Brett drew a long breath and clasped his hands nervously together.
"I suppose you can set this man at liberty, upon my declaration that he is not John Darche, and after hearing his story," he said, turning to the police officer who stood near the sailor.
"Oh yes, sir," answered the latter. "I guess that will be all right. If not, we'll make it right in five minutes."
"Well then, I must ask you to go away for the present—and as quickly as possible. Take that with you, my man, and come and see me to-morrow morning. My name is Brett. The butler will write my address for you."
"I don't want your money, sir," said the sailor.
"Oh yes, you do," answered Brett, with a good-humoured smile. "Go and get your watch out of pawn and bring it with you."
"Very well, sir," said the sailor.
As they were going out, it struck Brett that he perhaps owed something to Mr. Brown who, after all, had taken a great deal of trouble in the matter.
"Mrs. Darche will be very much obliged to you, Brown," he said. "But I am not sure that the matter is ended. It would be awfully goodof you to put the thing through, while I break the news to Mrs. Darche. Could you not go along with them and see that the man is really set at liberty?"
Mr. Brown was a good-natured man, and was quite ready to do all that was asked of him. Brett thanked him once more, and he left the house with the rest.
When they were all gone, Stubbs came back, evidently very much relieved at the turn matters had taken.
"Please go into the drawing-room," said Brett, "and ask Mrs. Darche to come here one moment, if she can speak to me alone, and keep every one else out of the room. You understand, Stubbs."
"Yes, sir," answered the butler. "But it is the Lord's own mercy, sir, especially the watch." He left the room in search of Mrs. Darche.
Scarcely a moment elapsed before she entered the room.
"Stubbs said you wanted to see me," she said in a voice that shook with anxiety.
Brett came forward to meet her, and standing quite close to her, looked into her eyes.
"Something very strange has happened," he said, with a little hesitation. "Something—something very, very good—can you bear the shock of a great happiness, dear?"
"Happiness," she repeated. "What is it? Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "Oh! thank God, I see it in your eyes! It is not true? He is not here?—oh, Harry!"
"Yes. That is it. The whole story was only a fabrication. He is not here. You see I cannot let you wait a moment for the good news. It is so good. So much better even than I have told you."
"Better!" she cried as the colour rose to her pale cheeks. "What could be better? Oh, it is life, it is freedom—it is almost more than I can bear after this dreadful day!"
"But you must bear more," said Brett, smiling.
"More pain?" she asked with a little start. "Something else?"
"No. More happiness."
"Ah, no! There is no more!"
"Yes there is. Listen. There is a reason why the story could not be true, why it is absolutely impossible that it should be true."
"Impossible?" She looked up suddenly. "You cannot say that."
"Yes I can," he answered. "We have seen the last of John Darche. He will never come back."
"Never?" cried Marion. "Never at all? What do you mean?"
"Never, in this world," Brett answered gravely.
She seized his arm with sudden energy and looked into his face.
"What? No—it cannot be true! Oh, do not deceive me, for the love of Heaven!"
"John Darche is dead."
"Dead!" In the pause that followed, she pressed her hand to her side as though she could not draw breath.
"Oh! no! no—it cannot be true. It is another story. Oh, why did you tell me?"
"It is true. The man who was with him when he died was here a moment ago."
"Ah, you were right," she said faintly. "It is almost too much."
Brett's arm went round her and drew her towards him.
"No," he answered, speaking gently in her ear, "not too much for you and me to bear together. Think of all that has died with him—think of all the horror and misery and danger and fear that he has taken out of the world with him. Think that there is nothing now between you and me. Nothing—not the shadow of a nothing. That our lives are our own now, and each the other's, yours mine, mine yours, forever and always. Ah, Marion, dear, is that too much to bear?"
"Almost," she said as her head sank upon his shoulder. "Ah, God! that hell and heaven should be so near."
"And such a heaven! Love! Darling! Sweetheart! Look at me!"
"Harry!" She opened her eyes. "Love! No—find me other words for all you are to me."
She drew his face down to hers and their lips met.
ByF. Marion Crawford, author of "Children of the King," "Saracinesca," etc., etc. Uniform with the pocket edition ofWilliamWinter's Works. With photogravure portrait. 18mo, cloth, 75 cents.
"Mr. Crawford in the course of this readable little essay touches upon such topics as realism and romanticism, the use of dialect, the abuse of scientific information, the defects of historical fiction. Mr. Crawford's discussion of what does and what does not constitute the novel will be read with eager interest by the large company of his sincere admirers in this country."—Beacon.
"Mr. Crawford in the course of this readable little essay touches upon such topics as realism and romanticism, the use of dialect, the abuse of scientific information, the defects of historical fiction. Mr. Crawford's discussion of what does and what does not constitute the novel will be read with eager interest by the large company of his sincere admirers in this country."—Beacon.
"A sympathetic reader cannot fail to be impressed with the dramatic power of this story. The simplicity of nature, the uncorrupted truth of a soul, have been portrayed by a master-hand. The suddenness of the unforeseen tragedy at the last renders the incident of the story powerful beyond description. One can only feel such sensations as the last scene of the story incites. It may be added that if Mr. Crawford has written some stories unevenly, he has made no mistakes in the stories of Italian life. A reader of them cannot fail to gain a clearer, fuller acquaintance with the Italians and the artistic spirit that pervades the country."—M. L. B. inSyracuse Journal.
"A sympathetic reader cannot fail to be impressed with the dramatic power of this story. The simplicity of nature, the uncorrupted truth of a soul, have been portrayed by a master-hand. The suddenness of the unforeseen tragedy at the last renders the incident of the story powerful beyond description. One can only feel such sensations as the last scene of the story incites. It may be added that if Mr. Crawford has written some stories unevenly, he has made no mistakes in the stories of Italian life. A reader of them cannot fail to gain a clearer, fuller acquaintance with the Italians and the artistic spirit that pervades the country."—M. L. B. inSyracuse Journal.
Macmillan & Co.take pleasure in announcing that they have added the following volumes (with the author's latest revisions) to their uniform edition of the Works of Mr. F. Marion Crawford, thereby enabling them to issue a complete edition of all his novels:
A ROMAN SINGER. New Edition, revised and corrected.TO LEEWARD. PAUL PATOFF.AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN. New Edition, revised and partly rewritten.
"Mr. F. Marion Crawford is," as Mr. Andrew Lang says, "the most 'versatile and various' of modern novelists. He has great adaptability and subtleness of mind, and whether dealing with life in modern Rome or at the court of Darius at Shushan, in the wilds of India or in the fashionable quarter of New York, in the Black Forest or in a lonely parish of rural England, he is equally facile and sure of his ground; a master of narrative style, he throws a subtle charm over all he touches."
Children of the King.Don Orsino, A sequel to "Saracinesca" and "Sant' Ilario."The Three Fates.The Witch of Prague.Khaled.A Cigarette-maker's Romance.Sant' Ilario, A sequel to "Saracinesca."Greifenstein.With the Immortals.To Leeward.A Roman Singer.An American Politician.Paul Patoff.Marzio's Crucifix.Saracinesca.A Tale of a Lonely Parish.Zoroaster.Dr. Claudius.Mr. Isaacs.
Altogether an admirable piece of art worked in the spirit of a thorough artist. Every reader of cultivated tastes will find it a book prolific in entertainment of the most refined description, and to all such we commend it heartily.—Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.
"Greifenstein" is a remarkable novel, and while it illustrates once more the author's unusual versatility, it also shows that he has not been tempted into careless writing by the vogue of his earlier books.... There is nothing weak or small or frivolous in the story. The author deals with tremendous passions working at the height of their energy. His characters are stern, rugged, determined men and women, governed by powerful prejudices and iron conventions, types of a military people, in whom the sense of duty has been cultivated until it dominates all other motives, and in whom the principle of "noblesse oblige" is so far as the aristocratic class is concerned, the fundamental rule of conduct. What such people may be capable of is startlingly shown.—New York Tribune.
The author shows steady and constant improvement in his art. "Sant' Ilario" is a continuation of the chronicles of the Saracinesca family.... A singularly powerful and beautiful story.... Admirably developed, with a naturalness beyond praise.... It must rank with "Greifenstein" as the best work the author has produced. It fulfils every requirement of artistic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive in human action, without owing any of its effectiveness to sensationalism or artifice. It is natural, fluent in evolution, accordant with experience graphic in description, penetrating in analysis, and absorbing in interest.—New York Tribune.
It is a touching romance, filled with scenes of great dramatic power.—Boston Commercial Bulletin.
It is full of life and movement, and is one of the best of Mr. Crawford's books.—Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.
The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has Mr. Crawford done more brilliant realistic work than here. But his realism is only the case and cover for those intense feelings which, placed under no matter what humble conditions, produce the most dramatic and the most tragic situations.... This is a secret of genius, to take the most coarse and common material, the meanest surroundings, the most sordid material prospects, and out of the vehement passions which sometimes dominate all human beings to build up with these poor elements scenes and passages, the dramatic and emotional power of which at once enforce attention and awaken the profoundest interest. —New York Tribune.
If considered only as a semi-love story it is exceptionally fascinating, but when judged as a literary effort it is truly great.—Home Journal.
Under an unpretentious title we have here the most brilliant novel, or rather romance, that has been given to the world for a very long time.—The American.
No story of human experience that we have met with since "John Inglesant" has such an effect of transporting the reader into regions differing from his own. "Mr. Isaacs" is the best novel that has ever laid its scenes in our Indian dominions.—The Daily News.
A work of unusual ability.... It fully deserves the notice it is sure to attract.—The Athenæum.
A story of remarkable freshness and promise, displaying exceptional gifts of imagination.—The Academy.
An interesting and attractive story, and in some directions a positive advance upon "Mr. Isaacs."—New York Tribune.
"Dr. Claudius" is surprisingly good, coming after a story of so much merit as "Mr. Isaacs." The hero is a magnificent specimen of humanity, and sympathetic readers will be fascinated by his chivalrous wooing of the beautiful American countess.—Boston Traveller.
The novel opens with a magnificent description of the march of the Babylonian court to Belshazzar's feast, with the sudden and awful ending of the latter by the marvelous writing on the wall which Daniel is called to interpret. From that point the story moves on in a series of grand and dramatic scenes and incidents which will not fail to hold the reader fascinated and spell-bound to the end.—Christian at Work.
The field of Mr. Crawford's imagination appears to be unbounded.... In "Zoroaster" Mr. Crawford's winged fancy ventures a daring flight.... Yet "Zoroaster" is a novel rather than a drama. It is a drama in the force of its situations and in the poetry and dignity of its language, but its men and women are not men and women of a play. By the naturalness of their conversation and behavior they seem to live and lay hold of our human sympathy more than the same characters on a stage could possibly do.—The Times.
It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief and vivid story.... It is doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, as well as thoroughly artistic in its nice balancing of the unusual with the commonplace, the clever juxtaposition of innocence and guilt, comedy and tragedy, simplicity and intrigue.—Critic.
His highest achievement, as yet, in the realms of fiction. The work has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make it great,—that of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of giving a graphic picture of Roman society in the last days of the Pope's temporal power.... The story is exquisitely told.—Boston Traveller.
One of the most engrossing novels we have ever read.—Boston Times.
Now this is brought out in this little story with the firmness of touch, a power and skill which belong to the first rank in art.... We take the liberty of saying that this work belongs to the highest department of character painting in words.—Churchman.
"Marzio's Crucifix" is another of those tales of modern Rome which show the author so much at his ease. A subtle compound of artistic feeling, avarice, malice, and criminal frenzy is this carver of silver chalices and crucifixes.—The Times.
"The Witch of Prague" is so remarkable a book as to be certain of as wide a popularity as any of its predecessors. The keenest interest for most readers will lie in its demonstration of the latest revelations of hypnotic science.... But "The Witch of Prague" is not merely a striking exposition of the far-reaching possibilities of a new science; it is a romance of singular daring and power.—London Academy.
The story is powerful; it is pervaded by fine poetic feeling, is picturesque to a remarkable degree, and the local color is extraordinary in its force and truth. Of the many admirable contributions to the literature of fiction that Mr. Crawford has made, this book is, on the whole, the most artistic in construction and finish, and the thorough artist is apparent at every stage of the story. His plot is intensely dramatic, but he has never permitted it to sway him to the extent of slighting any of the more minute details under the impulse of merely telling what he has to tell. He holds his theme firmly in hand and controls instead of being controlled by it. The characters have been drawn with the greatest care and stand out in bold relief and fine contrast. The atmosphere of the East is in every page, in every utterance.—Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.
Throughout the fascinating story runs the subtlest analysis, suggested rather than elaborately worked out, of human passion and motive, the building out and development of the character of the woman who becomes the hero's wife and whose love he finally wins being an especially acute and highly-finished example of the story-teller's art.... That it is beautifully written and holds the interest of the reader, fanciful as it all is, to the very end, none who know the depth and artistic finish of Mr. Crawford's work need be told.—The Chicago Times.
Transcriber's Notes:Head-quartersandheadquarterseach used once, retained.p. 110: Original shows— I am really much more gratefulthenI seem. — Inconsistent with others uses of then and than in the text. Changed to than.p. 131: Original shows— I can never look any one in the face again."Lookat me, please — double-quote before Look removedp. 168: Original shows— "I!ForgeryThe man is mad!" — "?" added after Forgery.p. 311: Original shows— "pocket edition ofWillianWinter's Works" — corrected to Williamp.311,312,313,314,315: footer of "MACMILLAN & CO.,112 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK." at bottom of each page removed. Retained on p. 316 (last page) only.p.314,315,316: header of "F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS. 12MO. BOUND IN CLOTH." at top of each page removed. Retained on p. 313 (beginning of section) only.
Head-quartersandheadquarterseach used once, retained.
p. 110: Original shows— I am really much more gratefulthenI seem. — Inconsistent with others uses of then and than in the text. Changed to than.
p. 131: Original shows— I can never look any one in the face again."Lookat me, please — double-quote before Look removed
p. 168: Original shows— "I!ForgeryThe man is mad!" — "?" added after Forgery.
p. 311: Original shows— "pocket edition ofWillianWinter's Works" — corrected to William
p.311,312,313,314,315: footer of "MACMILLAN & CO.,112 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK." at bottom of each page removed. Retained on p. 316 (last page) only.
p.314,315,316: header of "F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS. 12MO. BOUND IN CLOTH." at top of each page removed. Retained on p. 313 (beginning of section) only.