She held out her hand toward him. Obed Chute took that little hand in his, but restrained his great strength, and only pressed it lightly.
Meanwhile Windham had come in to congratulate the beautiful girl, whose face had been haunting him ever since that time when the sun lighted it up, as it lay amidst its glory of ebon hair upon his breast. He heard these last words, and stood apart, modestly awaiting some chance to speak.
Zillah raised her face.
Their eyes met in a long earnest gaze.
Zillah was the first to speak. "You saved me from a fearful fate," she said, in low and tremulous tones. "I heard all about it."
Windham said nothing, but bowed in silence.
Zillah rose from her chair, and advanced toward him, her face expressing strong emotion. Now he saw, for the first time, her wondrous eyes, in all their magnificence of beauty, with their deep unfathomable meaning, and their burning intensity of gaze. On the schooner, while her head lay on his breast, those eyes were closed in senselessness--now they were fixed on his.
"Will you let me thank you, Sir," she said, in a voice which thrilled through him in musical vibrations, "for my _life_, which you snatched from a death of horror? To thank you, is but a cold act. Believe me, you have my everlasting gratitude."
She held out her hand to Windham. He took it in both of his, and reverentially raised it to his lips. A heavy sigh burst from him, and he let it fall.
"Miss Lorton," said he, in his deep musical voice, which now trembled with an agitation to which he was unused, "if I have been the means of saving you from any evil, my own joy is so great that no thanks are needed from you: or, rather, all thankfulness ought to belong to me."
A deep flush overspread Zillah's face. Her large dark eyes for a moment seemed to read his inmost soul. Then she looked down in silence.
As for Windham, he turned away with something like abruptness, and left her with Obed Chute.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE PREFECT OF POLICE.
Obed Chute had requested his business agents, Messrs. Bourdonnais Frères, to obtain a suitable place for his family on their arrival. He went first to their office, and learned that the family were then in Marseilles, and received their address. He then went immediately for Zillah, and brought her with him. The family consisted of two small girls, aged respectively eight and ten, two maids, a nurse, and a valet or courier, or both combined. A sister of Obed's had the responsibility of the party.
Delight at getting among any friends would have made this party welcome to her; but Miss Chute's thorough respectability made her position entirely unobjectionable. Obed Chute's feelings were not of a demonstrative character. He kissed his sister, took each of his little girls up in his arms, and held them there for about an hour, occasionally walking up and down the room with them, and talking to them all the time. He had brought presents from all parts of the world for every member of his family, and when at length they were displayed, the children made the house ring with their rejoicings. Zillah was soon on a home footing with this little circle. Miss Chute, though rather sharp and very angular, was still thoroughly kind-hearted, and sympathized deeply with the poor waif whom Providence had thrown under her protection. Her kind care and unremitting attention had a favorable effect; and Zillah grew rapidly better, and regained something of that strength which she had lost during the terrors of her late adventure. She was most anxious to go to Naples; but Obed told her that she would have to wait for the next steamer, which would prolong her stay in Marseilles at least a fortnight.
As soon as Obed had seen Zillah fairly settled in the bosom of his family, he set out to give information to the police about the whole matter. His story was listened to with the deepest attention. Windham, who was present, corroborated it; and finally the thing was considered to be of such importance that the chief of police determined to pay Zillah a visit on the following day, for the sake of finding out the utmost about so mysterious an affair. This official spoke English very well indeed, and had spent all his life in the profession to which he belonged.
Both Obed Chute and Windham were present at the interview which the chief of police had with Zillah, and heard all that she had to say in answer to his many questions. The chief began by assuring her that the case was a grave one, both as affecting her, and also as affecting France, and more particularly Marseilles. He apologized for being forced to ask a great many questions, and hoped that she would understand his motives, and answer freely.
Zillah told her story in very much the same terms that she had told it on board the steamer. Her father had died some years ago, she said. She and her sister had been living together in various parts of England. Their last home was Tenby. She then gave a minute account of the accident which had happened to Hilda, and showed the letter which had been written from Naples. This the chief of police scanned very curiously and closely, examining the envelope, the post-marks, and the stamps.
Zillah then proceeded to give an account of her journey until the arrival at Marseilles. She told him of the confusion which had prevailed, and how the mail steamers had been taken off the route, how Gualtier had found a yacht and purchased it for her, and how Mathilde had deserted her. Then she recounted her voyage up to the time when she had seen the steamer, and had fallen prostrate at the foot of the mast.
"What was the date of your arrival at Marseilles?" asked the chief, after long thought.
Zillah informed him.
"Who is Gualtier?"
"He is a teacher of music and drawing."
"Where does he live?"
"In London."
"Do you know any thing about his antecedents?"
"No."
"Have you known him long?"
"Yes; for five years."
"Has he generally enjoyed your confidence?"
"I never thought much about him, one way or the other. My father found him in London, and brought him to instruct me. Afterward--"
Zillah hesitated. She was thinking of Chetwynde.
"Well--afterward--?"
"Afterward," said Zillah, "that is, after my father's death, he still continued his instructions."
"Did he teach your sister also?"
"Yes."
"Your sister seems to have had great confidence in him, judging from her letter?"
"Yes."
"Did she ever make use of his services before?"
"No."
"Might she not have done so?"
"I don't see how. No occasion ever arose."
"Why, then, did she think him so trustworthy, do you suppose?"
"Why, I suppose because he had been known to us so long, and had been apparently a humble, devoted, and industrious man. We were quite solitary always. We had no friends, and so I suppose she thought of him. It would have been quite as likely, if I were in her situation, that I would have done the same--that is, if I had her cleverness."
"Your sister is clever, then?"
"Very clever indeed. She has always watched over me like a--like a mother," said Zillah, while tears stood in her eyes.
"Ah!" said the chief; and for a time he lost himself in thought.
"How many years is it," he resumed, "since your father died?"
"About five years."
"How long was this Gualtier with you before his death?"
"About six months."
"Did your father ever show any particular confidence in him?"
"No. He merely thought him a good teacher, and conscientious in his work. He never took any particular notice of him."
"What was your father?"
"A landed gentleman."
"Where did he live?"
"Sometimes in Berks, sometimes in London," said Zillah, in general terms. But the chief did not know any thing about English geography, and did not pursue this question any further. It would have resulted in nothing if he had done so, for Zillah was determined, at all hazards, to guard her secret.
"Did you ever notice Gualtier's manner?" continued the chief, after another pause.
"No; I never paid any attention to him, nor ever took any particular notice of any thing about him. He always seemed a quiet and inoffensive kind of a man."
"What do you think of him now?"
"I can scarcely say what. He is a villain, of course; but why, or what he could gain by it, is a mystery."
"Do you remember any thing that you can now recall which in any way looks like villainy?"
"No, not one thing; and that is the trouble with me."
"Did he ever have any quarrel of any kind with any of you?"
"Never."
"Was any thing ever done which he could have taken as an insult or an injury?"
"He was never treated in any other way than with the most scrupulous politeness. My father, my sister, and myself were all incapable of treating him in any other way."
"What was your sister's usual manner toward him?"
"Her manner? Oh, the usual dignified courtesy of a lady to an inferior."
"Did he seem to be a gentleman?"
"A gentleman? Of course not."
"He could not have imagined himself slighted, then, by any humiliation?"
"Certainly not."
"Could Gualtier have had any knowledge of your pecuniary affairs?"
"Possibly--in a general way."
Interview Between The Chief Of Police And Zillah.
[Illustration: Interview Between The Chief Of Police And Zillah.]
"You are rich, are you not?"
"Yes."
"Might he not have had some design on your money?"
"I have thought of that; but there are insuperable difficulties. There is, first, my sister; and, again, even if she had not escaped, how could he ever get possession of the property?"
The chief did not answer this. He went on to ask his own questions.
"Did you ever hear of the loss of any of your money in any way--by theft, or by forgery?"
"No."
"Did any thing of the kind take place in your father's lifetime?"
"Nothing of the kind whatever."
"Do you know any thing about the antecedents of your maid Mathilde?"
"No; nothing except what little information she may have volunteered. I never had any curiosity about the matter."
"What is her full name?"
"Mathilde Louise Grassier."
"Where does she belong?"
"She said once that she was born in Rouen; and I suppose she was brought up there, too, from her frequent references to that place. I believe she went from there to Paris, as lady's-maid in an English family, and from thence to London."
"How did you happen to get her?"
"My father obtained her for me in London."
"What is her character? Is she cunning?"
"Not as far as I have ever seen. She always struck me as being quite weak out of her own particular department. She was an excellent lady's-maid, but in other respects quite a child."
"Might she not have been very deep, nevertheless?"
"It is possible. I am not much of a judge of character; but, as far as I could see, she was simply a weak, good-natured creature. I don't think she would willingly do wrong; but I think she might be very easily terrified or persuaded. I think her flight from me was the work of Gualtier."
"Did she ever have any thing to do with him?"
"I never saw them together; in fact, whenever he was in the house she was always in my room. I don't see how it is possible that there could have been any understanding between them. For several years she was under my constant supervision, and if any thing of the kind had happened I would certainly recall it now, even if I had not noticed it at the time."
"Did you ever have any trouble with Mathilde?"
"None whatever."
"Weak natures are sometimes vengeful. Did Mathilde ever experience any treatment which might have excited vengeful feelings?"
"She never experienced any thing but kindness."
"Did your sister treat her with the same kindness?"
"Oh yes--quite so."
"When she lived in England did she ever speak about leaving you, and going back to France?"
"No, never."
"She seemed quite contented then?"
"Quite."
"But she left you very suddenly at last. How do you account for that?"
"On the simple grounds that she found herself in her own country, and did not wish to leave it; and then, also, her dread of a sea voyage. But, in addition to this, I think that Gualtier must have worked upon her in some way."
"How? By bribery?"
"I can scarcely think that, for she was better off with me. Her situation was very profitable."
"In what way, then, could he have worked upon her? By menaces?"
"Perhaps so."
"But how? Can you think of any thing in your situation which would, by any possibility, put any one who might be your maid in any danger, or in any fear of some imaginary danger?"
At this question Zillah thought immediately of her assumed name, and the possibility that Gualtier might have reminded Mathilde of this, and terrified her in some way. But she could not explain this; and so she said, unhesitatingly,
"No."
The chief of police was now silent and meditative for some time.
"Your sister," said he at length--"how much older is she than you?"
"About four years."
"You have said that she is clever?"
"She is very clever."
"And that she manages the affairs?"
"Altogether. I know nothing about them. I do not even know the amount of my income. She keeps the accounts, and makes all the purchases and the payments--that is, of course, she used to."
"What is her character otherwise? Is she experienced at all in the world, or is she easily imposed upon?"
"She is very acute, very quick, and is thoroughly practical."
"Do you think she is one whom it would be easy to impose upon?"
"I know that such a thing would be extremely difficult. She is one of those persons who acquire the ascendency wherever she goes. She is far better educated, far more accomplished, and far more clever than I am, or can ever hope to be. She is clear-headed and clear-sighted, with a large store of common-sense. To impose upon her would be difficult, if not impossible. She is very quick to discern character."
"And yet she trusted this Gualtier?"
"She did; and that is a thing which is inexplicable to me. I can only account for it on the ground that she had known him so long, and had been so accustomed to his obsequiousness and apparent conscientiousness, that her usual penetration was at fault. I think she trusted him, as I would have done, partly because there was no other, and partly out of habit."
"What did you say was the name of the place where you were living when your sister met with her accident?"
"Tenby."
"Was Gualtier living in the place?"
"No."
"Where was he?"
"In London."
"How did your sister know that he was there?"
"I can not tell."
"Did you know where he was?"
"I knew nothing about him. But my sister managed our affairs; and when Gualtier left us I dare say he gave his address to my sister, in case of our wanting his services again."
"You dismissed Gualtier, I suppose, because you had no longer need for his services?"
"Yes."
"You say that she never treated him with any particular attention?"
"On the contrary, she never showed any thing but marked hauteur toward him. I was indifferent--she took trouble to be dignified."
"Have you any living relatives?"
"No--none."
"Neither on the father's side nor the mother's?"
"No."
"Have you no guardian?"
"At my father's death there was a guardian--a nominal one--but he left the country, and we have never seen him since."
"He is not now in England, then?"
"No."
The chief of police seemed now to have exhausted his questions. He rose, and, with renewed apologies for the trouble which he had given, left the room. Obed and Windham followed, and the former invited him to the library--a room which was called by that name from the fact that there was a book-shelf in it containing a few French novels. Here they sat in silence for a time, and at length the chief began to tell his conclusions.