CHAPTER XIV

After dinner Rayel and I went at once to our stateroom.

“I am out of patience with myself,” said he, as soon as we were seated. “My mind is failing me just when I need it most. I have grown dull and stupid. For more than a week I have been trying to find out that man's secret. I knew that he had a secret, and that it concerned us. Not until to-night was I certain that I had found it out. Once I could see the truth clearly. No matter how deeply it was buried under lies—I could see it. But now there is something like a mist before my eyes, and I am sure of nothing. Perhaps it is because I am now a liar myself, as bad as any of them. God have mercy on me!” said he, rising, and speaking with much animation. “I know now what is blinding my soul. When a man lies he loses some degree of his power to distinguish between truth and falsehood.”

He stood looking into my face impatiently, as if waiting to hear what I would say to his remark.

“That would be the natural result, I have no doubt,” said I; “but are you not trying to convict yourself of too much wickedness and stupidity?”

I had never considered the misfortune of knowing too much—of being able to detect every difference between word and thought, between appearance and reality. That was the power which Rayel possessed, and it increased his moral responsibility by as much as it transcended the power common to others. Here, indeed, was a man ripe for the fate of a martyr.

“Won't you tell me Fenlon's secret, if you have found it out?” I asked. “I've been thinking about it night and day since we first saw him.”

“Be wise! Don't try to learn too fast, Kendric” said he. “You shall know it soon, I am sure of that—indeed, I promise that you shall.”

“I am quite willing to wait on the future for everything if you think it is best,” I said.

We sat for a long time, making plans for our future life in England. It was near midnight when we retired to our berths, but we were up early in the morning, eager to catch the first sight of land. On reaching the deck we were overjoyed to see the distant spires of Southampton glowing in the morning sun.

Mr. and Mrs. Earl met us at the station of the Southwestern Railway in London, and we were driven at once to their home. Hester came to breakfast with us, but Mrs. Earl would not let her go to Liverpool that day, ship-worn and fatigued as we all felt after the voyage.

“You resemble your father, sir, when he was of your age,” said Mr. Earl, addressing my cousin, as we were eating. “But you are larger, much larger, than he was.”

“You were my father's friend when he was a young man, I believe?” said Rayel.

“Yes, he and his brother were my best friends in those days. I tried to induce him to study law, but he was more inclined to medicine.”

Rayel had found a man quite after his liking and the two were on the best of terms at once. Indeed, he seemed to talk with my benefactor as freely as he ever talked with me. I found Mrs. Earl very much as I had imagined my mother to have been—a full-faced, ruddy-cheeked woman; with a sweet voice and gentle manners. She greeted me as if I were her own son returned from a long journey, and when we sat down to talk after breakfast, I felt the joy and peace of one who has found a home after much wandering.

I spent the afternoon with Mr. Earl in his library, and he listened with deep interest to the complete story of my life since the night we parted in Liverpool.

He had many questions to ask me touching the attempt upon my life, and my replies were jotted down in his memorandum-book. After I had told him all that I was able to tell he sat for some moments thoughtfully turning the pages of the book, stopping now and then to read some of the memoranda.

“It looks pretty bad for them, doesn't it?” said he calmly, looking up at me over his spectacles. “But we'll bring this matter to a climax very soon,” he continued. “We haven't seen the last act of the play yet. You need not have any further fear for your safety—I will look after that. You may feel quite free to go and come as you please in this part of the city. Above all things we must avoid letting them know that we suspect anything; it might defeat me in getting hold of the last bit of evidence that is necessary to complete our case.”

I nodded, and waited for him to proceed.

“Let us go carefully until we're sure of our ground,” he continued. “Your stepmother knows you are in London, of course. You must go and see her. Take your cousin with you, and—well, you will know how to treat them. After all, you must bear in mind that in the eye of the law every man is innocent until he is proven guilty. Adopt that view of the case yourself. You needn't fear anything from Cobb or his wife. Only be reasonably prudent.”

“I've no fear that they will try to do us any harm,” said I; “and I would greatly enjoy visiting the old house. Perhaps we could go to-morrow.”

“The day after. You'd better go down to Liverpool to-morrow with the young lady, and return by the night train.”

That day saw the beginning of a deep and lasting friendship between Hester and Mrs. Earl. When we left next morning to go to Hester's home in Liverpool, she promised to return soon for a long visit. By ten o'clock we were well out of smoky London, on the way that I had already traversed once before, with a cheerful heart most creditable to me under the circumstances. Mrs. Chaffin was waiting for us at the gate when we alighted in front of the old wood-colored cottage—that haven of weary legs in days gone by. Phil (who had lengthened noticeably in the service of Valentine, King & Co.) was there, too, and all the rest of the Chaffin household in Sunday clothes. Mrs. Chaffin was quite beside herself with joy.

“Dear-a me!” said the good lady, after the salutations were over. “Dear-a sakes! How you've growed! I didn't think you'd ever live to get s' big. I thought as 'ow som' 'arm 'd come to ye when ye went away, an' Hester—”

“Mamma!” exclaimed Hester, with a reproving glance. “Don't tell him.”

“I'm that fidgety I don't know what I'm sayin'. The Lord bless us, but ye must be hungry!” said the good woman, as she spread the table for dinner. She had guessed rightly, and Hester bustled about, helping her mother get the dishes on the table, with a critical eye to all the arrangements. Rayel was much amused by the children, the youngest of whom had climbed upon his knee and was taking liberties with his cravat. He was wholly unaccustomed to the pranks of children, and we frequently rallied to his defence. He seemed to enjoy them, however, and was soon involved in a spree at which both Hester and I laughed heartily.

“This herring ain't extra good, sir, but I 'ope it won't go ag'in' ye,” said Mrs. Chaffin to Rayel, as we sat down to the table.

He seemed in doubt for a moment as to what it would be proper to say in reply to this well-intended remark.

“I have never eaten a herring, madam,” said he, gravely, “but I have no doubt it will be good.”

“I 'ope so, sir—indeed, I 'ope so; but I dare presume to say that it will taste bad enough to the likes of you.”

Mrs. Chaffin (good soul) had evidently concluded that my cousin was a man entitled to extra politeness. Hester had adroitly side-tracked the herring question and started another train of speculation, when her mother's misgivings were again excited respecting the tea, which Rayel had just tasted.

“Murky, sir?” she asked, with a glance of alarm. “I 'ope it don't taste murky.”

Mrs. Chaffin's solicitude respecting the tea and the herring reminded me of the first time I had stretched my tired legs under that hospitable board at Phil's invitation; of those big, wondering eyes that stared at me across the table; of the songs and stories which beguiled the evening hours.

The candles were lit before dinner was over, and when we rose from the table it was to gather about the warm fire and exchange memories, while Rayel listened with deep interest. Phil had been promoted from a pair of legs to a pair of hands, and was now third bookkeeper for the firm. Our carriage came for us at nine o'clock. Hester had decided to stay a day or two with her mother, but it was necessary for Rayel and me to return to London that night, as we were to make an important call the next day.

Late in the afternoon of the day following our visit to Liverpool we ascended the big stone steps of my old home and pulled the bell. After all, I found that my nerves were not quite steady while we were waiting for the door to open. We had come intending to spend the night there, and my benefactor had given me certain precautions not calculated to make me feel entirely at home. Was there some deeper plan underlying his suggestion as to this visit than he had chosen to explain? I had not long to consider that point, however, for suddenly the door opened and a servant in imposing livery confronted us. I handed him my card and we were shown into the reception room at once. Presently he conducted us to my stepmother, who greeted me with a great show of cordiality and some tears. She had grown old fast since I left home, but she had artfully disguised the evidences of age upon her face and neck. Why had I stayed away so long? What had she done to deserve such shameful neglect? These and other questions taxed my wits for an answer that would neither outrage my own conscience nor offend her. Mr. Cobb, who had just returned from his office, suddenly entered the room. His face assumed an ashen pallor, and he stared at me quite dumfounded for a moment, when I arose and stood before him.

“It is Kendric. Don't you recognize him?” said my stepmother.

“So it is!” he exclaimed. “But he's grown quite out of my recollection.” The man had recovered his self-possession in a moment, and treated me, it must be said to his credit, with marked coolness. I was likely to get on with him very well, I thought, but the fawning attitude of his wife quite unhorsed me. If I am to see the devil I'd rather he'd frown than smile. Cobb had very little to say to us, and left the room at the first opportunity. In doing so he had shown scant consideration for his wife, however, as it left a burden upon her shoulders that must have taxed her strength. But she was not unequal to it. Her smile broadened after he had gone, and there was a tone of deeper sincerity in her expressions of regard. We had been to dinner, and if she would kindly send a little cold lunch to our room at bedtime that would be quite sufficient. During her absence for dinner the reaction came. When my stepmother returned she seemed to have suddenly grown older, and she looked at us through haggard and sunken eyes. Surely this was a terrible punishment she was undergoing, and I pitied her. Mr. Cobb had an important engagement to keep, she said, and hoped we would excuse him. Slowly the evening wore away and at ten o'clock we were shown to our room, greatly fatigued by this trying experience. It was a room fronting the street on the third floor, which I had occupied before I left home. The walls had been painted white since then, with a frieze of gold along the ceiling. My father used to sleep in the room directly under it. Rayel had been silent and absent-minded all the evening, rarely speaking except in reply to some question.

“I feel sad for some cause I do not understand,” said he, preparing to retire. “I shall be glad when to-morrow comes.”

“We will go back in the morning,” I said. “You don't feel at home here, do you?”

He did not seem to hear me, but tried the door, which I had already bolted, and then got into bed, yawning and shivering, for the room was cold. I turned down the light, and, opening the shutters, looked out upon the street, now deserted save by a solitary man who had just passed the house and whose slow footsteps were gradually growing less distinct. I crouched there, listening for some moments to that fading sound, when it began to grow louder again. The man had turned about and was coming back. As he passed under the lamp on the opposite corner I thought I recognized the slim figure of Mr. Murmurtot. Suddenly I was startled by a noise in the room adjoining ours, and sprang to my feet in a tremor. Plague take my imagination! It was somebody going to bed. I sat down again and for a long time looked out at the man walking back and forth in front of the house. I was rapidly getting into a condition of mind unfavorable to rest and, closing the shutters, I went to bed at once. For hours I lay tossing restlessly from one side to the other, and finally fell into a deep sleep. I must have slept a long time when I suddenly awoke, laboring with nightmare. I had heard no sound, I had felt no touch, but all at once my eyes were open and I knew that I was awake. The lamp was burning dimly on the table beside my bed. How my heart was beating! And my arm—how it trembled when I tried to raise up on my elbow and look about the room!

“Who's there?” I whispered. Was it Rayel standing near the bed, his body swaying backward and forward, or was I yet asleep? Everything looked dim and weird. I seemed to be in some silent ghostland between sleeping and waking. I rubbed my eyes and peered about the half-darkened room. It was Rayel, and, as I gazed at him, his eyes seemed to shine like balls of fire. I called to him, but he made no answer. What had happened since I went to sleep? Alarmed, I threw the covers aside and leaped out of bed. As I did so he stepped up close to the opposite wall, and, as his hand moved, I could hear the grating of a crayon on its surface. In tremulous haste I turned up the wick of the lamp and tiptoed toward him, holding it in my hand. He was stepping backward and excitedly pointing at the wall. He had been drawing a picture on its white surface—the form of a woman holding something in her hand. I stepped nearer, still carrying the lamp. A sharp interjection broke from my lips. The woman pictured there was my stepmother, and it was a knife that she held! A man was lying at her feet. Again Rayel stepped forward, and again I heard the crayon grating on the wall. Then he stood aside. Great God! There were drops of blood dripping from the knife now. Rayel sank down upon the floor and covered his eyes with his hands. I stood there, dumb with fear and horror, looking first upon him and then upon the picture.

The silence of the night was unbroken save by those slow footsteps in the street to which I had listened before retiring. But suddenly I heard a low wailing cry in the room adjoining ours. It so startled me that I came near dropping the lamp. Strange and weird it sounded, gradually growing shriller and more terrible to hear! It was the voice of my stepmother. Was she dreaming? And had Rayel seen the vision that affrighted her? Was that dagger pricking her brain? In a moment the swelling cry broke into a sharp scream, such as might come from one exposed to sudden peril, and ceased. Then the sound of a bell rang sharply through the house, followed by loud knocking at the door and a man's shout.

“Open the door, I command you!” he said.

He must have heard that piercing cry. Rayel still lay motionless upon the floor. Was he asleep? Why did he not rise? I began to feel numb. I seemed to have lost the power of motion. I could hear some one rapping at our door, but I could not move.

“Kendric! Kendric! Kendric!” Was it my stepmother who was calling me? What a piteous, pleading tone! “Let me speak to you, Kendric! For God's sake, let me tell you!” I was reeling: my strength had all left me. Crash! went the lamp at my feet. There was a great flash of light, which dazzled my eyes, and I fell heavily upon the floor.

I was in the open air when thought and feeling came back to me. My hands and face were paining me as if they had been terribly burned. There were a number of men standing over a motionless figure that lay beside me.

“The poor lad!” said one of the men “he's nearly roasted. See here how the clothes have been burned away from his neck! Can't ye stop the blood? The mon'll die afore the amb'lance comes ef we don't stop the blood. A brave mon he is, too. D'ye see 'im coming down the stairs with th' other one on his back?”

Of whom were they talking? I struggled to my feet—I could feel no pain now—and bent over that still form which had been lying beside me. Oh! it was the heaven-blessed face of Rayel, now bleeding and scarred and ghastly. I raised his head. The hair fell away where my hand touched it, and a groan escaped his lips. I could not speak nor weep nor utter any sound. A strange calmness came over my spirit and I sat there motionless, bending over him I loved so well, while the crowd of men looked on in silence. “After His own image made He man;” these words came to my mind as I looked into that dear face. Then I prayed in silence—for him. Thank God! his eyes were open now and his lips were moving. I bent lower until I could feel his breath upon my cheek.

“Is it you, Kendric?” he whispered. “Did I save you from the fire? I cannot see you, but I know you are here.”

I heard his words distinctly, but I could not answer. The power of speech seemed to have left me.

“The fire awoke me,” he continued, moaning. “We were lying on the floor. I called to you, but you did not answer. Thank God! you are safe now.”

Returning consciousness brought with it an increasing sense of his pain, and he began to struggle and groan in dreadful agony. Suddenly, extending one of his blackened hands until it touched my face, he shouted in a loud voice:

“Kendric! Kendric! help—help me!”

Then some men laid hold of me and lifted me up. I clung to Rayel with all my strength, but could not resist them, and as I was borne away I knew that Rayel and I had parted forever.

After that midnight parting the first thing I can recall was the touch of a gentle hand upon my face. When my eyes opened I saw Hester bending over me.

“You are at home now, Kendric,” said she. Such a feeling of weakness came over me that I could not speak. I thought a nail had been driven into my brain, but the tears that began rolling down my cheeks and the moans that broke from my lips seemed to loosen it.

Many days passed before I was able to reflect upon this last tragic episode in my life or to take any thought of the morrow. One evening I awoke from a deep sleep feeling a new interest in life. There were people sitting in the room and talking in low tones.

“Has he asked for Rayel yet?” said one of them.

“Not yet,” was the answer.

“Better not let him know about it yet. There's time enough. He'll be around soon.”

I called to them and they came quickly to my bedside. There were Hester and Mr. Earl and his good wife, all looking down upon me with smiling faces.

“You need not be afraid to tell me now. I know that Rayel is dead.”

They made no answer.

“I know he is dead, but tell me how it happened,” I said. “There is no danger; I am quite strong now.”

Mr. Earl took my hand and told me in a low, calm voice, all he knew of the tragedy. He only knew, however, that the lamp had exploded and that Rayel had been horribly burned by the oil.

“I suppose,” said he, “that the lamp was on a table near his bed when it exploded. In a moment the whole room was afire, and you, no doubt, being asleep at the time, he lifted you up and ran with you down the stairway and out of the open door. But in the meantime he had been horribly burned, and he fell in a faint as soon as he reached the pavement. Strangely enough you were unconscious for some moments, although you were not badly burned. Probably it was the smoke.”

Then no one knows, thought I, what really did happen that night. The lamp must have fallen almost directly upon Rayel's head, and the oil had no doubt saturated his hair and clothing.

“And the house?” I asked. “Is that—”

“In ashes,” he replied.

Then every trace of that strange event, which no eye save mine had witnessed, was wiped out forever. The hideous secret had better never be told.

“If I was not badly burned, tell me why I have been lying ill.”

“Brain fever, my boy,” said he. “Too much excitement, I presume—but you're out of danger now, and will be on your feet again in a few days.”

Fortunately the latter assurance was rightly spoken. The first day that brought me strength enough to put on my clothes and walk about the house, Mr. Earl invited me into the library to talk business. We were no sooner seated than he unlocked a drawer and handed me a document to read.

It was a deed of all my father's real and personal property.

“They have both confessed,” said he.

“Confessed what?” I asked, wondering if the secret of my father's death had come out.

“The conspiracy against your life. There were two accomplices—one Count de Montalle, formerly a servant of Cobb, and now a convict in America, and the other a man named Fenlon, who is under arrest. These were the men who tried to take your life. Fenlon came over on the steamer with you, I believe.”

“And my stepmother—where is she?”

“Gone to answer for her sins at a higher court,” said he. “Her last deposition is annexed to the deed. The old hussy ran into the fire like a miller, and stood there screaming, 'Look at that picture on the wall! Oh, God! do you see it?' she shouted to the fellow who found her standing in the smoke and flames. The chap was so excited he really thought that he did see the picture of a woman holding a knife.”

“That is strange, isn't it?” said I. “Who was the man?”

“A detective,” said he, “whom I hired to watch the house that night. He heard some disturbance, it seems, and, fearing mischief, he immediately forced the door open and ran pell-mell into your cousin, noble fellow, who was then bringing you down-stairs. If he had been one moment later the woman would have been burned to death, and we would never have got this deposition. Cobb wouldn't have been the first to weaken, you may be sure of that. But after she had told the whole story, why, there was no use in holding out. Badly burned? No, strange to say, she was not badly burned, but frightened out of her wits. The nervous shock was too much for her and soon led to fatal results. Cobb will go to prison.”

I made no reply. I could not have found words to express the thoughts that came trooping through my brain.

“I have to tell you,” he continued, “that your cousin left a will bequeathing to you his father's house and a number of valuable paintings.”

I turned away and burning tears of sorrow came to my eyes. It was indeed a sad inheritance—the earthly part of his great riches—and of little moment to me. I could not bear to think or speak of it then, and I begged my friend to hide the will from my sight until time might give me strength to read it with composure.

One evening in early spring Hester and I were walking along the shore of the Mediterranean at Marseilles. I had been traveling through southern Europe since my recovery, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Earl. Hester had recently joined us in this ancient city of Provence. The sun was sinking below the distant horizon of water, and his shafts, glancing from the western edge of the sea, shot far into the immeasurable reaches above us. We stood in silence while the great wall of night loomed into the zenith, and then fell westward through the luminous slope of heaven. The broad terrace from which we viewed the scene was quite deserted.

“If it is a hopeless love I cherish, let me know it now, Hester,” I said as we turned to go. “I cannot wait any longer.”

“You can wait half an hour longer, I am sure,” she said, hurrying me along. “We will be at home, then.”

Some months after Hester had become my wife we received a call in London from our old friend, Mr. Murmurtot.

“You have been playing in a great life drama,” said he to Hester, “and I, too, have had a part in it. Lest you may think that it was the fool's part, let me tell you that I am the man who arrested the Count de Montalle.”

“And the man who brought Fenlon to justice?” I asked.

“The same. He confessed within three hours after you were introduced to him.”

Every week my wife and I visit Rayel's grave and strew fresh flowers upon it. A tall shaft of marble marks the spot where he lies at rest. His name is graven in the stone, and underneath it are these words: “He was a man without selfishness or vanity.”

THE END.


Back to IndexNext