Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Two.To Seek the Truth.The days of my love’s convalescence were happy indeed. Most of the time we spent together, planning the future and gossiping about the past. Those were halcyon hours when we reckoned time only by the meals served to us by Simes, and we both looked forward to a visit to the old Lincolnshire town that was so very lethargic, so redolent of the “good old days” of our grandfathers.Once she received a letter left by a man, and marked “private.” In this I scented mystery; for she never referred to it, and when I inquired who was the sender she merely replied that a friend had written to her. This was strange, for none knew that she remained with me. We had thought it best not to tell any one until all could be explained, for a lady who lives in a bachelor’s chambers is looked upon with some suspicion if no very valid excuse can be given for such a flagrant breach of theconvenances.The letter without doubt caused her much thought and considerable anxiety. By her face I detected that she was dreading some dire result, the nature of which she dared not tell me; and it was on that very afternoon that Jack Yelverton called to inquire after me, for I had neither written nor seen him since that night when the chalice at St. Peter’s had disappeared into ashes.He was stretched out in a chair smoking furiously, laughing more merrily than usual, and talking with that genuinebonhomiewhich was one of his most engaging characteristics, when suddenly Muriel entered.They met face to face, and in an instant she drew back, pale as death.“I—I didn’t know you had a visitor,” she exclaimed half-apologetically, her cheeks crimsoning in her confusion.“Come in,” I exclaimed, rising. “Allow me to introduce you,” and I went through the conventional formality.Upon Yelverton’s face I detected an expression of absolute wonder and bewilderment; but seeing that she treated him with calm indifference, he at once reseated himself, and the pair recovered their self-possession almost instantly.Puzzled at this strange complication, I spoke mechanically, explaining that Muriel was engaged to marry me, and that she had been ill, although I did not tell him the cause.Yet all Jack Yelverton’s levity had in that brief moment of unexpected meeting departed. He had become brooding and thoughtful.I confess that I entertained doubts. So many things had recently occurred which she refused to explain, that day by day I was haunted by a horrible consuming suspicion that, after all, she did not love me—that for some purpose of her own she was merely making shallow pretence. I fear that the remainder of Yelverton’s visit was a dismal affair. Certainly our conversation was irresponsible and disjointed, for neither of us thought of what we said. Our reflections were far from the subject under discussion.At last the Vicar of St. Peter’s made his adieux, and when he had gone I awaited in vain her explanation.She said nothing, yet her efforts at concealment were so apparent that they nauseated me. I was annoyed that she should thus believe me to be one so blinded by love as to be unable to observe signs so palpable as those in her countenance. The more I thought it over, the more apparent it became that as Yelverton and Aline were lovers, Muriel, knowing Aline, would certainly be acquainted with him. If so, and all their dealings had been straightforward, why had not she at once welcomed him as a friend, and not as a stranger?I saw that he was plainly annoyed at meeting her, and detected astonishment in his face when I announced my intention of marrying her.I wondered why he looked at me so strangely. His expression was as though he pitied my ignorance. Thoughts such as these held me in doubt and suspicion.With a self-control amazing in such circumstances, she reseated herself and took up some needlework, which she had that morning commenced—a cushion-cover intended for our home—and when at last I grew calm again and sat with her she commenced to chat as though our happiness had in no way been disturbed.As the days went on and she rapidly grew stronger her attitude became more and more puzzling. That she loved me passionately with a fierce, all-consuming affection, I could not doubt. Not that she uttered many words of re-assurance. On the contrary, she heard most of my declarations in silence. Yet the heaving of her breast, and that bright, truthful look in her eyes, were signs of love which I could not fail to recognise.During those nine weeks of Muriel’s illness I heard nothing of Aline, and was wondering if she knew of my beloved’s presence, or if she would again visit me. To her I had bound myself by an oath of secrecy, in return for a gift to me more precious than any on earth, yet the many strange occurrences which had happened since that first night at the theatre formed a puzzle so intricate that the more I tried to discover the solution the more bewildering it became.Soon the dark-haired fragile girl who was to be my wife had so improved in health that the doctor allowed her to go for a drive, and in the days following we went out together each afternoon perfectly happy and content in each other’s love. Those who have loved truly know well the ecstasy of the first hours in public with one’s betrothed, therefore it is unnecessary for me to describe my feeling of perfect bliss and thankfulness that she was well at last, and that ere long we should become man and wife.It had been arranged that Muriel should leave for Stamford in two or three days, when one morning, she having gone out with the nurse, and I remaining alone in my room, Jack Yelverton was admitted. In an instant I saw from his countenance that something unusual had occurred. His pale, unshaven face was haggard and worn, his clerical collar was soiled, his coat unbrushed, his hair unkempt, and as he seated himself and put out his hand I felt it quiver in my grasp.“Why, what’s the matter, old chap?” I inquired in surprise. “What’s happened?”“I’m upset, Clifton,” he answered hoarsely.“What’s upset you? This isn’t like your usual self,” I said.“No,” he responded, rising and pacing the room with his hand to his white brow, “it isn’t like me.” Then, turning quickly to me, he added with gravity which startled me, “Clifton, I think I’m mad!”“Mad! Nonsense! my dear fellow!” I protested, placing my hand upon his shoulder. “Tell me what all this is about.”“I’ve failed!” he cried in a voice of utter despair. “I’ve striven, and striven in my work, but all to no purpose. I’ve sown the wind, and the Devil has placed a bar between myself and the Master.”“How?” I asked, failing to grasp his meaning.“I have made a discovery,” he answered in a dry, harsh tone.“A discovery!” I echoed.“Yes, one so appalling, so terrible, so absolutely horrible, that I am crushed, hopeless, paralysed.”“What is it?” I demanded quickly, excited by his strange wildness of manner.“No,” he answered. “It is useless to explain. You could never believe that what I told you was the truth.”“I know that you would not willingly tell a lie to your oldest friend, Jack,” I answered, with grave earnestness.“But you could never fully realise the truth,” he declared. “A sorrow has fallen upon me greater and more terrible than ever man has encountered; for at the instant of my recovery I knew that I was shut out from the grace of God, that all my work had been a mere mockery of the Master.”“Why do you speak like this?” I argued, knowing him to be a devout man, and having seen with my own eyes how self-denying he was, and how untiring he had worked among the poor.“I speak the truth, Clifton,” he said, a strange look in his eyes. “I shall never enter my church again.”“Never enter your church!” I cried. “Are you really mad?”“The wiles of Satan have encompassed me,” he responded hoarsely, in the tone of a man utterly broken.“How? Explain!” I said.“A woman’s eyes fascinated me. I fell beneath her spell, only to find that her heart was the blackest in all the world.”“Well?”“My love for her is an absorbing one. She is my idol, and I have cast aside my God for her.”“Why do you talk like this?” I asked reproachfully. “Has it not been proved to you already that you can marry and yet live a godly life?”“Yes, yes! I know,” he responded with impatience. “But to love Aline Cloud is to abandon the Master.”“Why?” I inquired, all eagerness to learn what he knew of her strange power of evil.“I cannot explain, because there is a mystery which is impenetrable,” he answered. “I shall resign the living and go abroad. I can no longer remain here.”“You will again fly from her, as you did when you went and hid yourself in Duddington?” I asked. “I can’t understand the reason of your actions. Why not give me a little more explanation?”“But I can’t explain, because I have not yet fathomed the truth.”“Then you only entertain certain suspicions, and will act upon them without obtaining clear grounds. That’s illogical, Jack—very illogical.”He pondered for a few moments, tugging at his moustache.“Well, I hadn’t looked at it in that light before, I must confess,” he answered at last. “You think I ought to be entirely satisfied before I act.”“Yes, rashness should not be one of the characteristics of a man who ministers God’s Word,” I said.“But the deadly trail of the Serpent is upon everything,” he declared. “I can hope for nothing more. I cannot be hypocritical, neither can I serve two masters. Is it not better for me to resign from the Church at once than to offend before God?”“For whatever sin you have committed there is the Great Forgiveness,” I said calmly. “You are a believer, or you could not preach those enthralling sermons, which have already made you noted in ecclesiastical London. You are known as a brilliant, powerful preacher who can make the tears well in the eyes of strong men by your fervent appeal to them to turn from their wickedness and live. Think!” I said. “Recollect the men steeped in sin whom you have induced to come forth and bow before their God in penitence. Think of those men who have been saved by your ministrations, and then ask yourself whether there is no salvation for you?”“Yes!” he sighed. “What you say is quite true, Clifton—quite true.”“Then if you abandon the Church you abandon faith in the generous forgiveness which you have preached, and exhibit to those who have believed in you a doubt in the grace of God. Surely you, Jack, will not do this?”He was silent, with bent head, as he stood before me reflecting.“Your argument is a strong one, certainly,” he said at last. “But can I actually stand in my pulpit and preach the Gospel after the knowledge that has come to me?”“Knowledge!” I repeated. “We found that knowledge to be a mere suspicion only a moment ago!”“Yes,” he admitted; “suspicion if you like. Well, that amounts to the same thing.”“Why don’t you tell me all about it?” I urged. “What are these suspicions regarding Aline?”I recollected my bond of secrecy, and it drove me to madness. If I could tell him all I knew, I felt that together we might combine to probe the mystery. As it was, my silence was imperative.“It’s my misfortune that I have not sufficient grounds for making any direct allegation. I love her still; I adore her; I worship her; but—”At that instant, without warning, the door opened, and Muriel, bright and happy, burst into the room, bearing an armful of flowers. Next second, on recognising my visitor, her countenance changed, and she bowed stiffly to him, without offering her hand. Quick to notice this, I at once demanded an explanation, for the mystery had now driven me to desperation.“There is some secret in your previous acquaintance with Muriel,” I said, addressing Yelverton boldly. “Tell me what it is.”“Our acquaintance!” he faltered, while she drew back open-mouthed in alarm. The pair exchanged glances, and I saw that between them was some understanding. “What makes you suggest that?” he asked, with a forced laugh.“You were acquainted before I introduced you the other day!” I cried, fiercely. “You can’t deny that!”“I have not denied it,” he responded calmly. “It is quite true that I knew Miss Moore before our formal introduction.”“Then why did you not admit it?” I demanded, a feeling of jealousy rising within me.“Simply because I had no desire to excite any suspicion in your mind, Clifton. That’s all.”“Rubbish!” I ejaculated. “There’s some mystery behind all this. Why may I not know?”The Vicar of St. Peter’s glanced inquiringly at Muriel, but finding no look of permission in her countenance, preserved a silence, which in a moment grew irksome.Suddenly, however, Muriel, who stood near me, pale and excited, turned, and facing me, said—“There appears to be a misunderstanding between you. It is quite true that I am acquainted with Mr Yelverton, and there is absolutely no necessity to deny the fact. We have known each other for a long time—ever since I was at Madame Gabrielle’s. He was curate at St. Michael’s, Rathbone Place, where I attended, and we were very good friends until—until—” and she did not finish the sentence.“Until what?”“Well, until an event occurred which transformed our friendship.”“What event?”Again the pair exchanged glances. She was apparently trying to obtain permission from him to expose to me the whole truth. At that moment I felt assured that this woman I had so fondly loved was playing me false, and, after all, this popular preacher was her real lover. Certain circumstances appeared to point to it, for her confusion was apparent; she knew not what to admit, nor what to deny.He shrugged his shoulders in dumb motion, as though he were careless, but this action apparently gave her confidence, and she turned to me again, saying—“Any explanation you demand, Mr Yelverton will no doubt give to you.”“No, no,” Jack cried, addressing her. “It’s quite impossible. You know full well that I’m utterly in ignorance of the truth, and that you alone can explain, if you will.”She bit her lips, and endeavoured to recover her self-possession. Her illness had weakened her, and rendered her curiously nervous, so that the least emotion visibly affected her.“Yes,” I added, “you are concealing a secret from me, Muriel, and I, who am to be your husband, demand to know what it is. Tell me!”“If you had asked me this a few days ago,” she answered, after a pause, “I could only have given you a negative answer. But I have overheard Mr Yelverton’s confession to you, and now that I am strong again, I am determined that neither he nor you shall longer remain in doubt regarding the mystery surrounding Aline Cloud.”“What is it?” I cried excitedly. “Tell us quickly.”“No,” she answered, with a wave of the hand. “In this affair we must exercise patience, or those who are guilty will assuredly escape us. Besides, we have to ensure our own safety also.”“Our own safety!” Jack echoed. “What do you mean?”“Have I not narrowly escaped death?” she asked. “If we are not wary, another attempt, perhaps more successful, may be made.”“You anticipate assassination because those who are guilty are aware that you are now in possession of their secret?” I cried. “Then let us act in union with care and discretion. What has caused you to preserve your silence until now?”“Circumstances which rendered my secrecy imperative,” she answered. “Until now I only entertained suspicions; but these have been confirmed, therefore to me the truth is apparent. In order, however, for us to solve the mystery, it is necessary that you should both obey me implicitly, without asking any questions, for to some of your demands I should be compelled to give false answers. Trust in me, both of you, and I will reveal to you something stranger than you have ever dreamed.”“We do trust you,” we both answered with one accord.“I’m ready to act in any manner you direct,” I added.“And you will not fear, even though a plot may be laid against your life?” she inquired with concern.“I fear nothing while I have my revolver in my pocket,” I answered, as coolly as I could. “Both of us are ready and anxious to carry out any plan you may form.”“But of what character is the plan?” asked the vicar, with natural caution.“It’s Friday to-day,” she observed, disregarding his question. “Tell me when Aline will next visit you.”“On Sunday. She has written to-day saying that she will attend the service on Sunday evening.”“You will preach?” she asked.“I don’t know,” he answered evasively. “I may be away.”“You mean that by that time you may have resigned and left the Church,” I said quickly. “No, Jack. Don’t think of such a thing. Muriel know? more than she has told us, and if she will assist us, I have no doubt that the mystery will be cleared up, and the guilty brought to punishment.”“Do you wish me to preach on Sunday?” Yelverton asked of my beloved.“Certainly,” was her response. “But, tell me—she never remains after the evening service, does she?”“No, never,” he replied. “By the time I’m out of the vestry she has always departed. It seems as though her quick, impetuous nature will not allow her to await me.”“Then preach on Sunday night, and leave the remainder to me,” she said.“You appear to know all her movements,” Yelverton observed. “Where does she go usually after church?”“Her destination is always the same—a secret one. But remain patient,” she added, a strange look in her dark eyes, as though she were intent upon a fierce and terrible revenge. “You are her lover, and have discovered, as others have done, that she is possessed of a spirit of evil that holds you appalled in wonder. Her actions are truly astounding, yet the truth, when revealed, will be more startling and more bewildering than any of the strange things which have already happened.”“And you promise to explain everything?” I asked in breathless eagerness.“No. I cannot promise that. I will furnish you with the necessary clue to the solution of the mystery, but even I myself know not all the facts.”Both of us tried to obtain from her some further information regarding Aline, but without avail. She remained absolutely mute, likewise refusing to reveal the identity of her would-be assassin. That she had met him face to face upon the stairs she admitted, but in response to my inquiries declared that the time was not yet ripe for the denunciation, and urged us to remain in patience.This we did until at last Sunday night came. At about half-past six I accompanied my beloved in a cab to a small and very dismal little street in the immediate vicinity of St. Peter’s, one of those mean, drab thoroughfares which abound in South London; and when at length the service concluded, we stood together in the gloom waiting for Aline’s striking figure to emerge among the congregation.At last she came, dressed neatly in black, her fair hair well coiled beneath a neat black toque, and in her hand her tiny prayer-book, with the ivory cross upon the cover. She walked straight in our direction without, of course, dreaming of our presence, but outside the smoke-blackened railings of the churchyard she paused for a moment beneath the street-lamp to glance at the little jewelled watch pinned upon her breast. Her lover’s sermon had been a trifle longer than usual, therefore, on noting the time, she at once hurried away along the narrow little street towards the Walworth Road, in order, apparently, to keep some mysterious appointment.“Come!” Muriel said. “Let us follow her!” And together we walked on, eagerly keeping her well in sight in the crowd of dispersing worshippers.My heart beat wildly in those moments, for I knew we were upon the verge of some extraordinary discovery, the nature of which my beloved had predicted would be stranger than we had dreamed.

The days of my love’s convalescence were happy indeed. Most of the time we spent together, planning the future and gossiping about the past. Those were halcyon hours when we reckoned time only by the meals served to us by Simes, and we both looked forward to a visit to the old Lincolnshire town that was so very lethargic, so redolent of the “good old days” of our grandfathers.

Once she received a letter left by a man, and marked “private.” In this I scented mystery; for she never referred to it, and when I inquired who was the sender she merely replied that a friend had written to her. This was strange, for none knew that she remained with me. We had thought it best not to tell any one until all could be explained, for a lady who lives in a bachelor’s chambers is looked upon with some suspicion if no very valid excuse can be given for such a flagrant breach of theconvenances.

The letter without doubt caused her much thought and considerable anxiety. By her face I detected that she was dreading some dire result, the nature of which she dared not tell me; and it was on that very afternoon that Jack Yelverton called to inquire after me, for I had neither written nor seen him since that night when the chalice at St. Peter’s had disappeared into ashes.

He was stretched out in a chair smoking furiously, laughing more merrily than usual, and talking with that genuinebonhomiewhich was one of his most engaging characteristics, when suddenly Muriel entered.

They met face to face, and in an instant she drew back, pale as death.

“I—I didn’t know you had a visitor,” she exclaimed half-apologetically, her cheeks crimsoning in her confusion.

“Come in,” I exclaimed, rising. “Allow me to introduce you,” and I went through the conventional formality.

Upon Yelverton’s face I detected an expression of absolute wonder and bewilderment; but seeing that she treated him with calm indifference, he at once reseated himself, and the pair recovered their self-possession almost instantly.

Puzzled at this strange complication, I spoke mechanically, explaining that Muriel was engaged to marry me, and that she had been ill, although I did not tell him the cause.

Yet all Jack Yelverton’s levity had in that brief moment of unexpected meeting departed. He had become brooding and thoughtful.

I confess that I entertained doubts. So many things had recently occurred which she refused to explain, that day by day I was haunted by a horrible consuming suspicion that, after all, she did not love me—that for some purpose of her own she was merely making shallow pretence. I fear that the remainder of Yelverton’s visit was a dismal affair. Certainly our conversation was irresponsible and disjointed, for neither of us thought of what we said. Our reflections were far from the subject under discussion.

At last the Vicar of St. Peter’s made his adieux, and when he had gone I awaited in vain her explanation.

She said nothing, yet her efforts at concealment were so apparent that they nauseated me. I was annoyed that she should thus believe me to be one so blinded by love as to be unable to observe signs so palpable as those in her countenance. The more I thought it over, the more apparent it became that as Yelverton and Aline were lovers, Muriel, knowing Aline, would certainly be acquainted with him. If so, and all their dealings had been straightforward, why had not she at once welcomed him as a friend, and not as a stranger?

I saw that he was plainly annoyed at meeting her, and detected astonishment in his face when I announced my intention of marrying her.

I wondered why he looked at me so strangely. His expression was as though he pitied my ignorance. Thoughts such as these held me in doubt and suspicion.

With a self-control amazing in such circumstances, she reseated herself and took up some needlework, which she had that morning commenced—a cushion-cover intended for our home—and when at last I grew calm again and sat with her she commenced to chat as though our happiness had in no way been disturbed.

As the days went on and she rapidly grew stronger her attitude became more and more puzzling. That she loved me passionately with a fierce, all-consuming affection, I could not doubt. Not that she uttered many words of re-assurance. On the contrary, she heard most of my declarations in silence. Yet the heaving of her breast, and that bright, truthful look in her eyes, were signs of love which I could not fail to recognise.

During those nine weeks of Muriel’s illness I heard nothing of Aline, and was wondering if she knew of my beloved’s presence, or if she would again visit me. To her I had bound myself by an oath of secrecy, in return for a gift to me more precious than any on earth, yet the many strange occurrences which had happened since that first night at the theatre formed a puzzle so intricate that the more I tried to discover the solution the more bewildering it became.

Soon the dark-haired fragile girl who was to be my wife had so improved in health that the doctor allowed her to go for a drive, and in the days following we went out together each afternoon perfectly happy and content in each other’s love. Those who have loved truly know well the ecstasy of the first hours in public with one’s betrothed, therefore it is unnecessary for me to describe my feeling of perfect bliss and thankfulness that she was well at last, and that ere long we should become man and wife.

It had been arranged that Muriel should leave for Stamford in two or three days, when one morning, she having gone out with the nurse, and I remaining alone in my room, Jack Yelverton was admitted. In an instant I saw from his countenance that something unusual had occurred. His pale, unshaven face was haggard and worn, his clerical collar was soiled, his coat unbrushed, his hair unkempt, and as he seated himself and put out his hand I felt it quiver in my grasp.

“Why, what’s the matter, old chap?” I inquired in surprise. “What’s happened?”

“I’m upset, Clifton,” he answered hoarsely.

“What’s upset you? This isn’t like your usual self,” I said.

“No,” he responded, rising and pacing the room with his hand to his white brow, “it isn’t like me.” Then, turning quickly to me, he added with gravity which startled me, “Clifton, I think I’m mad!”

“Mad! Nonsense! my dear fellow!” I protested, placing my hand upon his shoulder. “Tell me what all this is about.”

“I’ve failed!” he cried in a voice of utter despair. “I’ve striven, and striven in my work, but all to no purpose. I’ve sown the wind, and the Devil has placed a bar between myself and the Master.”

“How?” I asked, failing to grasp his meaning.

“I have made a discovery,” he answered in a dry, harsh tone.

“A discovery!” I echoed.

“Yes, one so appalling, so terrible, so absolutely horrible, that I am crushed, hopeless, paralysed.”

“What is it?” I demanded quickly, excited by his strange wildness of manner.

“No,” he answered. “It is useless to explain. You could never believe that what I told you was the truth.”

“I know that you would not willingly tell a lie to your oldest friend, Jack,” I answered, with grave earnestness.

“But you could never fully realise the truth,” he declared. “A sorrow has fallen upon me greater and more terrible than ever man has encountered; for at the instant of my recovery I knew that I was shut out from the grace of God, that all my work had been a mere mockery of the Master.”

“Why do you speak like this?” I argued, knowing him to be a devout man, and having seen with my own eyes how self-denying he was, and how untiring he had worked among the poor.

“I speak the truth, Clifton,” he said, a strange look in his eyes. “I shall never enter my church again.”

“Never enter your church!” I cried. “Are you really mad?”

“The wiles of Satan have encompassed me,” he responded hoarsely, in the tone of a man utterly broken.

“How? Explain!” I said.

“A woman’s eyes fascinated me. I fell beneath her spell, only to find that her heart was the blackest in all the world.”

“Well?”

“My love for her is an absorbing one. She is my idol, and I have cast aside my God for her.”

“Why do you talk like this?” I asked reproachfully. “Has it not been proved to you already that you can marry and yet live a godly life?”

“Yes, yes! I know,” he responded with impatience. “But to love Aline Cloud is to abandon the Master.”

“Why?” I inquired, all eagerness to learn what he knew of her strange power of evil.

“I cannot explain, because there is a mystery which is impenetrable,” he answered. “I shall resign the living and go abroad. I can no longer remain here.”

“You will again fly from her, as you did when you went and hid yourself in Duddington?” I asked. “I can’t understand the reason of your actions. Why not give me a little more explanation?”

“But I can’t explain, because I have not yet fathomed the truth.”

“Then you only entertain certain suspicions, and will act upon them without obtaining clear grounds. That’s illogical, Jack—very illogical.”

He pondered for a few moments, tugging at his moustache.

“Well, I hadn’t looked at it in that light before, I must confess,” he answered at last. “You think I ought to be entirely satisfied before I act.”

“Yes, rashness should not be one of the characteristics of a man who ministers God’s Word,” I said.

“But the deadly trail of the Serpent is upon everything,” he declared. “I can hope for nothing more. I cannot be hypocritical, neither can I serve two masters. Is it not better for me to resign from the Church at once than to offend before God?”

“For whatever sin you have committed there is the Great Forgiveness,” I said calmly. “You are a believer, or you could not preach those enthralling sermons, which have already made you noted in ecclesiastical London. You are known as a brilliant, powerful preacher who can make the tears well in the eyes of strong men by your fervent appeal to them to turn from their wickedness and live. Think!” I said. “Recollect the men steeped in sin whom you have induced to come forth and bow before their God in penitence. Think of those men who have been saved by your ministrations, and then ask yourself whether there is no salvation for you?”

“Yes!” he sighed. “What you say is quite true, Clifton—quite true.”

“Then if you abandon the Church you abandon faith in the generous forgiveness which you have preached, and exhibit to those who have believed in you a doubt in the grace of God. Surely you, Jack, will not do this?”

He was silent, with bent head, as he stood before me reflecting.

“Your argument is a strong one, certainly,” he said at last. “But can I actually stand in my pulpit and preach the Gospel after the knowledge that has come to me?”

“Knowledge!” I repeated. “We found that knowledge to be a mere suspicion only a moment ago!”

“Yes,” he admitted; “suspicion if you like. Well, that amounts to the same thing.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about it?” I urged. “What are these suspicions regarding Aline?”

I recollected my bond of secrecy, and it drove me to madness. If I could tell him all I knew, I felt that together we might combine to probe the mystery. As it was, my silence was imperative.

“It’s my misfortune that I have not sufficient grounds for making any direct allegation. I love her still; I adore her; I worship her; but—”

At that instant, without warning, the door opened, and Muriel, bright and happy, burst into the room, bearing an armful of flowers. Next second, on recognising my visitor, her countenance changed, and she bowed stiffly to him, without offering her hand. Quick to notice this, I at once demanded an explanation, for the mystery had now driven me to desperation.

“There is some secret in your previous acquaintance with Muriel,” I said, addressing Yelverton boldly. “Tell me what it is.”

“Our acquaintance!” he faltered, while she drew back open-mouthed in alarm. The pair exchanged glances, and I saw that between them was some understanding. “What makes you suggest that?” he asked, with a forced laugh.

“You were acquainted before I introduced you the other day!” I cried, fiercely. “You can’t deny that!”

“I have not denied it,” he responded calmly. “It is quite true that I knew Miss Moore before our formal introduction.”

“Then why did you not admit it?” I demanded, a feeling of jealousy rising within me.

“Simply because I had no desire to excite any suspicion in your mind, Clifton. That’s all.”

“Rubbish!” I ejaculated. “There’s some mystery behind all this. Why may I not know?”

The Vicar of St. Peter’s glanced inquiringly at Muriel, but finding no look of permission in her countenance, preserved a silence, which in a moment grew irksome.

Suddenly, however, Muriel, who stood near me, pale and excited, turned, and facing me, said—

“There appears to be a misunderstanding between you. It is quite true that I am acquainted with Mr Yelverton, and there is absolutely no necessity to deny the fact. We have known each other for a long time—ever since I was at Madame Gabrielle’s. He was curate at St. Michael’s, Rathbone Place, where I attended, and we were very good friends until—until—” and she did not finish the sentence.

“Until what?”

“Well, until an event occurred which transformed our friendship.”

“What event?”

Again the pair exchanged glances. She was apparently trying to obtain permission from him to expose to me the whole truth. At that moment I felt assured that this woman I had so fondly loved was playing me false, and, after all, this popular preacher was her real lover. Certain circumstances appeared to point to it, for her confusion was apparent; she knew not what to admit, nor what to deny.

He shrugged his shoulders in dumb motion, as though he were careless, but this action apparently gave her confidence, and she turned to me again, saying—

“Any explanation you demand, Mr Yelverton will no doubt give to you.”

“No, no,” Jack cried, addressing her. “It’s quite impossible. You know full well that I’m utterly in ignorance of the truth, and that you alone can explain, if you will.”

She bit her lips, and endeavoured to recover her self-possession. Her illness had weakened her, and rendered her curiously nervous, so that the least emotion visibly affected her.

“Yes,” I added, “you are concealing a secret from me, Muriel, and I, who am to be your husband, demand to know what it is. Tell me!”

“If you had asked me this a few days ago,” she answered, after a pause, “I could only have given you a negative answer. But I have overheard Mr Yelverton’s confession to you, and now that I am strong again, I am determined that neither he nor you shall longer remain in doubt regarding the mystery surrounding Aline Cloud.”

“What is it?” I cried excitedly. “Tell us quickly.”

“No,” she answered, with a wave of the hand. “In this affair we must exercise patience, or those who are guilty will assuredly escape us. Besides, we have to ensure our own safety also.”

“Our own safety!” Jack echoed. “What do you mean?”

“Have I not narrowly escaped death?” she asked. “If we are not wary, another attempt, perhaps more successful, may be made.”

“You anticipate assassination because those who are guilty are aware that you are now in possession of their secret?” I cried. “Then let us act in union with care and discretion. What has caused you to preserve your silence until now?”

“Circumstances which rendered my secrecy imperative,” she answered. “Until now I only entertained suspicions; but these have been confirmed, therefore to me the truth is apparent. In order, however, for us to solve the mystery, it is necessary that you should both obey me implicitly, without asking any questions, for to some of your demands I should be compelled to give false answers. Trust in me, both of you, and I will reveal to you something stranger than you have ever dreamed.”

“We do trust you,” we both answered with one accord.

“I’m ready to act in any manner you direct,” I added.

“And you will not fear, even though a plot may be laid against your life?” she inquired with concern.

“I fear nothing while I have my revolver in my pocket,” I answered, as coolly as I could. “Both of us are ready and anxious to carry out any plan you may form.”

“But of what character is the plan?” asked the vicar, with natural caution.

“It’s Friday to-day,” she observed, disregarding his question. “Tell me when Aline will next visit you.”

“On Sunday. She has written to-day saying that she will attend the service on Sunday evening.”

“You will preach?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered evasively. “I may be away.”

“You mean that by that time you may have resigned and left the Church,” I said quickly. “No, Jack. Don’t think of such a thing. Muriel know? more than she has told us, and if she will assist us, I have no doubt that the mystery will be cleared up, and the guilty brought to punishment.”

“Do you wish me to preach on Sunday?” Yelverton asked of my beloved.

“Certainly,” was her response. “But, tell me—she never remains after the evening service, does she?”

“No, never,” he replied. “By the time I’m out of the vestry she has always departed. It seems as though her quick, impetuous nature will not allow her to await me.”

“Then preach on Sunday night, and leave the remainder to me,” she said.

“You appear to know all her movements,” Yelverton observed. “Where does she go usually after church?”

“Her destination is always the same—a secret one. But remain patient,” she added, a strange look in her dark eyes, as though she were intent upon a fierce and terrible revenge. “You are her lover, and have discovered, as others have done, that she is possessed of a spirit of evil that holds you appalled in wonder. Her actions are truly astounding, yet the truth, when revealed, will be more startling and more bewildering than any of the strange things which have already happened.”

“And you promise to explain everything?” I asked in breathless eagerness.

“No. I cannot promise that. I will furnish you with the necessary clue to the solution of the mystery, but even I myself know not all the facts.”

Both of us tried to obtain from her some further information regarding Aline, but without avail. She remained absolutely mute, likewise refusing to reveal the identity of her would-be assassin. That she had met him face to face upon the stairs she admitted, but in response to my inquiries declared that the time was not yet ripe for the denunciation, and urged us to remain in patience.

This we did until at last Sunday night came. At about half-past six I accompanied my beloved in a cab to a small and very dismal little street in the immediate vicinity of St. Peter’s, one of those mean, drab thoroughfares which abound in South London; and when at length the service concluded, we stood together in the gloom waiting for Aline’s striking figure to emerge among the congregation.

At last she came, dressed neatly in black, her fair hair well coiled beneath a neat black toque, and in her hand her tiny prayer-book, with the ivory cross upon the cover. She walked straight in our direction without, of course, dreaming of our presence, but outside the smoke-blackened railings of the churchyard she paused for a moment beneath the street-lamp to glance at the little jewelled watch pinned upon her breast. Her lover’s sermon had been a trifle longer than usual, therefore, on noting the time, she at once hurried away along the narrow little street towards the Walworth Road, in order, apparently, to keep some mysterious appointment.

“Come!” Muriel said. “Let us follow her!” And together we walked on, eagerly keeping her well in sight in the crowd of dispersing worshippers.

My heart beat wildly in those moments, for I knew we were upon the verge of some extraordinary discovery, the nature of which my beloved had predicted would be stranger than we had dreamed.

Chapter Twenty Three.In the Shadow.Ere we had gained the Walworth Road, Yelverton, so breathless in his haste that he could scarce gasp “Good night” to the small crowd who saluted him as he passed, overtook us.“Where is she?” he inquired.“There—in front of us, standing on the kerb,” I answered, halting in order to escape observation. “She’s evidently waiting for an omnibus.”My surmise proved true, for a few moments later she entered one of those green omnibuses which ply to Camberwell Green, and the moment the conveyance moved off again Muriel, turning to me quickly, said—“We must now lose no time, but take a cab at once to Herne Hill.”We therefore hailed the first four-wheeler, and in one of those most terrible of all conveyances which ply for hire in London—vehicles known in the vernacular as “fever-traps”—we made our way with much rattle and jolting along the Camberwell Road, past Camberwell Green, and up Denmark Hill.The cab deposited us on the brow of the hill at the corner of that steep road, Red Post Hill, one of the few thoroughfares untouched by the modern builder, and together we descended Herne Hill until we came to a great old house standing back in its own grounds, with large trees around it, and approached by a broad carriage drive. It had undoubtedly been an important residence a century ago, but in the darkness I could discern that weeds had been allowed to grow upon the drive, that shutters closed the windows of the ground floor, that pieces of paper, straw, and other rubbish, the flotsam and jetsam of the street, lay upon the moss-grown steps leading to the front door, and the large board which announced that the desirable site was for sale “for building purposes” told conclusively how the neighbourhood had decayed until it was being gradually swallowed up by overgrown, overcrowded Camberwell.The double gates rusting on their hinges were secured together by a chain and formidable padlock, but following Muriel we went to a small side door in the high wall, which she opened with a key, admitting us, closing it, and locking it after her.Within the old tangled garden, where the shrubs, weeds, and flowers had grown wild and unpruned for years, all was silent as the grave. The old place, partly overgrown with ivy, which had almost hidden several of the windows, looked grim and ghostly in the gloom, for the moon was hidden behind a bank of fleecy cloud, and only shed a mystic half-light, which added to rather than decreased the sense of forlorn dreariness which oppressed one. By the aspect of the place it appeared as though it had remained untenanted for fully ten years.As I stood with my two companions, in the deep shadow, preserving the strict silence which Muriel had now imposed upon us, I confess to entertaining some misgivings. There was a weirdness about the whole affair which I did not like, and I felt a foreboding of some vague evil which I could not define.With a whispered word of caution Muriel crept forward, treading noiselessly on the carpet of weeds which had hidden the gravel, and skirting the house, swiftly approached a door at the side, evidently once the tradesmen’s entrance.“Hush!” she whispered, “make no noise. If we were discovered here it would be fatal to all our plans—fatal, indeed, to us!”Noiselessly she opened the door with her key, while we stood behind her, scarce daring to breathe, and then we all three passed silently into a small, dark passage, down which we groped our way, after Muriel had again locked the door behind her.I thought I heard a movement at my back like the swish of silk, but next instant reassured myself that it must be a rat disturbed by our intrusion. The place was silent as the tomb, for upon the passage were the remains of some old cocoa-nut matting, which deadened the sound of our footsteps as we crept forward to our unknown goal.Jack whispered an inquiry to her, but gripping his arm, she answered—“Not a word! While you are here speak not a word, nor utter any exclamation. Prepare yourselves for amazing surprises, but control yourselves so as to remain silent on witnessing them.”Suddenly she halted, passed her hands quietly over some panelling in the long, narrow passage which seemed to run the whole length of the house, and searched in the darkness for something she could not at first discover. At length she found what she sought, a small door, apparently concealed in the panelling, and through this we passed, down some winding stone steps where the air was foul and damp, and the walls seemed overgrown with fungi.We were descending into a cellar. Was Muriel about to reveal to us the hidden evidence of some terrible crime? I shuddered, for the darkness was appalling. We could only feel our way lightly with our hands, taking care not to stumble nor to create any noise.Of a sudden, I saw straight before me five circular rays of light which together formed themselves into a star, and as we approached we found that before us was a partition of wood, and that these round rays were of the light from a chamber beyond shining through what were apparently air-holes.“Now!” whispered Muriel, hoarsely. “Utter not a sound, but look within!”I placed my eye at one of the holes and gazed through. What I witnessed there held me dumb with terror. I stood rigid, open-mouthed, not daring to breathe. The scene was, as Muriel had predicted, stranger than any in my wildest dreams.

Ere we had gained the Walworth Road, Yelverton, so breathless in his haste that he could scarce gasp “Good night” to the small crowd who saluted him as he passed, overtook us.

“Where is she?” he inquired.

“There—in front of us, standing on the kerb,” I answered, halting in order to escape observation. “She’s evidently waiting for an omnibus.”

My surmise proved true, for a few moments later she entered one of those green omnibuses which ply to Camberwell Green, and the moment the conveyance moved off again Muriel, turning to me quickly, said—

“We must now lose no time, but take a cab at once to Herne Hill.”

We therefore hailed the first four-wheeler, and in one of those most terrible of all conveyances which ply for hire in London—vehicles known in the vernacular as “fever-traps”—we made our way with much rattle and jolting along the Camberwell Road, past Camberwell Green, and up Denmark Hill.

The cab deposited us on the brow of the hill at the corner of that steep road, Red Post Hill, one of the few thoroughfares untouched by the modern builder, and together we descended Herne Hill until we came to a great old house standing back in its own grounds, with large trees around it, and approached by a broad carriage drive. It had undoubtedly been an important residence a century ago, but in the darkness I could discern that weeds had been allowed to grow upon the drive, that shutters closed the windows of the ground floor, that pieces of paper, straw, and other rubbish, the flotsam and jetsam of the street, lay upon the moss-grown steps leading to the front door, and the large board which announced that the desirable site was for sale “for building purposes” told conclusively how the neighbourhood had decayed until it was being gradually swallowed up by overgrown, overcrowded Camberwell.

The double gates rusting on their hinges were secured together by a chain and formidable padlock, but following Muriel we went to a small side door in the high wall, which she opened with a key, admitting us, closing it, and locking it after her.

Within the old tangled garden, where the shrubs, weeds, and flowers had grown wild and unpruned for years, all was silent as the grave. The old place, partly overgrown with ivy, which had almost hidden several of the windows, looked grim and ghostly in the gloom, for the moon was hidden behind a bank of fleecy cloud, and only shed a mystic half-light, which added to rather than decreased the sense of forlorn dreariness which oppressed one. By the aspect of the place it appeared as though it had remained untenanted for fully ten years.

As I stood with my two companions, in the deep shadow, preserving the strict silence which Muriel had now imposed upon us, I confess to entertaining some misgivings. There was a weirdness about the whole affair which I did not like, and I felt a foreboding of some vague evil which I could not define.

With a whispered word of caution Muriel crept forward, treading noiselessly on the carpet of weeds which had hidden the gravel, and skirting the house, swiftly approached a door at the side, evidently once the tradesmen’s entrance.

“Hush!” she whispered, “make no noise. If we were discovered here it would be fatal to all our plans—fatal, indeed, to us!”

Noiselessly she opened the door with her key, while we stood behind her, scarce daring to breathe, and then we all three passed silently into a small, dark passage, down which we groped our way, after Muriel had again locked the door behind her.

I thought I heard a movement at my back like the swish of silk, but next instant reassured myself that it must be a rat disturbed by our intrusion. The place was silent as the tomb, for upon the passage were the remains of some old cocoa-nut matting, which deadened the sound of our footsteps as we crept forward to our unknown goal.

Jack whispered an inquiry to her, but gripping his arm, she answered—

“Not a word! While you are here speak not a word, nor utter any exclamation. Prepare yourselves for amazing surprises, but control yourselves so as to remain silent on witnessing them.”

Suddenly she halted, passed her hands quietly over some panelling in the long, narrow passage which seemed to run the whole length of the house, and searched in the darkness for something she could not at first discover. At length she found what she sought, a small door, apparently concealed in the panelling, and through this we passed, down some winding stone steps where the air was foul and damp, and the walls seemed overgrown with fungi.

We were descending into a cellar. Was Muriel about to reveal to us the hidden evidence of some terrible crime? I shuddered, for the darkness was appalling. We could only feel our way lightly with our hands, taking care not to stumble nor to create any noise.

Of a sudden, I saw straight before me five circular rays of light which together formed themselves into a star, and as we approached we found that before us was a partition of wood, and that these round rays were of the light from a chamber beyond shining through what were apparently air-holes.

“Now!” whispered Muriel, hoarsely. “Utter not a sound, but look within!”

I placed my eye at one of the holes and gazed through. What I witnessed there held me dumb with terror. I stood rigid, open-mouthed, not daring to breathe. The scene was, as Muriel had predicted, stranger than any in my wildest dreams.

Chapter Twenty Four.The Evil-Doers.Truly our gaze encountered a scene of the most bewildering and terrible description. Within, was a spacious cellar-like chamber, the walls of which were hung with black whereon were curious devices in white, and around in sconces were burning candles of black wax. At the end, opposite where we stood, was a church Communion-table whereon burnt long, black candles, and before it stood a kind of low stool with a large cushion of black velvet upon it. All was black save the strange designs upon the walls, while the candles shed a curious mystic light upon the whole apartment, illuminating the central object so weirdly that our startled eyes were riveted upon it. This object, placed immediately over the altar, was nothing less than a great effigy of Satan, with a leering grin upon his ghastly features, holding in one hand an apple, and in the other a wine-bottle. In the eyes there burned a blood-red light, and the protruding tongue, as he laughed, seemed pointed as that of a serpent. It was hideous; and I heartily wished myself out of that noisome place.Suddenly I saw something which paralysed me with terror. The effigy moved. What I had believed to be but a statue, bent down and uttered some words to a thin, pale-faced man who had at that instant entered by the door on the opposite side of the chamber.“Look!” gasped Yelverton. “Look! It is living!”But Muriel placed her hand upon his mouth, demanding that he should preserve silence and not risk our lives.The newcomer spat into a marble bowl of water like that placed at the door of the Roman Catholic churches, whereupon Satan gave vent to a laugh so hideous that it sent a chill through me. Next second, some eight or ten others, men and women, entered, each expectorating into the holy water as sign of contempt for all things sacred.With bated breath we watched. For several years there had been hints in the press of the establishment in London of a cult of Satan, but very few believed it. Yet here we were actual witnesses that Diabolism did exist among us. This age is indeed a decadent one, for according to the facts which had already leaked out the terribly profane doctrine of Satan consisted of a kind of reversed Christianity, it being inferred, from the condition of the world at the present time, that the mastery of the moment rests with the evil principle, and that the beneficent Deity is at a disadvantage. The Diabolists, therefore, while believing that the Deity reigns, declare that he is the author of human misery, and they therefore take sides with Satan in the cause of humanity. According to those who have come out of this cultus, the worshippers co-operate with Satan to insure his triumph, and they believe that he communicates with them to encourage and strengthen them.Such, briefly, is the belief of the modern Diabolists, and such is the latest acmé of profanity established among the greatest and most civilised nation on the earth.As we watched, our eyes strained to witness everything, we saw infamous rites performed, rites which caused us both to shudder in horror; yet curiously enough Muriel looked upon them calmly, without betraying the slightest fear. Those who assembled were, for the most part, well dressed, and presently the Evil One upon the pedestal reached forth his hand and rang a small bell. Next instant there entered two acolytes bearing a ciborium, which they placed upon the altar. Then, after repeating a prayer to Satan in Latin, in imitation of a Christian prayer, the worshippers with one accord fell upon their knees in adoration of the Evil One.The scene was strangely weird, but utterly horrible, for on regaining their feet all formed a row and filed past the altar, each taking up a dagger, and as they passed stabbed the consecrated host within the casket. Then, at sign from the hideous man upon the pedestal, a Satanic liturgy was chanted, and a brazier was lit by the acolyte in the centre of the chamber, when each worshipper producing a crucifix spat three times upon it and cast it into the fire, while Satan laughed in triumph and they cried aloud to him in adoration. To witness such Pagan rites as these, where every element of Christianity was held up to ridicule, was sickening. A feeling of nausea crept over me when I heard these men and women anathematise the Deity, and the infamous and degrading ceremonies caused me to shudder.Suddenly there was a stir among the members of this evil cult at that moment kneeling, for a woman slowly entered, veiled, followed by a masked man in a long, black vestment, bearing on the breast an effigy of Satan. A silence fell, deep and complete, for the woman in her flowing robes of black stood before the stool in front of the altar and raised her bare white arms above her head.She was evidently the priestess of the cult, for I watched her stand before the stool, while the priest with the assistance of an acolyte brought out a huge crucifix of black and silver and placed it before her. Then he also produced a bag of black silk containing something which moved within, and deposited it at her feet.When he had done this, and all was in readiness, she knelt upon the cushion, and placed her back as a reading-desk for him, while he went through the ceremony of the Black Mass, an appalling profanity impossible to here describe.When at length this had been concluded, the woman rose and, bending, took from the bag the object that had been writhing within it. Eagerly we strained our eyes, and were amazed to see that it was a black cat. With a loud cry to Satan as ruler of the world, she took a long, thin dagger from her belt and plunged it into the animal, which expired almost without a struggle. Then, with a swift, dexterous movement she cut out the heart, and with its blood defiled the crucifix, an action which was applauded by the onlookers, now increased in number, and greeted with a loud laugh by the hideous representative of Evil at the end of that foul, terrible place.Next second, however, a circumstance occurred which rendered our concealment impossible. The priestess with a swift movement tore her veil from her face, while the priest took off his mask.The two faces revealed caused us to utter exclamations of surprise which at once rendered concealment no longer possible.The priestess was none other than Aline Cloud, and the priest the bony-faced scoundrel Hibbert, whom Muriel had loved!“We are discovered!” my love gasped. “Be careful, or your lives may be taken. These people are desperate.”Both Jack and myself drew our revolvers in an instant, and ere we knew how it occurred, a door opened, and we found ourselves within the Temple of Evil, struggling in the confusion which had been caused. The man who had posed as Satan, director of the cult, had sprung down to earth in a moment, shouting to some hidden person to close all egress and bearing in his hand the gleaming dagger with which the worshippers had stabbed the sacred elements within the ciborium.Aline, when she had recognised us, gave a shriek and stood glaring at her lover, pale as death. Jack, tall, and strong as a lion, stood in the garb of the Christian Church within that foul den of the Diabolists and with a loud voice called upon them to remain quiet and listen.But at that instant I saw in the eyes of Satan a dangerous expression, and with a curse he sprang at Muriel with his knife, and would have struck her dead had I not been quick enough to arrest the blow and point my revolver at his head.“Would you,” she cried, “attempt my life a second time? See!” and she pointed to me. “This man is my lover; and for your cowardly attempt to kill me you shall answer to him.”“And this was the man who attacked you?” I cried, as he flinched beneath my aim. “It is only what might be expected of a man who masquerades as the Evil One.”“You!” I heard Yelverton cry in a voice which showed how bitter was his regret, as he faced Aline, who in her long, black robe stood trembling and unsteady before him. “Then this is the truth,” he cried hoarsely. “You are the priestess of Satan!”“Ah, yes!” she cried. “But first hear me before you condemn me! And you, Clifton,” she added, turning to me. “Hear me, and when you have listened try and regard me with sympathy and pity. I know I am unworthy of regard, wretched outcast that I am; but I have acted under compulsion. I swear I have!”“Enough!” roughly cried the director of those profane rites, who had posed above the altar regarding all with satisfaction. “There has been treachery; and you, our brothers and sisters, must decide the fate of those who have dared to enter with the spy.”“Silence!” I cried, handling my revolver determinedly. “First let us hear the statement of this priestess of yours. The first person who lays hands on either of us pays for it with his life.”I was a pretty dead shot, and at that moment was desperate.“Listen!” Aline cried, addressing Jack, “and I will tell you. Three years ago I was living with my father in Montgeron when I became acquainted with a man who one night persuaded me to go with him to a house in Paris, and there by his trickery I was initiated as a Diabolist. It was partly because of a passing fancy for him, and partly because of the mysteries surrounding it, that I became a member of the infamous cult; yet soon I hated the awful rites, and the revulsion of feeling within me caused me to embrace Christianity, so that when at length my father died, and I escaped from this man and came to England, I was received into the English Church. Then you know how we met, and I loved you. My father had left me fairly well off, and as atonement for my sin in worshipping Satan I devoted the greater part of my money to charity in the poorer districts of London. Suddenly, however, this man, who was one of the elders of the cult of Satan in Paris, found me in London, and a branch having been established here, he compelled me under threats of exposure to you of my association with this abominable sect, to return to them and become their priestess. Thus, powerless beneath his influence, I loved you and worshipped at your church, yet on each Sunday night compelled to come here and assist at the Black Mass of the Evil One. Can you imagine what my feelings have been? Can you fully realise the awful pangs of conscience when, fearing God as I do, I have knelt upon yonder cushion compelled to profane His name, because of my love for you and the fear that if you knew the truth you would cast me aside? Yes,” she cried wildly, her face blanched and haggard, “I loved you, Jack!” and staggering forward she fell upon her knees before him in penitence.“It is astounding!” he exclaimed. “Satan himself has sent you into my life, for you are his priestess.”“But tell me,” I cried, addressing the kneeling woman. “Explain your object in so mystifying me, and how it was that at your touch any holy emblems were reduced to ashes?”“It is part of our creed,” she answered. “Each Diabolist on placing upon himself the Bond of Black takes an oath to steal crucifixes, Bibles, prayer-books, communion-cups, sacramental wine, or anything sacred to the worship of God, in order that they may be defiled or destroyed in the Temple of Satan. You have already seen the holy water, and the consecrated host, defiled, and each of the crucifixes burned in this brazier have been stolen by those who had destroyed them as offerings to the King of Evil.”“But mine was destroyed by fire—as was also the chalice at St. Peter’s,” I observed.“No; in order to mystify those who follow Christianity the Diabolists have established a system by which the ashes of various objects burned in the brazier are afterwards supplied to the votaries of Satan, and when any sacred objects are stolen the ashes are substituted. Being carried in a bag of chamois-leather, they are warmed by the heat of the body, and hence, increased mystery is added by the ashes, when discovered, being warm.”“Then you stole my crucifix in order that it should be burnt here!” I exclaimed, amazed.“Yes. The chalice, too, was melted in that brazier, as well as objects from the rooms of your poor friend Morgan.”“Morgan!” I cried, interrupting. “He was murdered! Tell us the truth.”“Yes,” answered the unhappy woman, hoarsely. “He was murdered.”“Who was the assassin?” I inquired quickly.“I do not know,” she answered, looking boldly at me. “I myself have tried to discover, but cannot.”“But how do you reconcile your assertion that he died at Monte Carlo with the fact that he was assassinated in London?” I demanded.“I felt assured that he committed suicide there, for I saw him carried out of the rooms dying. But, from further information which I have since obtained from the Administration there, I have found that he lay ill for some weeks in a hospital at Nice, and afterwards recovered sufficiently to be able to return to London. The Administration are always reticent upon the subject of suicides, and it was their refusal to give me any information when I applied on the day following the tragic affair that led me to believe that your friend had died and been buried in a nameless grave in the suicides’ cemetery at La Turbie.”“Why did you so deceive me regarding your address at Hampstead?” I inquired. “Surely there could have been no necessity for doing that?”“Yes, there was,” she replied. “I was compelled to act as I did. In the house of Mrs Popejoy was a valuable ring belonging to the Pope which he had given to the Ambassador of France together with his blessing. This ring had been traced by the cult of Satan to this lady’s possession, and it was arranged that I should enter the house as her companion and secure it. I did so on the night when you escorted me to that house, and the ring is now upon the hand of the chief of the order—the man yonder who personifies the King of Evil.”“Extraordinary!” I exclaimed when I had heard her explanation. “Your ingenuity at deception was truly marvellous.”“Yes,” she answered, “but my actions were not my own voluntary ones. They were directed by the leader of the sect in whose power I have been held, unable to extricate myself for fear of exposure and a terrible denunciation. But it is all at an end now,” she added in despair. “You have all of you witnessed my awful degradation, and how I have committed the deadly sins. For me what forgiveness can there be; for what may I hope?”“Hope for the forgiveness of the man who loves you,” I answered, glancing at Yelverton, who remained rigid and silent, his face white as death.But she only burst into tears, and grasping her lover’s hand pressed it to her lips, murmuring some broken words imploring pity.“And you, Muriel?” I asked, turning to my beloved who was standing at my side shielded from the wrath of these angry people by my revolver. “How is it that you have been enabled to expose this most extraordinary state of affairs?”“But for one thing I should never have dared to bring you here,” she answered, looking at me openly. “I was jealous of Aline, because I thought you loved her, and was therefore content that she should suffer all the tortures of the mind which she has suffered, being compelled to bow before Satan and ridicule the Faith. I refused your offer of marriage because I believed you loved her, and in pique I allowed this man Hibbert to admire me. I—”“Then you are a Diabolist yourself?” I gasped, dismayed.“Yes. It was Hibbert who induced me to allow myself to become initiated. Truth to tell, I was curious to witness the strange rites of which he told me, but as soon as I found myself fettered by the Bond of Black I repented, and wished to come out of the terrible cult whose faith is in profanity and whose deeds are wickedness. Like Aline, I have been compelled to steal prayer-books, Bibles, and sacred objects, all of which have been defiled and consumed. I dared not tell you of my association with these Satanists, hence my constant silence regarding matters upon which you have desired explanation.”“But what caused you to so suddenly abandon Hibbert and return to me?” I asked, recollecting my curious compact with Aline.“A discovery which I made—a revelation which, by Aline’s instigation, was made to me,” she answered. “I know full well how she bought your silence by promising that I should return to you. I came, and you believed, because of that, she was possessed of power supernatural. It is the object of every worshipper of Satan to cause the outside world to believe that he or she is endowed with a miraculous power by the Evil One, hence the manner in which ashes are substituted for the holy objects stolen. Aline, like myself, was compelled by the oath she had taken to impose upon you, upon Roddy Morgan, upon her lover, nay, upon every one about her, until they believed her endowed with power not possessed by any other living being.”“Yes,” Aline interrupted, “what Muriel tells you is the truth. At my will this man Hibbert forsook her, and she returned to you because she was no longer jealous of me. And you believed that I committed the crime!” she said reproachfully. “You suspected that I killed the man who had been so kind to me.”“I certainly did believe so. All the evidence seemed to point to the fact that Roddy was killed by some secret means, and that the person who visited him was yourself. I found the button of one of your gloves there.”Slowly she rose to her feet, and seeing how grave was her lover’s face she turned again to me, saying, in a tremulous voice—“Yes, I know, it is useless for me to now conceal the truth. On leaving you that morning I went there and saw him. He opened the door himself, and I remained about a quarter of an hour. We had not met since I had seen him carried out of the rooms at Monte Carlo, and the reason of my visit was to ascertain whether what you alleged, namely, that he was still alive, was true. I fully expected to find that this man who was passing as Roddy Morgan was an impostor, but discovered that he was no doubt the same person with whom I had been acquainted at Monte Carlo. My aunt, with whom I was on the Riviera, liked him very much, and I confess that only by his attempted suicide was a match between us prevented. In that brief space, while I remained there, he again told me that he loved me, but I explained that I had now formed another attachment, a statement which threw him into a fit of deep despondency. His man was out, therefore he went himself into an adjoining room to get me a glass of wine, and while he was absent I stole a rosary from a casket, depositing ashes in its place. Then I drank the wine, and left him, promising to call soon, but giving him plainly to understand that although we might be friends, we could never again be lovers.”“And then?” I asked gravely.“Ah! I have no knowledge of what occurred after that,” she said. “I have endeavoured to fathom the mystery, but have failed. That poor Roddy was murdered is absolutely certain.”“You refused his love because of your affection for me, Aline!” Jack exclaimed, in a low, broken voice, for this discovery that she worshipped the power which he held in greatest hatred had utterly crushed and appalled him. Truly he had spoken the truth on that night in Duddington when he had told me that the Devil had sent her into his life to arrest the good deeds he was endeavouring to perform.“Yes,” she answered, looking up into his dark, grave face with eyes fall of tears. “You know, Jack, that I have ever been true to you. I have been forced to act like this; compelled to commit a profanity which has horrified me, and made to exercise the ingenious trickery which was born of the fertile resources of this man beneath whose thrall I have been held.”“It’s a lie!” cried the hideous fellow who personified the Evil One. His very appearance caused us to shudder. “You are one of us—our priestess. Was it not you, yourself, who suggested to our brothers the Sacrifice of the Cat?”“Yes,” cried half a dozen voices, “it was Aline who suggested it.”“At your instigation,” she answered boldly. “You first broached the subject and then induced me to suggest it. I’ve been your catspaw from the very moment we first met at Montgeron, and you took me to the Temple of Satan at Passy. From that day I have known not a moment’s peace; the spirit of Satan has entered my soul, and I’ve existed in an awful torment of mind, like that prepared for the wicked.”

Truly our gaze encountered a scene of the most bewildering and terrible description. Within, was a spacious cellar-like chamber, the walls of which were hung with black whereon were curious devices in white, and around in sconces were burning candles of black wax. At the end, opposite where we stood, was a church Communion-table whereon burnt long, black candles, and before it stood a kind of low stool with a large cushion of black velvet upon it. All was black save the strange designs upon the walls, while the candles shed a curious mystic light upon the whole apartment, illuminating the central object so weirdly that our startled eyes were riveted upon it. This object, placed immediately over the altar, was nothing less than a great effigy of Satan, with a leering grin upon his ghastly features, holding in one hand an apple, and in the other a wine-bottle. In the eyes there burned a blood-red light, and the protruding tongue, as he laughed, seemed pointed as that of a serpent. It was hideous; and I heartily wished myself out of that noisome place.

Suddenly I saw something which paralysed me with terror. The effigy moved. What I had believed to be but a statue, bent down and uttered some words to a thin, pale-faced man who had at that instant entered by the door on the opposite side of the chamber.

“Look!” gasped Yelverton. “Look! It is living!”

But Muriel placed her hand upon his mouth, demanding that he should preserve silence and not risk our lives.

The newcomer spat into a marble bowl of water like that placed at the door of the Roman Catholic churches, whereupon Satan gave vent to a laugh so hideous that it sent a chill through me. Next second, some eight or ten others, men and women, entered, each expectorating into the holy water as sign of contempt for all things sacred.

With bated breath we watched. For several years there had been hints in the press of the establishment in London of a cult of Satan, but very few believed it. Yet here we were actual witnesses that Diabolism did exist among us. This age is indeed a decadent one, for according to the facts which had already leaked out the terribly profane doctrine of Satan consisted of a kind of reversed Christianity, it being inferred, from the condition of the world at the present time, that the mastery of the moment rests with the evil principle, and that the beneficent Deity is at a disadvantage. The Diabolists, therefore, while believing that the Deity reigns, declare that he is the author of human misery, and they therefore take sides with Satan in the cause of humanity. According to those who have come out of this cultus, the worshippers co-operate with Satan to insure his triumph, and they believe that he communicates with them to encourage and strengthen them.

Such, briefly, is the belief of the modern Diabolists, and such is the latest acmé of profanity established among the greatest and most civilised nation on the earth.

As we watched, our eyes strained to witness everything, we saw infamous rites performed, rites which caused us both to shudder in horror; yet curiously enough Muriel looked upon them calmly, without betraying the slightest fear. Those who assembled were, for the most part, well dressed, and presently the Evil One upon the pedestal reached forth his hand and rang a small bell. Next instant there entered two acolytes bearing a ciborium, which they placed upon the altar. Then, after repeating a prayer to Satan in Latin, in imitation of a Christian prayer, the worshippers with one accord fell upon their knees in adoration of the Evil One.

The scene was strangely weird, but utterly horrible, for on regaining their feet all formed a row and filed past the altar, each taking up a dagger, and as they passed stabbed the consecrated host within the casket. Then, at sign from the hideous man upon the pedestal, a Satanic liturgy was chanted, and a brazier was lit by the acolyte in the centre of the chamber, when each worshipper producing a crucifix spat three times upon it and cast it into the fire, while Satan laughed in triumph and they cried aloud to him in adoration. To witness such Pagan rites as these, where every element of Christianity was held up to ridicule, was sickening. A feeling of nausea crept over me when I heard these men and women anathematise the Deity, and the infamous and degrading ceremonies caused me to shudder.

Suddenly there was a stir among the members of this evil cult at that moment kneeling, for a woman slowly entered, veiled, followed by a masked man in a long, black vestment, bearing on the breast an effigy of Satan. A silence fell, deep and complete, for the woman in her flowing robes of black stood before the stool in front of the altar and raised her bare white arms above her head.

She was evidently the priestess of the cult, for I watched her stand before the stool, while the priest with the assistance of an acolyte brought out a huge crucifix of black and silver and placed it before her. Then he also produced a bag of black silk containing something which moved within, and deposited it at her feet.

When he had done this, and all was in readiness, she knelt upon the cushion, and placed her back as a reading-desk for him, while he went through the ceremony of the Black Mass, an appalling profanity impossible to here describe.

When at length this had been concluded, the woman rose and, bending, took from the bag the object that had been writhing within it. Eagerly we strained our eyes, and were amazed to see that it was a black cat. With a loud cry to Satan as ruler of the world, she took a long, thin dagger from her belt and plunged it into the animal, which expired almost without a struggle. Then, with a swift, dexterous movement she cut out the heart, and with its blood defiled the crucifix, an action which was applauded by the onlookers, now increased in number, and greeted with a loud laugh by the hideous representative of Evil at the end of that foul, terrible place.

Next second, however, a circumstance occurred which rendered our concealment impossible. The priestess with a swift movement tore her veil from her face, while the priest took off his mask.

The two faces revealed caused us to utter exclamations of surprise which at once rendered concealment no longer possible.

The priestess was none other than Aline Cloud, and the priest the bony-faced scoundrel Hibbert, whom Muriel had loved!

“We are discovered!” my love gasped. “Be careful, or your lives may be taken. These people are desperate.”

Both Jack and myself drew our revolvers in an instant, and ere we knew how it occurred, a door opened, and we found ourselves within the Temple of Evil, struggling in the confusion which had been caused. The man who had posed as Satan, director of the cult, had sprung down to earth in a moment, shouting to some hidden person to close all egress and bearing in his hand the gleaming dagger with which the worshippers had stabbed the sacred elements within the ciborium.

Aline, when she had recognised us, gave a shriek and stood glaring at her lover, pale as death. Jack, tall, and strong as a lion, stood in the garb of the Christian Church within that foul den of the Diabolists and with a loud voice called upon them to remain quiet and listen.

But at that instant I saw in the eyes of Satan a dangerous expression, and with a curse he sprang at Muriel with his knife, and would have struck her dead had I not been quick enough to arrest the blow and point my revolver at his head.

“Would you,” she cried, “attempt my life a second time? See!” and she pointed to me. “This man is my lover; and for your cowardly attempt to kill me you shall answer to him.”

“And this was the man who attacked you?” I cried, as he flinched beneath my aim. “It is only what might be expected of a man who masquerades as the Evil One.”

“You!” I heard Yelverton cry in a voice which showed how bitter was his regret, as he faced Aline, who in her long, black robe stood trembling and unsteady before him. “Then this is the truth,” he cried hoarsely. “You are the priestess of Satan!”

“Ah, yes!” she cried. “But first hear me before you condemn me! And you, Clifton,” she added, turning to me. “Hear me, and when you have listened try and regard me with sympathy and pity. I know I am unworthy of regard, wretched outcast that I am; but I have acted under compulsion. I swear I have!”

“Enough!” roughly cried the director of those profane rites, who had posed above the altar regarding all with satisfaction. “There has been treachery; and you, our brothers and sisters, must decide the fate of those who have dared to enter with the spy.”

“Silence!” I cried, handling my revolver determinedly. “First let us hear the statement of this priestess of yours. The first person who lays hands on either of us pays for it with his life.”

I was a pretty dead shot, and at that moment was desperate.

“Listen!” Aline cried, addressing Jack, “and I will tell you. Three years ago I was living with my father in Montgeron when I became acquainted with a man who one night persuaded me to go with him to a house in Paris, and there by his trickery I was initiated as a Diabolist. It was partly because of a passing fancy for him, and partly because of the mysteries surrounding it, that I became a member of the infamous cult; yet soon I hated the awful rites, and the revulsion of feeling within me caused me to embrace Christianity, so that when at length my father died, and I escaped from this man and came to England, I was received into the English Church. Then you know how we met, and I loved you. My father had left me fairly well off, and as atonement for my sin in worshipping Satan I devoted the greater part of my money to charity in the poorer districts of London. Suddenly, however, this man, who was one of the elders of the cult of Satan in Paris, found me in London, and a branch having been established here, he compelled me under threats of exposure to you of my association with this abominable sect, to return to them and become their priestess. Thus, powerless beneath his influence, I loved you and worshipped at your church, yet on each Sunday night compelled to come here and assist at the Black Mass of the Evil One. Can you imagine what my feelings have been? Can you fully realise the awful pangs of conscience when, fearing God as I do, I have knelt upon yonder cushion compelled to profane His name, because of my love for you and the fear that if you knew the truth you would cast me aside? Yes,” she cried wildly, her face blanched and haggard, “I loved you, Jack!” and staggering forward she fell upon her knees before him in penitence.

“It is astounding!” he exclaimed. “Satan himself has sent you into my life, for you are his priestess.”

“But tell me,” I cried, addressing the kneeling woman. “Explain your object in so mystifying me, and how it was that at your touch any holy emblems were reduced to ashes?”

“It is part of our creed,” she answered. “Each Diabolist on placing upon himself the Bond of Black takes an oath to steal crucifixes, Bibles, prayer-books, communion-cups, sacramental wine, or anything sacred to the worship of God, in order that they may be defiled or destroyed in the Temple of Satan. You have already seen the holy water, and the consecrated host, defiled, and each of the crucifixes burned in this brazier have been stolen by those who had destroyed them as offerings to the King of Evil.”

“But mine was destroyed by fire—as was also the chalice at St. Peter’s,” I observed.

“No; in order to mystify those who follow Christianity the Diabolists have established a system by which the ashes of various objects burned in the brazier are afterwards supplied to the votaries of Satan, and when any sacred objects are stolen the ashes are substituted. Being carried in a bag of chamois-leather, they are warmed by the heat of the body, and hence, increased mystery is added by the ashes, when discovered, being warm.”

“Then you stole my crucifix in order that it should be burnt here!” I exclaimed, amazed.

“Yes. The chalice, too, was melted in that brazier, as well as objects from the rooms of your poor friend Morgan.”

“Morgan!” I cried, interrupting. “He was murdered! Tell us the truth.”

“Yes,” answered the unhappy woman, hoarsely. “He was murdered.”

“Who was the assassin?” I inquired quickly.

“I do not know,” she answered, looking boldly at me. “I myself have tried to discover, but cannot.”

“But how do you reconcile your assertion that he died at Monte Carlo with the fact that he was assassinated in London?” I demanded.

“I felt assured that he committed suicide there, for I saw him carried out of the rooms dying. But, from further information which I have since obtained from the Administration there, I have found that he lay ill for some weeks in a hospital at Nice, and afterwards recovered sufficiently to be able to return to London. The Administration are always reticent upon the subject of suicides, and it was their refusal to give me any information when I applied on the day following the tragic affair that led me to believe that your friend had died and been buried in a nameless grave in the suicides’ cemetery at La Turbie.”

“Why did you so deceive me regarding your address at Hampstead?” I inquired. “Surely there could have been no necessity for doing that?”

“Yes, there was,” she replied. “I was compelled to act as I did. In the house of Mrs Popejoy was a valuable ring belonging to the Pope which he had given to the Ambassador of France together with his blessing. This ring had been traced by the cult of Satan to this lady’s possession, and it was arranged that I should enter the house as her companion and secure it. I did so on the night when you escorted me to that house, and the ring is now upon the hand of the chief of the order—the man yonder who personifies the King of Evil.”

“Extraordinary!” I exclaimed when I had heard her explanation. “Your ingenuity at deception was truly marvellous.”

“Yes,” she answered, “but my actions were not my own voluntary ones. They were directed by the leader of the sect in whose power I have been held, unable to extricate myself for fear of exposure and a terrible denunciation. But it is all at an end now,” she added in despair. “You have all of you witnessed my awful degradation, and how I have committed the deadly sins. For me what forgiveness can there be; for what may I hope?”

“Hope for the forgiveness of the man who loves you,” I answered, glancing at Yelverton, who remained rigid and silent, his face white as death.

But she only burst into tears, and grasping her lover’s hand pressed it to her lips, murmuring some broken words imploring pity.

“And you, Muriel?” I asked, turning to my beloved who was standing at my side shielded from the wrath of these angry people by my revolver. “How is it that you have been enabled to expose this most extraordinary state of affairs?”

“But for one thing I should never have dared to bring you here,” she answered, looking at me openly. “I was jealous of Aline, because I thought you loved her, and was therefore content that she should suffer all the tortures of the mind which she has suffered, being compelled to bow before Satan and ridicule the Faith. I refused your offer of marriage because I believed you loved her, and in pique I allowed this man Hibbert to admire me. I—”

“Then you are a Diabolist yourself?” I gasped, dismayed.

“Yes. It was Hibbert who induced me to allow myself to become initiated. Truth to tell, I was curious to witness the strange rites of which he told me, but as soon as I found myself fettered by the Bond of Black I repented, and wished to come out of the terrible cult whose faith is in profanity and whose deeds are wickedness. Like Aline, I have been compelled to steal prayer-books, Bibles, and sacred objects, all of which have been defiled and consumed. I dared not tell you of my association with these Satanists, hence my constant silence regarding matters upon which you have desired explanation.”

“But what caused you to so suddenly abandon Hibbert and return to me?” I asked, recollecting my curious compact with Aline.

“A discovery which I made—a revelation which, by Aline’s instigation, was made to me,” she answered. “I know full well how she bought your silence by promising that I should return to you. I came, and you believed, because of that, she was possessed of power supernatural. It is the object of every worshipper of Satan to cause the outside world to believe that he or she is endowed with a miraculous power by the Evil One, hence the manner in which ashes are substituted for the holy objects stolen. Aline, like myself, was compelled by the oath she had taken to impose upon you, upon Roddy Morgan, upon her lover, nay, upon every one about her, until they believed her endowed with power not possessed by any other living being.”

“Yes,” Aline interrupted, “what Muriel tells you is the truth. At my will this man Hibbert forsook her, and she returned to you because she was no longer jealous of me. And you believed that I committed the crime!” she said reproachfully. “You suspected that I killed the man who had been so kind to me.”

“I certainly did believe so. All the evidence seemed to point to the fact that Roddy was killed by some secret means, and that the person who visited him was yourself. I found the button of one of your gloves there.”

Slowly she rose to her feet, and seeing how grave was her lover’s face she turned again to me, saying, in a tremulous voice—

“Yes, I know, it is useless for me to now conceal the truth. On leaving you that morning I went there and saw him. He opened the door himself, and I remained about a quarter of an hour. We had not met since I had seen him carried out of the rooms at Monte Carlo, and the reason of my visit was to ascertain whether what you alleged, namely, that he was still alive, was true. I fully expected to find that this man who was passing as Roddy Morgan was an impostor, but discovered that he was no doubt the same person with whom I had been acquainted at Monte Carlo. My aunt, with whom I was on the Riviera, liked him very much, and I confess that only by his attempted suicide was a match between us prevented. In that brief space, while I remained there, he again told me that he loved me, but I explained that I had now formed another attachment, a statement which threw him into a fit of deep despondency. His man was out, therefore he went himself into an adjoining room to get me a glass of wine, and while he was absent I stole a rosary from a casket, depositing ashes in its place. Then I drank the wine, and left him, promising to call soon, but giving him plainly to understand that although we might be friends, we could never again be lovers.”

“And then?” I asked gravely.

“Ah! I have no knowledge of what occurred after that,” she said. “I have endeavoured to fathom the mystery, but have failed. That poor Roddy was murdered is absolutely certain.”

“You refused his love because of your affection for me, Aline!” Jack exclaimed, in a low, broken voice, for this discovery that she worshipped the power which he held in greatest hatred had utterly crushed and appalled him. Truly he had spoken the truth on that night in Duddington when he had told me that the Devil had sent her into his life to arrest the good deeds he was endeavouring to perform.

“Yes,” she answered, looking up into his dark, grave face with eyes fall of tears. “You know, Jack, that I have ever been true to you. I have been forced to act like this; compelled to commit a profanity which has horrified me, and made to exercise the ingenious trickery which was born of the fertile resources of this man beneath whose thrall I have been held.”

“It’s a lie!” cried the hideous fellow who personified the Evil One. His very appearance caused us to shudder. “You are one of us—our priestess. Was it not you, yourself, who suggested to our brothers the Sacrifice of the Cat?”

“Yes,” cried half a dozen voices, “it was Aline who suggested it.”

“At your instigation,” she answered boldly. “You first broached the subject and then induced me to suggest it. I’ve been your catspaw from the very moment we first met at Montgeron, and you took me to the Temple of Satan at Passy. From that day I have known not a moment’s peace; the spirit of Satan has entered my soul, and I’ve existed in an awful torment of mind, like that prepared for the wicked.”

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