a little brooch for twenty guineas. As we left the shop, I nodded kindly to my shadower, and advised him in an underbreath to be careful. He made no reply, but he gritted his teeth together in the manner of a bull-dog. He looked rather like a bull-dog too, in other respects. He had a long forehead, great heavy jaws, and little watchful eyes. The clocks were striking a quarter to six as we resumed our hansoms. I drove to the Alhambra Music Hall and purchased a stall. I then proceeded to Verrey's restaurant and ordered a first-rate dinner. My spy took a seat at my table without asking my permission, and we gazed at each other steadily while we discussed the meal. But while I ate roast pheasant, he partook of beef, and while I drank sparkling Burgundy, he absorbed a quart of bitter beer. I would have engaged him in conversation, for I am of a sociable disposition, and I bore him no ill-will, but the fact is, he was an extremely vulgar fellow, and if I had not been simply ravenous, his table manners must infallibly have destroyed my appetite. When I could eat no more, I bought from my waiter a sheet of note-paper, an envelope, and a lead pencil. I then smoked a cigar, and when eight struck, I drove to the theatre. My shadower secured a seat three rows behind me. I studied the programme, and discovered that the second succeeding item was to be a song dance performed by a lady named Pearl Glynn. I had never heard of her, but I know her class as well as any man that lives. Taking out my pencil and paper, I scratched the following epistle: "Dear Miss Glynn,—A humble adorer begs you to accept the enclosed, and to grant him a moment's interview, before your turn." I slipped this into the envelope together with the brooch I had bought at Streeters' for twenty guineas; I addressed it and beckoned to an usher. I gave it to him together with a wink and half a sovereign. He returned in ten minutes and begged me to follow him. I got up and glanced at my spy. He also got up, looking horribly uneasy. But I knew the theatre and he did not. I fancied I could hear him gnash his teeth, in impotent rage, to see his quarry escaping under his nose. As I approached the wing door leading to the stage and dressing rooms with my conductor, I took care not to lose sight of him. Oblivious of the comfort of those who obstructed him, he was toilfully climbing over empty fauteuils, or squeezing his way between rows of people in my wake. I feel sure that many of his victims thought him mad, but I heartily admired him for his energy and perseverance, and just before the door closed behind me, and upon him, I turned and kissed my hand to him in token of appreciation. I knew well what he would do. Finding he could not pass the door, he would turn and rush out of the theatre to wait for me at the stage-door in the other street. I stopped dead and addressed the usher.
"My man," said I, "I have changed my mind. I'll go back."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Just as you like, sir," he replied.
In fact, we immediately returned into the auditorium, and two minutes later, I had traversed the promenade, descended the stairs, and was running like a hare across Leicester Square; alone, alone!
A cab took me to Bruton Street, and nine o'clock had barely struck when I was once again plain Brown, Sir William Dagmar's discreet and faithful valet.
I have never been intoxicated in my life, but it is often wise to assume a virtue, though you have it not, as the old proverb advises.
It seemed good to me to be drunk just then, and better still, the nearer I approached my master's house. As I mounted the steps I reeled. It cost me eighty seconds of painful effort to find the keyhole. I did not, as it happens, use it even when found, for the door opened suddenly, and I staggered forward into Sir Charles Venner's arms. I had expected him to confront me, nevertheless, it shocked me to find my expectations realized, and to be convinced how tenaciously he had clung to his first suspicions. I picked myself up and stood before him, a swaying, blinking maudlin figure. With much circumstance and drunken gravity, I explained to him that I had buried my mother, and that to steady my nerves I had taken afterwards a single glass of wine, which must surely have been drugged. Sir Charles treated me as tenderly as any woman could have done. He pretended to believe my story, and he protested that the rascally landlord, who had drugged me, deserved richly to be prosecuted. He guided me to my bed-room, and assisted me to bed. He then declared that he would prepare me a reviving draught, and taking a tumbler from my dressing-table, he dissolved with water a couple of tiny white pillules, which mixture he persuaded me to drink. I knew his purpose, of course. He wished to search me. But I was in no wise alarmed nor unwilling, for I had left everything I possessed at Bruton Street, and my pockets contained only my keys, and half a handful of loose silver. Saying to myself: "Morphia!" I swallowed the draught, and even drained the glass. Within five minutes I was sleeping like the dead, whereupon Sir Charles Venner searched to his heart's content, poor man.
I awoke with a racking headache and an uneasy sensation that I had overslept myself. I sprang up and dipped my head into a basin of ice-cold water. That tranquillized the pain I suffered, yet my uneasiness continued, nay, it became intensified when I glanced at my watch, and saw that it was after nine o'clock. Very hastily I began to dress, but ere I came to my collar I paused and reflected. I am not a particularly introspective man, nor more than a skin-deep psychologist, but it was not a difficult thing to trace to its source the cause of my uneasiness. It patently derived its origin from the habits of servitude to which I had submitted myself during the last three months. There suddenly occurred to me to ask myself this question: "Agar Hume, how long will you permit such habits to persist?" I answered at once: "Why, a day or two, at most!"
The fact is, I was a rich man, and the pride of purse, the first pride I had ever experienced, was beginning to swell my head already.
In my room at Bruton Street I had almost five hundred pounds in cash, as well as jewels for which I had last night paid £9,800. I possessed, moreover, a credit balance at my bank of exactly one hundred and forty-two pounds. I considered therefore that it would be absurd for me to continue playing the lackey to my master for a beggarly eight pounds per month, when a sufficient capital was ready to my hands, with which, and one or two smiles of the fickle goddess, I could make myself a millionaire. I forthwith determined to quit Sir William Dagmar's service as soon as possible. Yes; that very morning I would leave! Why linger, when every day now spent in Curzon Street postponed my advancement in life, and perhaps wasted opportunities for self-aggrandisement that might never return. Such a course would certainly awaken and fortify Sir Charles Venner's suspicions, but what cared I for that. He could prove nothing against me, and, besides, I would soon be utterly beyond his reach. It was my idea to go to France; there realize upon my jewels, and with the proceeds speculate upon the Bourse. If I won, well and good! If I lost, also well and good, there was always England and the blackmailing business to fall back upon! My only regret in departing was contained in this fact. Although I had met with marvellous success in exploring the secrets of my master's ghastly society of consumptives, I had by no means plumbed all its depths. The mystery of the monthly dicing by the members for the £7,000 cheque was still unexplained, and I could not think of it without tasting something of the torture that afflicted Tantalus. It was not only curiosity that plagued me. I am a good workman and, like every other really conscientious artisan, it distresses me to see a job blotched or scamped for the lack of a little skill or perseverance. For that reason in particular I hated the thought of leaving any part of the task which I had set myself to perform unfinished. Nevertheless, I felt that I should be standing in my own light if I allowed personal vanity to prevent me from seizing the earliest opportunity to improve my fortunes.
"Yes; I'll go!" said I aloud at last; and I leisurely completed my toilet. I then packed into a bag my few belongings, and proceeded noiselessly downstairs, resolved to enjoy a last breakfast at my master's expense, and thereafter bid the place a long farewell. The house was very silent. Sir William's door was shut, and no one appeared to be awake. So much the better, thought I, and having arrived upon the ground floor, I pushed open the pantry door and entered.
To my surprise, Nurse Hargreaves was standing before the table, with her back to me, doing something; but what, I could not see. She had not heard my approach, that was evident, for she did not turn her head. The stove was ablaze and the kettle was merrily singing. Perhaps its song had drowned my footfalls.
"Making a poultice, nurse?" I asked, stepping forward.
She started at my voice and turned. I uttered a little cry, then with a curious heart thrill I caught my breath and paused, transfixed, overwhelmed! I looked not at Nurse Hargreaves, but into the eyes of Marion Le Mar.
"Ah!" she murmured, "you thought I was Nurse Hargreaves?"
"My name is Le Mar!" she went on, turning calmly to her work again. "Nurse Hargreaves has gone to another case. I have taken her place!"
She was just as beautiful, nay, rather more beautiful than ever, in spite of her expression of deep melancholy and the dark sleepless hollows that undercast her eyes. I watched her—dumbstricken, but with all my heart in the looks with which I worshipped her—and through the while I gladly wondered how for one instant I could have forgotten that incomparable woman. I had forgotten her! I had coldly purposed to leave England and her. But already that resolve was dead and buried. Not even to make myself a millionaire could I forego the rapture I discovered in gazing on her face; and to remain now, meant that I should dwell under the same roof!
I forgot my life governing maxim at that moment: "First person paramount!" I was the slave of a woman, who had never seen me in my proper person until then, and who seeing me at last had turned carelessly away, after one swift unlingering regard. It was a galling thought, but it possessed no influence except to wound. I loved her and I knew it. I knew besides that her heart was buried in a dead man's grave. And yet I, the most selfish wretch alive, there and then bowed my head to fate, and in sad humility determined to sacrifice my fortunes to the uncertain chance of serving her and the sure bliss of seeing her and breathing the air she breathed.
Life is a very marvellous affair, and so too is love. I have never professed to understand either. Therefore I shall make no pretence to explain nor even speculate upon my strange experience. I shall merely relate what passed as best I may.
Marion's interest in her occupation was sincere, but it did not prevent her mentally remarking on my silence. I saw her brows contract at length, and soon afterwards she spoke, but without looking up.
"You are Brown, I suppose?"
"Yes—at—at least," I stammered, "that is how Sir William Dagmar calls me."
"Indeed! What then is your name?"
"Agar Hume, madam."
She gave me a glance of nascent curiosity, and asked me to pour some boiling water in a bowl. I complied, and she prepared to leave the room. Her poultice was made.
"Pardon me," I said. "How is Sir William this morning?"
"Still very low, although sensible. His crisis is past, however, and Sir Charles Venner feels confident he will recover."
"Thank you!" I bowed gravely. "Permit me, madam, to relieve you of that burden."
"Please do not trouble."
"Madam, pardon me, but I insist!"
She raised her eyebrows, but she gave me the bowl. I read her thoughts; they said: "This valet has borrowed manners from his master. He might almost pass for a gentleman."
My cheeks burned. I followed her upstairs and into my master's room.
Sir William Dagmar was awake. He looked a mere skeleton, and his transparent face was as white as the coverlid.
He greeted me with a wan smile and a hoarse whisper: "It is good to see you again, Brown," he muttered. "It proves to me that I am on the mend."
I took his feeble hand and pressed it gently. At the bottom of my heart I really liked the man. "You must make haste and get well, sir," I said softly. "The world grows impatient for your book."
Ah! vanity! Sir William's cheeks flushed, and a warm light flashed into his deep thoughtful eyes. "I'll not keep it waiting a minute longer than I can help!" he cried. But at that Marion stepped forward and compelled me from the room.
It was a keen pleasure to prepare her breakfast. I gave her the things that I myself liked best, and half an hour later it fed my vanity to watch her eat. I waited upon her, but she did not speak to me throughout the meal. Nurse Hargreaves had once insisted upon my sitting down with her to table. But somehow I preferred to serve Marion as a flunkey, rather than dine with any other woman in the world.
Presently she gave me instance of her spirit. Mr. Sefton Dagmar entered the room when she had almost finished.
"Ah, Brown!" said he, "I'm late as usual. Good morning, Miss Le Mar; you are looking rather pale. Did the old buck give you a bad night?"
The vacuous puppy! Marion blushed and her eyes glittered.
"Do you refer to your uncle?" she asked in freezing tones.
"Well, now," he replied with a leer of admiration, "who else would you suppose? Much better have taken my tip and gone with me to a music-hall, my dear. You are too doocid pretty a girl to be tied up by a sick bed. Waste of charms, and all that sort of thing."
Marion arose from her chair, and with a curling lip, swept out of the room. I darted forward to open the door for her, but she passed me in disdain, without a glance. Mr. Sefton Dagmar laughed loud and long. But I was mad with him, and malice prompted me to cut his laughter short.
"Sir," said I, "have you seen Sir William this morning?"
"No!" he cried, "have you?"
"Yes—he has rounded the corner. He is sensible again, and Sir Charles Venner declares that he is on the high road to recovery!"
"Hell and curses!" gasped Mr. Dagmar. "Is that true?"
"Too true!" I heaved a sigh, but in truth his despairing rage had thoroughly delighted me. He had insulted Marion.
"What in blazes am I to do?" he muttered, pushing his plate aside with savage gesture. His appetite had incontinently vanished.
"If I were you, sir," I ventured gently, "I should return at once to Newhaven. If your uncle knew you were here, who knows what he might say?"
"Be damned if I do!" he snapped. "It may be only a flash in the pan. Curse me, if I don't go up and have a look at the old boy myself."
I began to protest at once, but he hurled an oath at my head and rushed out. Desperation had lent him a rat's courage. I followed quickly, but he was already in the sick-room before I reached the door. There I paused and silently surveyed the scene. Marion, as though conscious that her patient would dislike to see his visitor, had swiftly interposed herself between Mr. Sefton and the bed, and by signs she now forbade the young man to advance.
Sir William was asleep.
"Kindly stand aside," muttered Mr. Sefton Dagmar; "I intend to see my uncle, and you won't prevent me!"
"Another time," whispered Marion, whose eyes were simply ablaze. "You cannot see him now; he is asleep!"
What wild fancy possessed the young man I do not know. Perhaps the fool imagined that his uncle was dead, and that for some base, esoteric purpose Marion wished to hide his death. At all events, he suddenly stepped forward and thrust her brutally aside.
The noise of that scuffle, slight as it was, awakened the sick man. His eyes opened and he looked up to gaze upon his nephew's rage-distorted visage. "You here!" he gasped.
Mr. Sefton Dagmar turned grey. "I—I—I—hope—I hope you're feeling better, sir!" he stammered.
"Why are—you—in London?" whispered Sir William.
"I—I—your illness, sir."
"When did you come up?"
"Last night, sir," lied the nephew.
The uncle closed his eyes, and appeared to reflect. A moment passed and then very silently he opened them again. "Marion!" he said.
She stepped to his side. She still seemed greatly agitated.
"Make him go!" whispered the sick man very faintly. "Make him leave my house at once. Tell Brown!"
The words died in a sigh. He closed his eyes once more and to all appearances he slept.
Marion turned to Mr. Sefton Dagmar with the imperial manner of a queen.
"You heard, sir!" she said coldly.
The young man for a moment made no reply; then he broke into a snarling stream of words.
"I see how it is," he hissed. "You are using your infernal prettiness to cheat me out of my inheritance. I've heard of your sort before. 'Marion' he called you—'Marion!' Perhaps you've wormed a will out of him already. Perhaps you want to marry him on his death bed! Oh! I know your sort. Of course, you'd like to turn me out of the place neck and crop; I might interfere with your precious scheming, hey? But I'm not going to let you fleece me. Not much. Here I am, and here I stay! Do your damndest——"
What further insults the vulgar ruffian might have heaped upon the beautiful woman he confronted I cannot guess. But at that juncture Marion threw me a glance of passionate entreaty, and my heart leaped to answer her appeal.
In another second I had him by the throat, and in still another I had hurled him sheer across the room and through the door. Before he could arise I was at his throat again. No man was ever nearer death than he, for I am physically strong, and at that while I was fairly lunatic with passion.
It was Sir Charles Venner that saved his life. The surgeon, who, it seems, had possessed himself some time since of my master's latch-key, entered silently in the midst of the fracas, and he pulled me from my already black-faced prey.
I got to my feet, shaking like a leaf, and hardly conscious where I was. My master's door was shut, and Marion stood against it, her two great eyes burning out of her sheet-white face. She too was trembling violently.
"What is all this?" demanded Sir Charles, stirring the insensible Sefton Dagmar with his foot.
"Brown is not to blame," muttered the girl. "Sir William ordered him to make Mr. Dagmar leave the house. He—he had forced his way into the sick-room!" She gave me once more an appealing glance, as though asking me to substantiate her story. "That—that is all!" she concluded with a sob.
"Mr. Dagmar resisted me," I added quickly. "He made a dreadful scene in the sick room. Upon my soul, sir, I believe he wished to kill his uncle!"
Sir Charles nodded. "Not unlikely," he remarked indifferently enough. "Carry the blackguard downstairs, Brown. Now, Marion, by your leave I'll see my patient."
They disappeared, and I, stooping, lifted young Dagmar in my arms and carried him below. When he recovered he gave me a look of murderous malignity, got silently to his feet, and staggered to his room. Ten minutes later he departed from the house without sparing a word to me or any other there. I was glad to see his back, for although I bore him no ill-will, I had no longer any manner of use for him.
Sir Charles Venner soon afterwards was good enough to pay a visit to my pantry.
"Was that Mr. Dagmar who went out a while ago?" he demanded.
"Yes, Sir Charles."
"Did he take his traps?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't admit him again, Brown. He has upset your master very much. By the way, I am pleased with you Brown; you acted very properly. You need not repay me the money that I lent you, my man. I wish you to keep it as a little present—from me."
"Oh, sir!" I cried, "I could not think of doing that. I shall always be indebted to you by the memory of your kindness and glad to be, Sir Charles. But you must let me pay you back the money."
"Well, well; I'm not sure but what I like you the better for that spirit, Brown. Yet I think you are a fool."
"It is the way I was made, sir," I murmured apologetically. "Thank you kindly all the same."
He nodded and left. His suspicions were dead, that was evident. I thought it very funny, but I was less pleased than I might have been. My unwavering run of success, God knows why, was beginning to give me a Dead Sea flavour in the mouth. Perhaps Marion had something to do with it. Indeed, I could not drive her from my thoughts, except to con my own rascality. Whereon this wonder speedily arose: what would she think of me if she could know?
At about eleven o'clock she appeared in the door armed with her inevitable bowl. "I must make another poultice!" she announced.
I begged her to take a seat and direct me. She was so weary that it was easy to persuade her. And thus I entered upon her service and became a nurse.
She spoke never a word of that which had happened over stairs, but I thought I detected in her bearing a growing, if melancholy, tolerance, and perhaps some small faint trace of interest in myself. At any rate, she watched me at her work, and that was something benedictive to my mind. Silent was her mood, however, and silence suited her. It ever seemed a pity that speech should be allowed to mar the perfect calm of her reposeful countenance—until she spoke—when instantly one lost regret in wonder at the new and unexpected graces so called into existence.
During the next few days the world dealt kindly with our household. Sir William's strength very gradually improved; Marion relaxed a little of her habitual sadness, and as for me, I had never been so happy in my life. I only left the house on one occasion, in order to convey my valuables from Bruton Street to the bank. After that was done, I felt minded never to quit Curzon Street again so long as our then manner of living might continue. I spent my time between the sick room and the pantry; relieving Marion of every trouble that I could, and waiting on her with the noiseless patience of a shadow. In this I was wise, without other intention than to please her. My silence began to appeal to her imagination even more than my ceaseless studied courtesies. And in this behalf I would remark my faith that no woman lives, howso preoccupied with grief or other interests, who can long remain impervious to persistently considerate devotion. I often caught her watching me with grave, inquiring eyes. On such occasions it was I, not she, who exhibited confusion. I could not act to her. Sometimes feeling her power I grew quite terrified. Did she study me? I wondered, and what was her opinion? I was soon to know.
One evening Sir William dropped into a deep slumber far sooner than his wont. The room adjoining his I had converted from a dressing-chamber into a boudoir for Marion's convenience; and there she had become accustomed to retire, when circumstances permitted, to rest and dream perhaps, within his call. There it was I found her, replying to the summons of her bell.
"You rang, madam?" I asked in a low voice. She was reclining in a lounge. She had discarded her nurse's costume for a wrapper, and she looked the better for it; more softly lovely and more human, too, I think.
She pointed to a chair. "Will you not talk to me a while?" she asked. "I feel lonely to-night."
I felt my face burn as I bowed and sat down—upon her bidding. I could hardly credit my good fortune, and I lacked breath to reply.
"You have been very good to me," she murmured. "Why was it, Brown?"
Still I could not reply. I dared not even look at her.
She did not, however, appear to notice my confusion, or else my eyes played false. Her voice was just as even as it wandered on at the impulse of her rambling fancy, as I thought.
"I have been thinking, Brown, that you were not born a servant," she said quietly. "Will you tell me if I guessed aright?"
No prescience warned me of a snare. Had any other woman asked me such a question I should have smiled and lied, knowing well that woman's deepest policy is to persuade with flatteries. But Marion questioned, and I answered from my heart.
"My father was a gentleman by birth, madam."
"Ah!" she sighed. "He met with some unhappiness, no doubt?"
"He lies in a pauper's grave. He was a great musician."
"And have you inherited his talent?"
"I play the flute and violin indifferently well, madam."
"And you are educated too, for I have marked your speech?"
"My father did his best for me, madam, though I was slow, I fear, to learn. He was the wisest man, and yet the most unfortunate, whom I have ever known."
"Some day I may ask you to give me his history."
She sighed again, and for a time was silent, but at length she fixed her eyes upon my face and said: "You have a foreign 'air,' monsieur; I, who am French, as you certainly must have guessed, have marked it. Is it possible that your father was my countryman?"
"He had not that honour, mademoiselle."
She gave a little frown. "And yet your name, Hume—I think you said it might be French?"
"No, mademoiselle; but my mother was a Parisienne. That will account to you perhaps for the foreign 'air' you have marked in me."
She nodded her head, and half closing her eyes she began in a low voice of melting sweetness to hum to the tune of a famous little chansonette, whose refrain is inexpressibly mournful and pathetic, Maeterlinck's exquisite little poem, "Et s'il revenait un jour!"
Knowing well the sadness in her which the sadness of her song expressed, I felt my heart ache and my eyes grew strangely blurred.
Of a sudden she stopped and, leaning forward, gave me a look which seemed to reveal a longing to be comforted.
"Ah, sir!" she said in French. "I see you have a heart that might vibrate to woman's tears. And yet you cannot know how sad I am, how very, very miserable!"
And as she gazed at me her eyes overflowed with two such tears as she had spoken of.
There are times when a passion of insensate anger seizes me to look back upon my folly. Ah! woman's wiles, woman's wiles! The greatest and the least of us have been their victims. And who am I to rave of my undoing, when a Sampson, a Nelson, and even a Napoleon, that man of iron, shared my fate.
But I was blind, blind! Pierced by the sight of those tears to the very fibres of my being, I sprang up, then falling on my knee before her, I seized and passionately kissed her hand.
"Mademoiselle, you spoke justly," I cried in French. "Here is a heart that only beats to serve you, without seeking, ay, even without desiring a reward, except that which you must give me of your pleasure or without, when I shall see upon your face some promise of your happiness repaired!"
The glance of involuntary horror that she gave me, and the swift withdrawal of her hand from my embrace, should have warned me of my fatuous self-betrayal. But there is no limit to the errors of a truly clever mind astray in seeking to retrieve itself. I thought that I had angered her in venturing to hint that her disease of sorrow might be cured.
"Pardon me," I pleaded earnestly, "I have offended you with words. If any part of me could so offend, that member I would straightaway destroy."
She looked at me more kindly, and even now I believe that she was touched by the sincerity and singleness of my devotion.
"Rise, monsieur!" she murmured with an effort. "I thank you for your sympathy, but it is not seemly that you kneel to me."
I obeyed, and at her nod resumed my chair. She closed her eyes, and for a long period was deathly still. Her lovely face was extraordinarily pallid and she scarcely seemed to breathe. Then I thought her in the throes of reawakened grief for Cavanagh's death, and my pain to watch her was intense. Now I know that in her silence she was struggling with herself. Or rather that pity in her, a woman's unfailing pity for a loving being, however wretchedly unworthy of compassion, was striving to silence her ideas of duty.
At last her eyes opened and she looked at me. Her regard was mysteriously wistful, cold, and it seemed to me a little self-ashamed. Indeed, she faintly blushed.
"Sir William Dagmar does not know that you can speak French!" she murmured. "You have deceived him, monsieur! That is wrong. I think that you should go away."
Thrice triple fool I was. Her pity had cajoled her conscience and she was offering me a chance to escape. I, in my infatuation, only thought that she chided me for my deceit.
"Ah! mademoiselle," I muttered. "It is true that I deceived him, but when I did so I was penniless and starving. I pray you from my soul that you will not bid me leave you nor inform Sir William Dagmar of my sin."
"You do not wish to go?"
"Mademoiselle!" I cried, "not though it were to Paradise assured!"
She blushed deeply, nevertheless her eyes hardened and she frowned. She was doubtless thinking—
"He has had his opportunity. His fate henceforth must be upon his own head! I wash my hands of it!"
I dreamed she was offended at my too ardent gaze. I lowered my eyes at once in sad humility.
"Stay then!" she said, and her voice assumed a tone of witching tenderness.
I looked up in quick delight to meet a dazzling smile. With such a smile Judith lured Holofernes to destruction. But it needed not that with me; I was destroyed already.
"My friend," she said, and she extended me her hand. "I thank you for your company, but, alas! the hours speed, and I have much to do. Good night!"
I tried to reply, but I could not. She permitted me to kiss her hand, however, and even smiled again. I left the room in a delirium of happiness, poor fool, and not one of my enraptured dreams that night disclosed to me the precipice upon whose brink I stood.
The days that followed were over full of strange, untried experiences for me to properly describe them. Marion was by my side whenever chance allowed. But every hour she showed to me a different mood, a varied and elusive distortion of her inmost self; so that I came to wonder more and more whether I knew truly aught of her except that she was beautiful in all her moods, and that I loved her irretrievably. One moment she was sad and steeped in cold unbending gloom. The next she was a gay companion, chattering of this and that as lightly and as brightly as a bird on sunlit bough. Again she was both grave and friendly at a time, and we conversed together of men, and books, and serious philosophies like two grey-haired, sober-minded savants. Sometimes, yet more infrequently, she forced upon me quarrels in caprice, to give her opportunity to scorch me with her scorn. And yet, again, more rarely still, she led me on with shy, alluring glances, or even bolder looks, provocative of passion, to woo her as I could; whereon, her will too readily achieved, she swiftly changed from melting fire to ice, and I was left in agonized confusion, swung like Mahommed's coffin between despair and hope.
So another week elapsed, and a third began. My master's life no longer stood in any danger, and his health and strength slowly but steadily improved. Sir Charles Venner still paid him daily visits, but they were more to satisfy the claims of friendship than of need. The great surgeon had always a smile and kindly word for me. It seemed that his suspicions had long ago been utterly eradicated, and that a liking had usurped their place. Sometimes I wondered if his penetrating insight had remarked my love for Marion. But he was far too profound an enigma for me to solve; and in any case Marion engrossed my life and mind so utterly that I had neither room nor inclination for any other problem. A sort of madness had come over me. Apart from her I dreamed; standing, sitting, or reclining as the case might be, idle and immovable as stone. I awoke to look upon her face, or listen to her voice, on instant a creature of pulsating passion; yet her humble and devoted slave, responding to her slightest will, as swiftly and obediently as a needle to the pole. And slowly but surely hope grew stronger in my breast. A thin wild hope it was at first, the veritable offspring of despair. But fostered by my passion and her wayward moods, it developed force and form, and I could at last no more deny it place in my imaginings. I hoped to win her. Yes; I hoped to win her! There were times when I forgot the gulf dug between us by her purity and my too criminal unworthiness, and I remembered only that she was a woman and I a man. The law of sex is hard to supersede. It recognizes neither morals nor conventions. It despises ethical distinctions, and it laughs with love at every human effort to confine its boundaries. At its command I began not only to hope, but to aspire. One morning Marion came to me and said: "Monsieur, Sir Charles Venner, who has just departed, has ordered me to take a holiday to-morrow. He says that I am looking pale, and that I need a little open air and sunshine. I think that he is wise, and I shall comply with his command!"
"But," I stammered, for the thought of losing her even for a day was a torture hardly to be borne, "what of Sir William Dagmar? How will he get on without you?"
"Sir Charles has promised to send another nurse this evening, who will take my place."
"I trust, mademoiselle, that you—that you will enjoy yourself," I muttered in a trembling voice. "The house will be dull without you, though—for me."
She gave me a swift, shy glance, then cast down her eyes, folding and unfolding her hands before her.
"How could I enjoy myself—do you think—alone?" she whispered. "It will be a sad day also for me."
"Let me go with you," I blurted out. "I am not needed here. Ah! I am mad to dream that you would condescend so far. Forgive me of your pity, and forget the insolence of my presumption!"
But she clapped her hands and laughed as blithely as a child. "Will you come?" she cried. "But that will be magnificent. Ah! let us see!" She darted across the room and perched herself upon the dresser. "Come here, monsieur, quite close to me. Nay, not too close. So! Now we shall plan our day. At sunrise we shall wake and dress, and we shall have an early breakfast here, so as not to waste a single moment of our day, our day!"
I gazed at her as a Peri might at Paradise, and she rippled on.
"Afterwards we shall drive to the station, and take a train to somewhere in the country, where we may wander through green fields and flower-scattered meadows, hand in hand like children. Shall we not, monsieur?"
I nodded, lost in a perfect dreamland of delight.
"But, no!" she cried quite suddenly. "It is beautiful, that picture, yet not so beautiful as this. Listen, monsieur—but you can row a boat, of course."
I nodded again.
"Then, listen! We shall go by train to Hampton, and there we shall take boat. The river is most lovely thereabouts, and you shall slowly row me up the stream towards Staines and Windsor through the hottest hours; slowly, slowly past the green-lawned banks and pretty houses, and among the darling little osier islets. And as you row I'll sing. And we'll forget our cares and open wide our hearts to the sunshine and to happiness without an afterthought. And when the noon comes we shall eat our lunch upon an island; a merry interlude between two golden dreams. For afterwards we'll float upon our way again. And when the day is done and twilight falls we shall land at the loveliest place of all. I know it well. It is an old, old park garden, thick planted with many great solemn trees. A private park, but lonely, for the house is haunted, so they say. And there I shall lead you by the hand into a little marble, many pillared temple, open to the stars, wherein a tiny spring is born within a pool, a wishing well. And you shall look therein and I, and we shall see fresh mirrored on its surface—the faces of our loves. Shall we do all this, monsieur?"
I could but bend my head, for her siren voice had woven round my faculties a spell of charmed silence, and not one of Circe's victims was ever more powerless than I was then. When I looked up she had gone. How I lived through that day and night I scarcely know. I can in fact remember nothing clearly of the hours that followed until the moment came when I saw her seated before me in the boat, the rudder lines slipping slowly through her folded hands. It was early in the morning of an absolutely perfect day. Of the river, the witching scenery, I knew but noted little, for I looked only upon her face. She was simply and yet elegantly clad in some rich clinging stuff of purest white; her loveliness it is beyond me to portray. But this I know—she seemed to love me, and her mood was yielding and submissive to the point of tenderness. Very generously did she fulfil her promise. As I rowed, she sang to me the sweetest songs of France, and Italy, and love songs all. It was indeed a rapturous, golden dream. When at times she ceased to sing we neither of us spoke, but gazed silently into each other's eyes, until the music in her woke to song again.
We came at noon to the pretty little island she foretold; and I made her sit upon a rug while I prepared our lunch. It was strange indeed how truly all her prophesies came true. The lunch was a very merry interlude. We both ate heartily, and we pledged each other often in champagne. Afterwards we started on our way again, and only when we came upon a lock did I remember that there was a world of living people near us. So slow and idle was our journeying that twilight had already fallen as we passed by Staines. About that time I noticed that Marion maintained a longer silence than her wont, and a little later I felt a sudden thrill to see her shivering. She was looking over the side of the boat, gazing sadly on the rippled surface of the stream.
"Are you cold, dear one?" I asked, and I paused to watch her, leaning on the sculls.
She shook her head.
"Then you shivered at a thought," I ventured. "Please to tell me what it was?"
"I thought of death," she said, and turning, looked into my eyes. Her own were alight with a rich sombre glow.
"Of death! and why of death—to-day?"
"Death, Agar, my friend," she answered—she had named me so since morning,—"is never long a stranger from my thoughts."
"What! and you so young, so beautiful," I cried.
"It is because I fear death, Agar. I have seen him in a thousand forms, and each form was more dreadful than the last. There are some who grow familiar with his face and finish by despising him. I, on the contrary, fear him more and more. But you, my friend, how do you regard him?"
"I have never asked myself the question."
"Then ask it now!"
"A morbid fancy, Marion!"
"Yet humour me, my friend; I wish to know."
To me her eyes seemed passionately curious, and I marvelled at her mood. But I answered gravely.
"I neither despise nor fear him, Marion. When in the press of time he calls for me, I shall bow to the inevitable with what dignity I can."
"I think you are a brave man, Agar," she replied. "You must be indeed, yet it is a thing that puzzles me."
"Why?" I questioned with a smile.
"Because a brave man should be honest too, and you are not."
"You are remembering the deceit I practised on Sir William Dagmar?"
"Yes; and other happenings."
"What else?"
"I am remembering the night my lover died!" She bent a little forward as she spoke, and her eyes burned into mine. I caught my breath, and I felt my hand gripped as with a hand.
"You bore me from the room of death," she proceeded in a tense passionate whisper, "and you laid me down upon my bed, and then you kissed my brow. I did not know you at the time, for you were very cunningly disguised—but now I know."
It never occurred to me to deny, or even to demand the origin of her discovery. Indeed, incredible as it may appear, I experienced some sort of delight to learn that she was thoroughly acquainted with my villainy. Quick as a flash I said to myself: "She knows, and yet she has not turned from me. It must be that she loves!"
"I believed that you were utterly insensible," I gasped.
She sighed and leaned back in her seat. A long silence fell between us. My thoughts were in a tangled whirl. I could not grasp the skein of them, and I seemed to be plucking helplessly after a dozen elusive phantom-like ideas.
At last I heard her say: "It was for me he died, Agar!" She was alluding to the dead man, George Cavanagh, and her tones were full of bitterness.
I waited with my eyes upon her averted face. "He died in vain," she went on presently. "Ah, but doubtless you already know."
"Nothing!" I muttered. "Nothing."
"He was ruined," she said sadly, "and he wished his death to profit me—with money. Money! As if money could atone!"
"Then he was dishonest too, as well as I," I muttered, trying hard to smoothe all triumph from my tones.
She uttered a low moan of pain, and wrung her hands together. "No, no," she wailed. "He wished to be perhaps, but I gave the money back to them."
"I am glad of that," I cried.
She threw at me a look of fiery scorn. "You!" she hissed; "you! Get to your work and row."
In mournful humility I immediately obeyed, and we glided on our way again. For a long while I dared not look at her, and when I dared I could not see for the dark. But I knew that she was weeping, and though I longed to comfort her, I set my teeth and kept resolutely to my work, rowing hard in an effort to forget. It was she who interrupted me. I saw her white figure start suddenly erect.
"Stop!" she cried; "we have passed the place. Go back!"
I put the boat about, and slowly we returned. Soon at her word I shipped the sculls and allowed the craft to drift. The silence afterwards was full of brooding melancholy. The long, dark shadows on the river were interspersed with flecks of shapeless mist, which fancy shaped to spirit forms, and ghostly arms outstretched to beckon or to wave forbiddingly. How Marion fared I cannot guess, but I was wretched and sunk deep in gloom. It was a miserable ending to so glorious a day, and my heart ached strangely as I thought of it, although I did not reckon all my pain until I found relief at last in her command to seek the shore. We landed upon a long green sloping bank, fringed heavily with willows, to one of which I moored the boat. She left me at that occupation, and slowly climbed the bank. But her white dress shone out through the shadows of the grove, and soon I stood before her. She laid her hand upon my lips and drew me then into a very gloomy little dell entirely girt with trees. I wondered vaguely at her action and her cautious silence, yet as always I obeyed her wish, and waited on her mood.
For a moment she kept very still, and then she put her hands upon my breast.
"You love me," she said simply.
I clasped my hands on hers and answered, "Yes."
"How much?" she whispered—very low.
"More, Marion, than life."
"And you respect me?"
"More reverently than death."
"What do you wish of me?"
"Your love!"
"What will you give for it?"
"All that I can."
"And will you suffer for it? What?"
"All that you ask."
"Then kiss me, Agar."
I bent my head and pressed my lips to hers. Her lips were very cold. But the contact set my blood on fire and I caught her in my arms, and strained her to my breast. She shivered in my clasp and deeply sighed, but I rained hot kisses on her cheeks, and eyes, and lips passionately, striving to warm her with my passion, for I knew that she was cold, and unresponsive too, in spite of her surrender.
But of a sudden she tore herself from my embrace and fled. I caught her on a stretch of lawn and held her close again. To my dismayed astonishment she was weeping wildly. I kissed the tears away and frantically implored her for their reason. And yet she would do nought but sob, and gaze around her like one distraught and terrified. "Oh, my God!" she cried at last; "I cannot, I cannot! I was mad to undertake this thing—mad—mad!"
"What thing, my sweetheart?" I demanded in amazement.
For answer she threw herself into my arms and kissed me with all the passion of her soul, once, twice. Then drawing back, she caught my hand in one of hers, and with the other pointed towards the river, trembling violently the while. "Ask me nothing now," she panted; "but let us go—quickly, quickly. This place is haunted! See, I am half sick with terror."
I passed my arm about her waist and would have led her to the boat, but at that moment a short shrill whistle sounded from the willows, and was answered by two others from the wood. The first, however, had hardly pierced the air, when Marion uttered a frightful scream, and sank swooning at my feet.
I understood then that the woman I loved had in some fashion betrayed me. For one desperate second I stood listening for sounds and thinking of escape. Then anguish overwhelmed me. The transition from my paradise of beliefs to the hell of certainties was too rapid, for hope to spring readily therefrom, and I thought to myself—
"Let even death come, for what is there good in life when love is wrecked and ruined!"
Uttering a groan, I fell on my knee beside her, not knowing what I did, not caring what might happen.
Next instant I dimly heard a rush of feet upon the grass, a cry of rage from right to left. A sharp pain quivered through my brain. I saw a blaze of light that faded quickly into unalleviated blackness. I felt the world swing with a sickening revolution round, and then came sweet encompassing oblivion.