"I'm to wait for the answer," he said, and took up his position beside his wares.
Constance opened the letter, with a hand trembling with eagerness. It ran:
Miss Wardour:—By all means keep the secret of the diamonds, and trust all to me. I think it best not to come to you, as Belknap keeps a constant watch upon your movements; dismiss him as soon as you like. Have no fears regarding Heath, I have his enemies well roped; be assured that I shall be on hand when needed, and when you see me expect to have the question of the diamond mystery forever set at rest. If you have anything to say, send verbal instructions by boy; he is to be trusted.Yours sincerely,Neil J. Bathurst.
Miss Wardour:—By all means keep the secret of the diamonds, and trust all to me. I think it best not to come to you, as Belknap keeps a constant watch upon your movements; dismiss him as soon as you like. Have no fears regarding Heath, I have his enemies well roped; be assured that I shall be on hand when needed, and when you see me expect to have the question of the diamond mystery forever set at rest. If you have anything to say, send verbal instructions by boy; he is to be trusted.
Yours sincerely,Neil J. Bathurst.
Constance heaved a sigh of relief, as she finished the perusal of this note, and after a moment's reflection, she said:
"Tell Mr. Bathurst that I will obey his instructions, and that Mr. Belknap will be dismissed from my service to-day."
"Yes, madam. Now if you will please to select some of these things for the sake of appearance."
"Of course. You are very thoughtful. Are you a young detective too?"
The boy looked up with a gleam of pride in his eyes.
"I have been in Mr. Bathurst's service two years, madam."
"Oh, then I have no fears as to your discretion; so I will ask you a question, knowing that you are wise enough to refuse me an answer if I am asking too much."
The boy smiled, and stood attentive.
"May I ask if Mr. Bathurst is really now in W——, and when he arrived?"
The boy laughed an odd laugh, and full of mischief.
"Mr. Bathurst is here," he said. "I can't tell justwhenhe did arrive."
"Then you did not come together?"
"We! Oh, no, indeed!" laughing again. "Mr. Bathurst is too smart for that."
Constance smiled with a returning feeling of ease and restfulness.
"Ah, I see I can trust Mr. Bathurst—and you, and lest I ask the wrong question if I continue, I will not ask another one; tell Mr. Bathurst I rely on him to straighten all the tangles; and that I like his messenger almost as much as his message."
"My, but ain't she a rum young lady," mused the boy, as he trudged away from Wardour Place with his lightened tray of ivories, "and handsome! jingo! if I was Mr. Bathurst I'd work for her, just to see her smile, and no pay; but Lord,hedon't care, he don't; he'll work just as hard for any old crone; he's another rum one."
"Ah, what a relief," breathed Constance, reading for the third time Bathurst's reassuring note. "I begin to feel like myself once more. Now I am ready for you, Mr. private detective Belknap."
And, truly, Constancewasherself once more. Poor Mrs. Aliston, sitting aloof, and almost abandoned during the days of her niece's perturbation of mind, was the first to receive the benefit of the returning sunshine. Constance, for reasons which any woman can guess, had kept her anxiety, concerning Doctor Heath, a profound secret from this good lady; and she, watching the signs of the times, made no comments, but speculated profoundly—and, wide of the mark.
"You should have gone with me to drive, yesterday, Con.," said Mrs. Aliston to Constance, who, sitting in her aunt's room, half an hour after the departure of her small messenger, was endeavoring to atone for her neglect of the past few days by chatting cheerily upon every subject but the one which was of deepest interest to herself.
"You should have been with me and seen Sybil Lamotte."
"Sybil! Did you call there?"
"Oh, no. I can't get on with Mrs. Lamotte well enough to brave such a call alone; she is too stately and non-committal for me."
"You don't understand her, auntie; but Sybil, did you speak with her?"
"Yes, we met just over the bridge, and Sybil stopped the carriage to ask after you; I think she is anxious to see you."
"Poor Sybil," said Constance, contritely, "Ihaveneglected her of late; but we will drive there to-morrow; to-day I don't just feel like going out. Does Sybil look well, auntie?"
Mrs. Aliston leaned forward and lifted a plump forefinger to give emphasis to her words.
"Con., Sybil is dying or going mad, I can't tell which."
"Auntie! why?"
But Mrs. Aliston went on rapidly. "I never saw such a change; two weeks ago, one week ago, even the last time she came here, Sybil seemed nerved to bear her trouble, she carried herself well and seemed firm as a rock."
"Outwardly."
"Outwardly of course, one couldn't feel much secret pride, compelled to live under the same roof with that low man she has married; but Sybil is not calmoutwardlynow, she has lost all that brilliant color."
"So much the better, it was the outward token of a mental excitement that would soon drive her mad; Sybil should never have attempted to brave criticism, and bear her shame so publicly. Every time she has allowed that man to appear beside her in the streets of W——, has shortened her life as surely as slow poison could do it."
"Well! mark my word, she won't undergo the ordeal much longer; her eyes have lost their steady light and luster, and have a wild, frightened, expectant look impossible to describe; when a horse came suddenly up behind us, she started and almost screamed with fright, and I could see her hands tremble and her lips quiver for minutes after; hands, they are mere claws! and she is growing more shadowy every day."
"Auntie, hush! you have made me as nervous as you picture Sybil. I shall not rest until I see her."
"There is a gentleman to see you, Miss Constance," said Nelly, from the doorway, which position she had gained unnoticed by the two ladies.
Constance gave a nervous start, and then arose hastily.
"Who is it, Nelly?" she asked, merely for appearance sake, for she fully expected to see Mr. Belkhap.
"He didn't give his name, Miss, but said he come by appointment. It's the same gentleman as called a few days ago."
"Oh! then he won't detain me long," said the young lady, a resolute look coming into her eyes. "Auntie, I'll be with you again in a very few moments."
"He won't be very graciously received," was Mrs. Aliston's mental comment. "I know that gleam of the eye, and what it means."
But Mrs. Aliston was mistaken for once.
"Oh, Mr. Belknap," Constance said, sweeping into his presence with her proudest air, and smiling upon him her sweetest smile. "I am glad you have come."
"Promptness is our first lesson in my profession," replied he, with an affable smile.
"Yes! and have you learned anything new since Monday?"
"Nothing of importance. The party under suspicion has been entertaining a friend, and has been out very little."
"Oh!"
"One thing occurred on Monday last, not long after I had left you, which I can't help looking on with suspicion."
"Indeed! and may I hear it?"
"I think so. Without stopping to explain my modes of taking observations, I will give the bare fact. On Monday afternoon, while Doctor Heath was alone in his office, a boy, carrying on his head a tray of carvings, stopped at the foot of the stairs, set down his tray, ran up the flight like a young cat, and just as quietly, and slipped a note underneath the office door."
"Really!" in real surprise, and some disturbance of mind. "And you know nothing more about the note?"
"Nothing; but I shall soon I trust."
"Then you intend following up this case, Mr. Belknap?"
He looked up with a start of astonishment.
"Is not that your intention?"
"Decidedly not."
"But—have you consulted with Mr. Lamotte?"
"I have consulted with no one, sir. I thought over the matter once more, and decided to let my own mind guide my actions."
"But Mr. Lamotte thinks the case should be pushed."
"Mr. Lamotte is my neighbor, not my guardian. He is good enough to advise me sometimes; I think he would scarcely presume to dictate."
"Ah! then I am to consider myself no longer in your service?"
She bowed her head.
"After I have cancelled my indebtedness to you," she said, serenely.
With a look of vexation that he could not hide, the private detective drew from his pocket a memorandum book, and from thence a slip of paper, which he handed to Constance.
"That is my statement," he said.
She ran her eye over the itemized account, smiling a little as she did so. Then, rising swiftly, she said:
"Excuse me for one moment."
He bowed silently, and she went out, returning soon with a bank cheque, which she placed in his hands, saying:
"So ends the case of the Wardour diamonds. I shall not take it up again."
"What! do you really mean that?"
"I really do."
The detective opened his lips, as if about to remonstrate, then closed them suddenly, and moved toward the door.
"Do you still cling to your intention of notifying the town authorities, and setting them upon Doctor Heath?" she asked.
He turned toward her, with a peculiar smile upon his face.
"You have offered a reward for your jewels, I believe?"
"You mistake, I have offered a reward for the apprehension of the thief or thieves."
"And—as you have withdrawn the case, shall you withdraw your reward also?"
"By no means."
"Then—if I bring you both the jewels and the thieves my reward should be doubled?"
A queer gleam shot from her eyes, as she answered, without hesitation:
"And so I shall. Place my robbers in the county jail, and put my diamonds in my hands, and you shall receive a double reward."
"Then, for the present, I shall keep my clews in my own hands; Miss Wardour, I wish you good morning." And the private detective stalked from the room with the air of a man who was overflowing with desirable information.
"That's a queer woman," mused Mr. Belknap, as he turned his face away from Wardour. "I can't make her out. If it were not altogether too fishy, I should say she had a suspicion concerning those diamonds. I intend to look a little closer into the doings of Miss Wardour; and, blow hot, or blow cold, I'm bound to have my reward, if not by this, why by that."
With this enigmatical reflection, he looked up to behold, sitting by the roadside, a tramp of sinister aspect, who turned his head indolently as the detective approached, and then applied himself closer to a luncheon of broken victuals, eating like a man famished. Mr. Belknap, who, on this occasion, had visited Wardour on foot, came quite close upon the man, and then halted suddenly, putting his hand in his pocket, as if with charitable intent; instantly the tramp dropped his fragment of bread, and sprang to his feet, with outstretched hands, as if greedy for the expected bounty. He was a dirty, ragged fellow, undersized, but strong and sinewy, with an ugly scarred face, and a boorish gait and manner. As the private detective withdrew his hand from his pocket and tendered the tramp a small coin, a passer-by, had there been such, would have called the scene a tableaux of alms-giving; but what the detective said was:
"Well, Roake, here you are; are you ready for business?"
And the tramp replied: "You bet, if it's a solid racket."
"Then follow me, at a distance, until we reach a place where we can talk things over." And Mr. Belknap moved on, never once glancing back.
The tramp once more seated himself beside the fence, and resumed his occupation. When the last scrap of food was devoured, he arose, and, taking up a rough stick that served as a cane, he followed the receding form of the private detective.
At sunset, Ray Vandyck presented himself punctually for further instructions, at Wardour.
"You are released, Ray," said Constance, coming to meet him, with a bright face and a warm hand-clasp. "You are free to follow your own devices; Doctor Heath has a better guardian than either you or I."
"Cool, upon my word," said Ray, with a grimace. "So I am discharged without references?"
"Even so, and you must be content without an explanation, too, for the present. My tongue is still tied."
"Worse and worse, Conny; can't I even know who has supplanted me?"
"It's a great secret, and must be carefully guarded, but, I believe I will confide that much to you, as it does not conflict with any promises."
"Well! I listen."
"Doctor Heath is protected by an able detective. His name I must not communicate."
Ray Vandyck opened wide his handsome eyes, and gave vent to a long, low whistle.
"Conny, you are too deep for me," he said; "I am all at sea; I will drop the subject, as it is working severely upon my curiosity."
For a few moments they sat in silence, Constance thinking how much she regretted not asking Mr. Bathurst to make himself known to this loyal friend, who must now be kept in ignorance, however worthy he might be of all confidence, and Ray thinking of something that caused his face to sadden, and his eyes to darken with inward pain. Presently he drew a little nearer his hostess, and asked, in a low, sorrowful tone:
"Conny, have you seen her lately?"
"Not for a week or more, Ray."
"I saw her yesterday."
"And she," anxiously; "did she see you, Ray?"
"No, thank God! she was driving with her mother, and, Con.," his voice broke and he turned his face away; "I wish you would go to her."
"Why, Ray?"
"Because—oh, you should have seen her face. She is suffering horribly; she is dying by inches."
At early morn on the next day, Jasper Lamotte and his son, Frank, were seated together in the dining-room of Mapleton.
Jasper Lamotte was hurriedly eating a bountiful and appetizing lunch, and washing it down with plenty of light claret; and Frank was seated near the table, smoking a strong segar, and giving an attentive ear to the words of his sire.
"This is the first time that we have got the lead on Burrill," said the elder Lamotte, "and in some way it must be made to count. Drunk or sober, heretofore, he has looked after his interests too closely to serve ours."
"The devil's got into Burrill," replied Frank, bending forward to knock the ashes from his black segar; "and into the rest of the family too, I should say; Evan has been bad enough any time within the memory of man, but look at him now. Why, he has not been sober for ten days."
"Well, he is sober this morning."
"Really, have you seen him?"
"Yes. I went to his room to ask him some questions about Burrill. I found him white as a cloth, and quite as limp; he had overdone himself at his last carouse; is as sick as a dog, and on the verge of delirium tremens if a man ever was. He won't get out of his bed for a few days, if I am a judge; the room was full of medical perfumes, and his mother was trying to induce him to drink some hot coffee."
"And Burrill?"
"He knew nothing of him, and recommended me to look after my own vermin."
"He's a sharp tongued cur," said Frank, with a short laugh.
"Next, I went to Sybil's rooms; she was sitting over a roasting fire, wrapped in a shawl, and shivering from head to foot; she almost shrieked at the mention of Burrill's name; Sybil looks bad, very bad. When we get these other matters safely settled, we must do something for the girl."
"And that means——"
"That we must master Burrill. We will soon be in a position to do it, I hope."
"I hope so," gloomily.
"We must be, or be ruined. You will settle this business with Constance, at once, to-day?"
"Yes—I suppose so."
"You suppose! man, you talk as if you were leading a forlorn hope. Do youexpecta refusal?"
"I don't knowwhatto expect," flinging away his segar, angrily, "I can't understand Constance; I wish that cursed Heath were safely out of my path."
"Can't you trust him to Belknap?"
"There we are again! what is that confounded detective doing? He has been here five days, or nearly that; four days ago, Constance asked three days to consider upon the case. What did that mean? Belknap should have been here with his report long ago. Why don't he come?"
"That I can't tell you; he has his own way of doing things; his absence does not alter the fact, that I must use this opportunity for getting to the city; and you must press this business with Constance, and bring it to a settlement. I don't think there is much doubt as to her answer."
"Well, I wish I could feel as sanguine, that's all."
At this moment there came the sound of wheels on the gravel outside, and glancing toward the window, Frank sprang up exclaiming:
"There's Belknap, and not a minute to lose. I'll go meet him," and he hurried out, wearing a look of relief, mingled with expectancy.
In a moment he returned, closely followed by the smiling detective.
"Quick, Belknap," said Frank, closing the door, carefully, "give us the important points. The carriage will be here in a short time, to take the old man to town, and he must be on time, for trains won't wait."
"True," said Mr. Belknap, seating himself near the table. "I should have reported to you last evening, but thought it best to remain about town, and let myself be seen by the hotel loungers; people, in a place like this, are curious about a man who keeps too much to himself, and one must always conciliate suspicion."
"True," from Mr. Lamotte.
"I saw Miss Wardour yesterday, gentlemen; she entirely withdraws the case."
"What! entirely?" asked Frank.
"Entirely; she asked for my account, paid it, and dismissed me, saying, that she should not resume the search, but should double the reward."
"Double the reward!" repeated Frank.
"Yes,providedboth the diamonds and the thieves were found."
A moment's silence and then the elder Lamotte emptied his glass and set it down, saying as he did so:
"Well, but the point is not yet reached. Did you explain the necessity you were under if the case left your hands?"
"I did. She was surprised, of course, and incredulous, but she made no remarks, and seemed not at all discomposed at the danger menacing Doctor Heath. After we had settled our business, she asked me if I should now drop the case and let the authorities work it out, or if I would continue to work independent of her."
"And you said what?" asked Frank.
"I said that circumstances must decide that."
"And she was not disturbed about Heath?"
"Evidently not; she was as cool as myself."
Frank drew a long breath of relief.
"And now, Mr. Lamotte," said the private detective, "what is the next move?"
"Perfect quiet for the next two or three days; like Miss Wardour, we will take time to consider. I am going to the big city to-day, Mr. Belknap, if you need any funds before I return, call on Frank. I shall be back in two days, and then we will decide upon our next move. Is that the carriage, Frank?"
It was the carriage, and almost before Mr. Belknap could realize it or gather together his scattered forces, Mr. Lamotte had shaken hands with him, nodded to Frank, donned his hat, gathered up his traveling coat, cane, and gloves, and was on his way to the carriage, followed by a servant, who carried his small traveling bag.
As may be seen, Mr. Belknap had made his "reports" according to his own lights, as for instance, giving his first interview with Constance in brief, on the same day it took place, merely stating that Miss Wardour requested time to consider; and reserving all that portion concerning Doctor Heath, until to-day, when he gave that too, in brief, and with many "mental reservations."
Mr. Belknap was a little bit nonplussed at this sudden journey of Jasper Lamotte's; he did not like to be so widely separated from his patron, even for a few days, and especially now; but it was too late to make an amendment to this state of affairs, so he contented himself with a segar and Frank's society. Not finding the latter of the best, and being able to enjoy the former anywhere, he soon took his leave, and drove back to his hotel, the best in W——, where he went straight to his room, ordered up a hot brandy, complained of a slight indisposition, and spent the remainder of the day and the entire evening in and about the hotel, lounging, smoking, reading, chatting and always visible.
Meantime, Mr. Lamotte, arriving ten minutes early at the W—— depot, sauntered out among the people swarming about, and waiting the arrival of the fast express.
There was always a bustle about the W—— depot at this hour of the day, and Mr. Lamotte nodded graciously here and there, and stopped to extend a patronizing hand to a chosen and honored few. Presently he came face to face with a man who, with hands in his pockets, was watching the unloading of a belated dray.
"How do you do, Brooks," said he, glancing at the hands and face that were a little cleaner than usual, and at the pretence of a toilet that made the awkwardness of the fellow unusually apparent. "You seem taking a holiday. Are you bound to leave us?"
"That's what I am, sir," said the man, touching his hat. "Work's too scarce for me, sir, and bad company's too plenty. I've said I would go a dozen times, sir; and now I'm off."
"I am sorry we could not keep you on at the mills, Brooks; but—you know who was to blame."
"Oh, it was me, sir; I don't denythat. It's hard for me to keep away from the liquor. But look here, Mr. Lamotte, sir: If you ever see me again,you'll see me sober."
Mr. Lamotte uttered a skeptical laugh and turned away. The train was there, and it bore cityward the gentlemanly Mr. Lamotte, and the half-inebriated loafer, Brooks.
All that day, or what remained of it after his father's departure, and the almost simultaneous withdrawal of the private detective, Frank Lamotte passed in an uneasy reverie. He had much at stake; and, now that the crisis of his fortunes was so near at hand, he began to review his ground, and every word, look, and tone of Constance Wardour, as he recalled them, one by one, was to him a fresh puzzle.
Six months ago, Frank Lamotte would have scoffed at the suggestion of a refusal even from the proud Constance. Now, somehow, he had lost his self-confidence. Again and again he imagined the words that he would say, and the words he hoped, that she would answer. Then, as he forced himself to face the possibility of defeat, the veins upon his temples swelled out, his teeth clenched, and one of those "attacks," to which he was subject, and against which Doctor Heath had warned him, seemed imminent. Again and again he gazed, with proud satisfaction, upon his reflected image, in the full length drawing-room mirror, and turned away, vowing himself a fitting mate for any woman. Again and again, when the image of his own physical perfections had ceased to dazzle his vision, his heart sank within him, and a dismal foreboding put his courage to flight.
"Confound it all," muttered he, as he wandered aimlessly from one deserted room to another: "the very house seems under a spell. Sybil, sitting like a recluse in her own rooms, growing pale, and wild-eyed, and spectre-like, every day. Evan, inhisroom, sick with drink, and verging on the D. T. Mother, gliding like a stately ghost from the one to the other, or closeted in her own room; she has not been down stairs to-day. Burrill, the devil knows whereheis, and what took him out so unusually early this morning. He's been cutting it worse than ever for the past week; the fellow, seemingly, can't find company low enough for him, in one stage of his drunkenness, nor high enough for him in another. It's fortunate for us that liquor has at last relaxed his vigilance; the old man has taken a leading trick by the means. Curse the brute! Why won't he die in a drunken frenzy, or from overfeeding, but he won't!" Thus soliloquizing, he lighted a segar and went out into the grounds. "I'll try the effect of a little sunshine," he muttered; "for the house feels like a sarcophagus; one would think the family pride was about to receive its last blow, and the family doom about to fall."
So, restless and self-tormented, Frank Lamotte passed the long afternoon, in the double solitude of a man deserted, alike by his friends and his peace of mind.
"We make our own ghosts," said somebody once.
Frank Lamotte's phantoms had begun to manifest themselves, having grown into things of strength, and become endowed with the power to torture; thanks to the atmosphere into which he had plunged himself and them.
Late in the afternoon, John Burrill came home, but Frank avoided him, not caring to answer any questions at that time.
Burrill seemed to care little for this, or for anything; he was in a wonderfully jubilant mood. He rambled through the tenantless rooms, whistling shrilly, and with his hands in his pockets. He commanded the servants like a Baron of old. He drank wine in the library, and smoked a segar in the drawing room, and when these pleasures palled upon him, he ascended the stairs, and went straight to the room occupied by Evan.
For some time past, Jasper Lamotte had made an effort to break the bond of good fellowship, that, much to the surprise of all the family, had sprung up between the wild young fellow, and the coarser and equally or worse besotted elder one. How even reckless Evan Lamotte could find pleasure in such society, was a mystery to all who knew the two. But so it was, and Jasper Lamotte's interdict was not strong enough to sever the intimacy. John Burrill responded to his exhortations with a burst of defiance, or a volley of oaths; and, Evan received all comments upon his choice of a companion, with a sardonic smile, or a wild mocking laugh.
They had not been much together for the past few days, owing to the indisposition which had kept Evan away from their favorite haunts, but had not kept him away from his favorite beverage.
As Burrill entered his room, Evan received him with a shout of welcome, and for more than an hour they were closeted there, some times conversing in low, guarded tones, and sometimes bursting into roars of laughter, that penetrated even through the shut doors of Sybil's rooms, causing her to start nervously, and shiver as with a chill.
A little before sunset the carriage from Wardour deposited Constance and Mrs. Aliston at the door of this home of little harmony, and even Constance noted the unusual stillness, and whispered to her aunt, as they waited in the drawing room the appearance of Mrs. Lamotte:
"Bah! I sniff the ogre here, auntie. 'The trail of the serpent' is over the entire house."
"I sniff the dead odor of a vile segar," retorted Mrs. Aliston. "As for the ogre—if he won't appear in person, I'll try and survive the rest."
"I am very glad you have come, Constance," said Mrs. Lamotte, entering at this moment. "We are so dull here, and Sybil has wished much to see you." And then she extended a courteous but more stately greeting to Mrs. Aliston.
"It grieves me to hear that Sybil is not so well, dear Mrs. Lamotte. Does she employ a physician?" asked Constance, presently.
"She will not have a physician called, much to my regret. The very suggestion makes her wildly nervous."
"And—she keeps her room too much. I think Frank told me."
"Yes, recently. But, Constance, go up to her; Mrs. Aliston and I will entertain each other for awhile, and then we will join you. Sybil heard you announced, and will expect you."
Thus commanded, Constance lost no time in making her way, unattended, to Sybil's room.
In the upper hall she met Frank, who started, and flushed at sight of her, and then hurried forward, with extended hand.
"Constance," he exclaimed, eagerly, "how glad I am to see you."
"I'm such an uncommon sight!" she laughed, too much absorbed with thoughts of Sybil, to notice the extra warmth of his greeting, or a certain change of manner, that was a mingling of boldness, bashfulness, humility and coxcombery.
"How do you do, Frank?"
"Well in body, Constance—"
"Oh! then we can easily regulate your mind. I'm going to see Sybil, and I don't want your company; so adieu, Frank."
"One moment, please. I want to—Imustsee you, this evening. Shall you remain with us?"
"No. Aunt Honor below; we go home, soon."
"Then—may I call, this evening, Constance?"
"What a question! as if you did not call whenever the spirit moved you so to do; come, if you like, child; I shall have no better company, I am afraid," and on she swept, and had vanished within his sister's room, before Frank could decide whether to be chagrined, or delighted, at so readily given, carelessly worded, a consent.
The start, the nervous tremor, the terrified ejaculations, with which Sybil greeted, even this expected and welcome guest, all told how some deadly foe was surely undermining her life and reason. And Constance noted, with a sinking heart, the dark circles around the eyes that were growing hollow, and heavy, and full of a strange, wild expectancy: the pale cheeks, thinner than ever, and the woful weariness of the entire face.
Greeting her tenderly, and making no comments on her changed appearance, Constance chatted for a time on indifferent subjects, and noted closely, as a loving friend will, the face and manner of her listener. Sybil sat like one in a trance, rather a nightmare, her eyes roving from her visitor's face to the door, and back again, and this constantly repeated; her whole attitude and manner, that of one listening, rather for some sound, or alarm, from afar, than to the words of the friend beside her.
At last, Constance finding commonplace about exhausted, said:
"Congratulate me, child! I have thrown off a burden from my shoulders; I have brought my diamond investigations to a close."
"Ah! diamonds!" Sybil almost started from her chair, and the exclamation came sharply from lips white and trembling.
"Yes, my lost diamonds, you know; I have dismissed Mr. Belknap."
"Belknap!" an unmistakable look of horror crossed her face. "Dismissed him; oh, I wishIcould!"
Sorely at a loss, yet thinking it best not to seem surprised at what she believed to be the efforts of a wandering mind to grasp and master the subject under discussion, Constance talked on, answering questions and making observations, without allowing Sybil to see the surprise and sorrow that filled her heart; and, not until many days later did she recall her friend's wild words, to see how much of method there might be in this seeming madness.
"Mr. Belknap was conducting the search for the diamonds, you know, Sybil?"
Sybil seemed making an effort to collect her scattered senses.
"Yes, yes, Conny, go on," she whispered.
"I have paid him off and am done with him; that's about all, dear."
"Conny," in a half whisper, "is hegone?"
"I don't know about that; he said something about remaining here for a time."
"Oh!" ejaculated Sybil, and then, under her breath, "My God!"
Constance shuddered as she looked upon the shivering figure before her, the wavering eyes, the hands clenching and unclenching themselves; she found conversation difficult, and began to wonder how she could avoid subjects that brought painful thoughts or suggestions. But suddenly a change came over Sybil; sitting erect, she looked fixedly at her friend, and asked:
"Conny, hashetormented you of late?"
"He! Sybil; you mean—"
"I mean my curse! has he dared to annoy you? He has sworn that he will be accepted and recognized as your friend."
Constance laughed a short, sarcastic laugh.
"Be at rest, Sybil; he never will."
"No;" with a strange dropping of the voice. "He never will!"
Again she seemed struggling to recover herself, and to recall some thought; then she looked up and asked abruptly:
"Conny, have you promised to marry my—Frank Lamotte?"
"No, Sybil."
"Then—promise,promiseme, Constance, as if I were on my dying bed, that you never will."
"Why, Sybil, dear?"
"Don't ask for reasons, don't; promise,promise,PROMISE!"
She was growing excited, and Constance hastened to say:
"You are laboring under some delusion, dear child; Frank has not offered himself to me."
"But he will! he will! and I tell you, Constance, it would be giving yourself to a fate like mine, and worse. The Lamottes have not done with disgrace yet, and it shall not fall on you; promise me, Con."
"I promise, Sybil."
"You promise;" she arose from her chair and came close to Constance; "you promise," she said, slowly, "never,neverto marry Francis Lamotte?"
"I swear it."
A coarse laugh, a smothered oath; they both turn swiftly, and there, in the doorway, smelling of tobacco and brandy, and shaking with coarse laughter, is John Burrill, and beside him, with clenched hands, swollen temples, drawn, white lips, stands Francis Lamotte. Stands! No. He reels, he clings to the door-frame for support; hisenemyis upon him.
Sybil draws herself erect; the red blood flames to her face; the fire darts from her eyes; she lifts one slender arm and points at the reeling figure; then there rings out a burst of mad, mocking laughter.
"Ha! ha! ha! Frank Lamotte, I have settled my account with you."
Then turning swiftly upon Burrill, and with even fiercer fury she shrieks:
"Out, out, out of my sight! I am almost done with you, too. Go back to your wine and your wallowing in the gutter; your days are numbered."
The awful look upon her face, the defiant hatred in her voice, the sudden strength and firmness of her whole bearing, Constance shuddered at and never forgot. Frank Lamotte, making a monstrous effort for self-control, gasped, let go his hold on the door frame, lifted his hand to his temples, and came a few steps into the room. Outside, on the stairway, was the rustle of woman's garments, the light fall of swift feet. In another moment Mrs. Lamotte, followed by Mrs. Aliston, enters the room, pushing past the gaping and astonished Burrill with scant ceremony. Then, Sybil's strength deserts her as John Burrill, recalled to a sense of his own importance, advances, and seems about to address her. She utters a cry of abhorrence and terror, and, throwing out her hands to ward off his approach, reels, falls, and is caught in the supporting arms of Constance and Mrs. Lamotte.
While they are applying restoratives, Frank sees the propriety of withdrawing from the scene, but no such motives of delicacy or decency ever find lodgment in the brain of John Burrill, and leering with tipsy gravity, he presses close to the bedside and poisons the air with his reeking breath. Constance flushes with anger, and glances at Mrs. Lamotte. That lady looks up uneasily, and seems to hesitate, and then Mrs. Aliston rises to the occasion, and covers herself with glory.
Looking blandly up into the man's face, she lays one fat, gloved hand upon his arm, and says, in a low, confidential tone:
"Come this way one moment, sir, if you please," and she fairly leads the wondering and unsuspecting victim from the room. A second later he is standing in the passage, the chamber door is shut swiftly and locked securely. John Burrill has been led out like a lamb, and the fat and smiling strategist comes back to the bedside.
"I suppose he thought I would tell him a secret when I got him outside," she laughs, softly.
Whatever he thought he kept to himself. After uttering a few curses he went below, "returned to his pipe and his bowl," and waited the dinner hour.
"I shall send for Doctor Heath," said Mrs. Lamotte, as she bent above her daughter, who had slowly returned to consciousness, but lay passive, seeming not to see or know the friends who stood about her. "Sybil does not know us; I feel alarmed."
Mrs. Aliston nodded sagaciously. "He can not come too soon," she said; then to Constance, with a mingling of womanly tact and genuine kindliness, "my child, you had better drive home soon. If Mrs. Lamotte wishes, or will permit, I will stay to-night. It will be better, believe me, Mrs. Lamotte, than to share a watch with any servant; and I am a good nurse."
So it is arranged that she shall stay, and Constance proposes to return alone to Wardour.
As she goes down stairs to her carriage, from out the shadow of the drawing room comes Frank Lamotte, still very haggard, and trembling with excitement suppressed.
"Constance!" he whispers, hoarsely, "one moment, please."
She pauses before him, very pale and still.
"Constance," speaking with an effort, "I—went up there, hoping to keep Burrill from intruding; he was too quick for me, and—and I heard Sybil's last words—and yours."
No answer from the pale listener.
"My sister asked you to refuse me. Am I right?"
"You heard."
"And you promised?"
"I promised."
"Constance, Sybil is half mad. You surely were only humoring her whim in so replying."
"Sybilishalf mad. I begin to think that you know why."
"We all know why. She has sacrificed herself for an ingrate; she has saddled us all with a monster, to save a brother who is not worth saving."
"Frank Lamotte, stop; I can not listen to this; for, let me tell you that I know this charge against Evan Lamotte to be false, and I know that you know it; and yet you have sanctioned the fraud. Who has blighted Sybil's life, you may know, but it is not Evan."
"Constance do you mean—"
"I mean all that I say. Let me pass, Frank."
"Not yet. Constance, Constance! had you never any love for me? Is there no shadow of hope?"
"At first," said Constance, coldly, "I liked you as Sybil's brother; later, I tolerated you; now you are teaching me to despise you. Long ago I told you that only yourself could injure yourself in my eyes. There might have been a reason, an excuse even, for allowing poor Evan, who has willingly assumed the position, to become the family scape-goat. There is none for your unbrotherly and false accusation. Whatever his faults may be, poor Evan is unselfish, and he truly loves his sister."
"Is this your answer?"
"What do you expect? do you want my assurance that my promise to Sybil was made in good faith, and that I intend to keep it? If so, you have it." She went swiftly past him, with the last words on her lips. And again Frank Lamotte was the prey of his enemy; like a drunken man, he reeled back into the parlor, gnashing his teeth, cursing his fate, half mad and wholly desperate.
Meanwhile, above stairs, John Burrill was rehearsing to Evan, after his drunken fashion, the recent scene in Sybil's room, not even omitting his own expulsion by wily Mrs. Aliston. As he repeated, with wonderful accuracy, considering his condition, the wild words uttered by Sybil, his listener sat very erect, with wild staring eyes, and lips held tightly together, his teeth almost biting through them; with burning eyes, and quivering frame, and a strange fear at his heart.
Having finished his narrative, Burrill arose:
"I'm to meet some fellows at Forty's," he said, thickly. "I'll stop with them a couple of hours, or three, maybe; after that—" and he winked significantly.
"After that," repeated Evan, and winked in return.
An hour later Evan, pale and shivering, knocked softly at Sybil's door; Mrs. Lamotte appeared.
"How is Sybil, mother?"
"Quiet, but not rational. Doctor Heath has just gone. Evan, why! how badly you look!"
"I feel badly. I'm going to bed; good night, mother."
At ten o'clock that night, business was running lively at the low ceiled, dingy, riverside saloon, that was most popular with the factory men, the colliers, the drovers, and the promiscuous roughs of W——, and that bears the dignified title of "Old Forty Rods."
The saloon is well patronized to-night. At the upper end, nearest the door, "Old Forty," in person, is passing liquors across the bar, and bawling orders to a nimble assistant, while every now and then he addresses a coarse jest to some one of the numerous loafers about the bar, mingling them strangely with his orders, and his calling of the drinks, as he passes them across the rail.
"Here's your beer, Lupin; Jack, half a dozen brandies for Mr. Burrill's party; Little, you are out on the brown horse—rum and water? Yes, sir, yes."
"Burrill's beastly high to-night," said a factory hand, setting down his beer glass and wiping his mouth; "and the boys freeze to him since he handles old Lamotte's rocks."
"Of course, of course. Burrill don't forget old friends; Jack, bring the rum flask; they've been here a plum hour, them chaps, sir; 'ere's your punch, mister, and they keep the stuff runnin' down their throats, now I can tell you. Burrill foots the bill, of course; and they can do anything with that big chap when the wines get the upper hands of him. I'll be sworn, they're up to mischief to-night, for I see Rooney and Bob Giles, they delight in getting Burrill into scrapes, are drinking light, and plying him heavy," and "Forty" turned about to draw a glass of beer for a low-browed, roughly-dressed man who had just entered, and who was in fact, none other than the tramp who had feasted by the roadside, on the day before, and whom Mr. Belknap had called Roake.
Roake drank his beer, and lounged over the bar for a short time, then called for a second glass, and after drinking it, went quietly out.
At the lower end of the long saloon, several tables are scattered, and gathered about one of these we see the party spoken of as "Mr. Burrill's."
Five men are grouped about the small table, and among these, John Burrill is conspicuous for being much better dressed, much louder in his laughter, and viler in his jests, and much drunker than are the other four.
Since his change of fortunes, these men have made capital of his weakness, and his purse has supplied their thirst, in return for which he has been fawned upon, and flattered, during the earlier stages of his intoxication, and made a tool and a jest later.
"I mus' go home," articulated Burrill, drawing forth and consulting a showy gold repeater. "Folks's sick er home; mus' be good; take er nother drink, boys?"
"Folks sick, eh?" queried Rooney, winking behind his hand at the others, "wife, I 'spose?"
"Yes, wife I 'spose; wife 'n' brother-in-law, both sick; take er nother—"
"All right, old pard; but don't let a little sickness call you off so early; just let Heath take care of them; you're fond of Heath, too."
"Curse Heath!" roared out John Burrill; "what do you mean, I say, Roo-Roo-ney?"
"Burrill," said Bob Giles, setting down his glass and speaking in a low, confidential tone; "what's this power you have over Heath? Don't you know he's afraid of you?"
"He—he zer 'fraid er me! an' so he better be—him un—"
"And yet there are two or three of the fellows that say you are the one that's afraid."
"Me afraid! I—John Bur—ll, f-fraid. Boys, look, en I'll jus' tell you a s-secret. If I jus' opened my mouth, I could run that f-fellow out of the country; fact!" and he nodded sagaciously again and again.
"Then there ain't no truth in that story that you are the one that's afraid, and that you wouldn't dare go to Heath's office, not even if you wanted a doctor?"
"T-truth? By gad, sir, show me the man that says so; show 'im to me! By heavens, sir, I wouldn't be f-fraid to rout him up the d-darkest night that ever blew, sir."
"Of course not, we don't doubt that, but—there's them do. I'll tell you what it is, Burrill, the thing would be settled if you would just walk up to the doctor's cottage, tell him you are sick somewhere, and bring away a prescription; thatwouldsettle it."
A murmur of approval went round the table. Not a man was there among them who would not rejoice inwardly at the discomfiture of the arrogant, would-be aristocrat, who, while he was less than their equal in many things, had risen above them in fortune. He had reached that period of drunkenness, and it took a vast quantity of stout liquor to bring him up to it, where his voice began to grow hoarse, his ready tongue to trip, his brain to be most completely muddled, and his legs to be most unreliable instruments of locomotion. The men about the table nodded and winked to each other, under his very nose.
"Egg him on, Rooney," whispered Giles, "let's have the fun out." And they did.
Ere long, John Burrill, staggering under the additional cargo of drinks imbibed as toasts to the undertaking, and again, as draughts of defiance to the enemy who would dare question his courage, buttoned his coat about him, and, boasting, cursing, and swaggering, reeled out into the night. Out into the night that swallowed him up forever.
"Let's follow him," said one of the plotters, starting up as the door closed behind him.
But this proposition met with no favor. The night was very dark, and the wind blowing in fierce gusts; the saloon was warm and inviting, and their victim had ordered their grog, until he should return.
"Let's drink the good liquor he has paid for," said Rooney, with a wink, "then we will let some more of the boys into the secret, and start out in a gang and gather him up. Heath will kick him out sure enough, and if we follow too close we might be discovered. Not by Burrill but by the doctor. We will bring Burrill back here and two more drinks will make him tell the whole story."
They did not agree with Rooney on all points of his argument; but they had played a coarse, practical joke upon a man who sometimes "took on airs" and vaunted himself as their patron; he who had been only their equal once. It was only a joke, a witless, mirthless, coarse saloon joke, and they drank on and grew hilarious, never dreaming that they had sent one man to his grave, and another to the foot of the scaffold.
As John Burrill came forth from the saloon and turned his face toward Doctor Heath's cottage, a lithe form emerged from amidst the darkness and paused for a moment just outside the saloon door, seeming to hesitate.
"He's goin' home, in course," muttered the man. "I'll jest light out and come in ahead." And he plunged down a by street and went swiftly over the bridge; but not alone.
A second dark form had been lurking in the vicinity of "Old Forty's," the form of a boy, who glided through the dark, at the heels of the other, like a spirit.
"He is going wrong," thought this shadow, discontentedly. "Somehow I'm sure of it; I'm shadowing the wrong party; but—I'm obeying instructions." And pursued and pursuer crossed the bridge and turned their steps toward Mapleton.
Meantime, John Burrill, reeling, singing snatches of low songs, and stopping sometimes to rest and assure himself that all the landmarks are there, pursues his way toward Doctor Heath's cottage.
It is situated on the outskirts of the town; the way is long, the night dark, the wind boisterous, and the way lonely. It is after ten o'clock.
Later—nearly two hours later, Frank Lamotte, driven by his demon of unrest, is pacing his room, feverish and fierce, when his door opens softly, a white, haggard face looks in, a hoarse voice articulates, "Frank, for God's sake, for your own sake, come with me quick!"
Frank Lamotte turns swiftly, angrily. He is about to speak, when something catches his eye, fixes it in horror, and causes him to gasp out, pointing with one shaking finger.
"Ah-h-h!whatis that?"
"It is theFamily Honor!" came the hissing answer. "Come, I tell you."
And like a man in a nightmare, Frank Lamotte obeys.
The morning of the following day breaks gray and dismal. The wind has been blowing all the night through, and wherever a tree stands, there the fallen leaves lie, thick and rain-soaked; for it is raining, drizzling weather, and above, below, and around, all is gray, and dull, and dreary.
Dr. Heath's cottage stands aloof from all other dwellings, quite by itself, for the houses stand wide apart in this suburban portion of the town, and he has selected the pretty place because of its quiet beauty, and comparative isolation. He has neighbors within sight, within hearing, too, should he choose to be vociferous; but the houses about him all stand within their own pleasant grounds. His nearest neighbor, on the one hand, has placed a fine orchard between them, and on the other hand, he has no neighbor at all; there is a vacant lot, well planted and pleasantly ruinous to see. A fine dwelling had once occupied the site, but fire had destroyed it, and the gaping cellar, a pile of burnt bricks, and some charred débris, are all that remain. In summer the place is one tangled growth of roses and flowering shrubs, and Doctor Heath makes free with the flowers in their season, and even swings his hammock there among the old trees, that outnumber his own, and have outstripped them, too, in years and growth.