"First of all he made me write a letter to Maxime, telling him that I hated him and never wished to see him again; that I loved another man better. I did this gladly. That was nothing. And Loria let me go out and send the letter, while he began the awful work which had to come next. I thanked him for that. I had not nerve enough left to help much after what I had gone through.
"When I came back to the flat after sending off the letter, Loria unlocked the door for me. Already the worst was over.
"His idea was for me to escape and let it seem thatIhad been murdered. This could be done, because Olive Sinclair would not be missed. She had given up her rooms to leave for England that night. In a bag hangingfrom her belt were her tickets for train and boat. We were of much the same figure. Loria, in speaking to me of her before, had mentioned this slight resemblance. Her hair was brown, while mine was red-gold. Hers would have to be bleached, now that she lay dead. But there was no great difficulty in that, for I had the stuff in the house, as I used it in very small quantities to give extra brightness to mine.
"While I had been gone Loria had fired shot after shot into the poor dead face, from a revolver, which he did not show me. Afterward, when I was far away, I heard that the weapon was Maxime's; but, honestly, I did not think at the time that Maxime would be implicated in this affair. I was half mad. I thought only of myself, and of Loria's self-sacrifice. Already I could have worshipped him for what he was doing to save me.
"He shot the hands, too, that they might be shattered, for Olive Sinclair's hands were not like mine; but before he did that, he had slipped two or three of my rings, whichhe had found on my dressing-table, upon the dead fingers.
"All this was finished when I dragged myself home. But together we bleached the dark hair till it was the colour of mine, and together we dressed the body in my clothes, Loria having removed the gown before he used the revolver. Oh, the horror of that scene! It is part of my punishment that I live it over often at night. At last we arranged the shattered hands to look as if the girl had flung them up to protect her face from the murderer.
"I put on her travelling dress, and her hat, with a thick veil of my own. Meanwhile, a knock had come at the door. I feared that the shots had been heard, and that we would be arrested. But Loria quieted me. He said the revolver was small, and had made scarcely any sound; that, as no one lived in the flat above or just underneath, it was quite safe. We did not answer the knock, though it came again and again. But afterward, in the letter-box on the door, there was a packet containing the money which Maxime had got from the pawnbrokerfor my jewels. That I took with me, and Loria gave me more. Whether Maxime himself brought the money, or sent it by messenger, I did not know; but, afterward, theconciergebore witness that he had passed into the house before the murder must have taken place, and gone out long afterward. And dimly I remembered, in thinking of Loria as he had looked in that dreadful hour, that he had worn a coat and hat like Maxime's. How can I tell what were the details of his scheme? But when Maxime was accused of the murder, and Loria made no effort to exonerate him, it took all my faith in the Marchese as a lover to believe that he was sacrificing his friend wholly for my sake. As for me—why should I give myself up to the guillotine for a man who would have betrayed me for an Olive Sinclair—especially when he was not condemned to death, but only to imprisonment?
"I went to England in Olive Sinclair's place. Fortunately for me, she had no relatives. No one asked questions, no one cared what had become of her. She was not a celebrity, in spiteof the way in which Maxime Dalahaide had worked to help her. After a while I left England for Portugal. Meanwhile I had dyed my hair, and stained my complexion with a wonderful clear olive stain which does not hurt the skin, and shows the colour through. Here are the things I use, in this bag. I keep it always locked and ready to my hand.
"Loria bought me a little land and an old ruined house near Lisbon, belonging to an ancient family, of whom the last member had died. The title went with the land. It was supposed that I was a distant cousin, with money, and a sentiment of love for the old place. But really I hated it. It was dull—deadly dull. I travelled as much as possible, and Loria had promised that at the end of the five years he would marry me, saying always that he loved me well; that if he had sinned it was for love of me, and to save me. When the world had forgotten the affair of Maxime Dalahaide we would be married, and live in countries where no one had heard the story, and nothing would remind us of the past. Iforced myself to believe him, for he was my all—all that was left to me in exile. But now I know him for what he is. I would swear that he planned everything from the beginning to ruin Maxime Dalahaide. He here to help his old enemy! No, it is he who must have set the bloodhounds on his track. I fight under Loria's banner no longer. He loves Virginia Beverly. Now that she knows him as he is, and what he has done for hatred, let her put her hand in his if she will."
The woman's voice fell from a shrill height into silence. Her olive-stained face was ash-gray with exhaustion. No one had interrupted, or tried to check the fierce flood of the confession, not even Loria. All had stood listening, breathless; and Virginia had known that, behind the door of his locked cabin, Maxime Dalahaide must hear every clear-cadenced word of fine, Parisian French.
Loria had stood listening with the rest, a sneer on his lips, though his eyes burned with a deep fire. If he had taken a step, hands would have been thrust out to stop him. Buthe did not move except, in the midst of Liane Devereux's story, to play nervously with an old-fashioned ring of twisted, jewel-headed serpents on the third finger of his left hand.
Suddenly, as the woman finished, he raised the hand to his lips and seemed to bite the finger with the ring. Then he dropped his hand and looked at his accomplice with a strained smile. But the smile froze; the lips quivered into a slight grimace. His eyes, glittering with agony, turned to Virginia.
"I loved you," he said, and fell forward on his face.
"He has taken poison!" exclaimed Chandler, the United States Consul. "It must have been in that queer ring."
He and Roger Broom and George Trent and the German doctor pressed round the prostrate figure, but the woman who had denounced him was before them all. With a cry she rushed to the fallen man, and, flinging herself down, caught up the hand with the ring. They saw what she meant to do, and wouldhave snatched her away, but already her lips had touched the spot where his had been, and found the same death.
The whole situation was changed by the unexpected developments on board theBella Cuba. Dr. Sauber had relinquished, indeed, almost forgotten, the clever plan by which the yacht was to be detained. The French Consul, Loria's host, was hurriedly brought on board, to be dumbfounded by a recital of what had happened. With Loria dead, and guilty, the fugitive concealed on theBella Cubainnocent, De Letz's personal motive for detaining the prisoner disappeared. His chivalry was fired by Virginia's beauty and the brave part she had played. In the end, instead of making difficulties for the party, he consented to take charge of his friend's body and that of Liane Devereux, which latter duty was his by right, as consul to the country from which she came. The dead man and dead woman would be carried ashore in the boat which had brought thefour men out to the yacht; and De Letz would, acting on the statement of those who had heard the confession, make such representations to France as would eventually obtain for Maxime Dalahaide a free pardon with permission to return to his own land. Meanwhile he (De Letz) reiterated that it was as much his duty as before to bring about the arrest of the escaped convict, who had no more right to break his prison bonds if innocent than if he were guilty. To bring it about if possible! But—wasit possible? And the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, half smiling at Virginia. Mr. Chandler advised him that, in the present circumstances, it would be unwise to make the attempt. De Letz was inclined to agree, and, as Dr. Sauber had apparently found a clean bill of health, theBella Cubamust take her own sweet way, rebel though she was.
So when the yacht had finished coaling she steamed out of the harbour of Samoa with Convict 1280 still on board.
Virginia's desire was to make for America,and to send for Madeleine, who had been living all this time with her aunt in an old Surrey manor-house belonging to Roger Broom. The brother and sister should stay at her house in Virginia until Maxime was free to return to France, and he would grow strong and well, and everybody concerned would be happy. It would be madness, she urged, for Maxime to put himself in the power of French law until such time as his innocence was officially acknowledged.
But Maxime thought otherwise. His innocence had been declared, and would sooner or later be acknowledged. The manly and honourable thing to do was to trust to the generosity of his adopted land. To France he would go, and boldly throw himself upon her mercy.
"He is right, Virginia," said Roger, fearing the while that secret jealousy influenced his decision.
"He is right," echoed George Trent, with no hidden thoughts at all.
Virginia held her peace, though her heart wasfull; and the ultimate destination of theBella Cubawas France.
France did not disappoint Maxime's trust, but months passed before he was a free man. Meantime hope had given him new life. His sister was near him. Virginia Beverly was in Paris with an elderly relative of Roger Broom's as her chaperon-companion, instead of Kate Gardiner. Though he was virtually a prisoner, since the eye of the law was upon him, and the voice of the law pronounced that he should go so far and no farther, still he was happy, so happy that he often awoke from prison dreams, not daring to believe the present reality.
Then at last the day came when he was free. Madeleine was staying with Virginia. He would see them together. There was heaven in the thought. George Trent was there, but not Roger Broom. Roger had been called to England on business, but he was returning that evening.
Never had there been such a dinner as that which celebrated Maxime's release from the old bonds. Virginia had taken a beautiful house which had been to let furnished, near the Bois de Boulogne.
After the dinner the two girls with their brothers went out into the garden, the old aunt, exhausted with over-much joy, remaining indoors.
Virginia knew what would come next, and drew Madeleine away from the two young men that George might have the chance of asking Maxime for his sister. Five minutes later Maxime was squeezing Madeleine's hand, and telling her that no news could have made him so happy. Then, somehow, the lovers disappeared, and Virginia Beverly and Maxime Dalahaide were alone together.
"Everything good comes to us from you," he said, his voice unsteady. "What can I do to show you how I—how we worship you for all you have done, all you have been?"
"There is one thing you can do," Virginia answered softly. "A favour to me. There is a little gift I want to make to you, on this dayof all others. I have been planning it, thinking of it for a long time. Here is this paper. Take it and read. You will see then what I mean, and why I want it so much."
It was a long, folded document of legal aspect which she thrust into his hand, and in the blue evening light he opened it. At sight of the first words the blood leaped to his dark face, marble no longer, but a man's face, young, handsome, and virile. He looked from the paper to Virginia.
"Why, it is a deed of gift!" he exclaimed. "The château—no, Miss Beverly, you are more than generous, but this cannot be. The château is yours—I would rather it belonged to you than to any one on earth, even myself—and yours it must remain."
"I bought it for you. It will break my heart if you refuse," said Virginia, with tears in her voice.
The sound of her pain smote him with anguish. He lost his head and forgot the barrier between them—that he was poor, with a dark past and an uncertain future, that she was a great heiress.
"Break your heart!" he repeated. "Mydarling, my angel, I would give all the blood in mine for one smile from you. I never meant to say this. I oughtn't to say it now, but—it said itself. You must have known before. You are the very soul of me, though I'm not worthy to touch your dear hand. I couldn't take the old home from you—don't you understand? I couldn't live there again with this love of you in my heart, for it would make it so much the harder. I can't forget you; I would rather die than forget you. This love is too sweet to live without, but I know very well that we can never be anything to each other, and my plans are all made. As soon as Madeleine is married I shall go out to Africa and try for luck as other men have tried—and found it. It is better for me to be far away from you——"
"No, no, I love you!" cried Virginia. Then putting him from her with a quick gesture: "But it will be I who go far away from you. I have no right to care. My cousin, Roger Broom, will take me to England—anywhere—it doesn't matter. I promised long ago to marry him. In the winter perhaps——"
"In the winter you and Max here will be spending your honeymoon at the Château de la Roche," said Roger's voice, with a hard cheerfulness. "That old promise—why, I never meant to hold you to it, dear. I don't take bribes, and—I saw this coming long ago. I'm quite content it should be so. You'll forgive me for overhearing, won't you, girlie? I didn't mean to give you such a surprise, but I'm not sorry now. Give me your hand, Max, old man, and you, Virginia. There! I'm glad it should be the old cousin-guardian who joins them together."
"You mean it, Roger?" panted Virginia.
"Of course I mean it."
The two hands joined under his. And the man and the girl were too happy to read anything save kindness in its nervous pressure.