FACE TO FACE.
Theconversation between Tait and Captain Larcher was not finished that evening, as the old gentleman, worn out by the excitement of the day, early retired to bed. However, he declared that he would be shortly ready to journey to London; and Claude left the Cottage with Tait on the understanding that his father was to be called for next day. Before they parted for the night Claude made a remark about Hilliston.
"I hope he won't get wind of this," he said dubiously; "or he may get Mrs. Bezel—I can't call her mother—out of the way."
"Have no fear," replied Tait calmly. "Hilliston's hands are too full at present."
"What do you mean?"
"Why," said Tait, lighting his candle; "your father showed me a letter from Hilliston, apologizing for not coming over, as his wife was lying dangerously ill at the Connaught Hotel, at Eastbourne."
"He said something of that in his note to me. What is the matter with Mrs. Hilliston?"
"She has the smallpox."
"The smallpox!" echoed Claude, in a tone of horror. "Poor creature, she is a dead woman!"
"I don't know so much about that. She may recover."
"She may recover from the disease," said the youngman gloomily; "but not from the blow to her vanity. Many a time has she told me that if she lost her looks she would kill herself. You mark my words, Tait, within the week we will hear of her death."
And with these prophetic words Claude retired to his room.
Tait had no time to think of this conversation, being occupied with anticipation regarding the meeting of Captain Larcher and his wife; but it so happened that Claude's prognostications occurred to him when the truth of the Horriston tragedy was discovered, and that was not long afterward. Perhaps, like the young men, Fate herself grew weary of an affair which had dragged on for twenty-five years. At all events she brought matters to a conclusion with almost inconceivable rapidity.
The first step toward the end was the meeting of husband and wife, which took place at Clarence Cottage, Hampstead, during the afternoon of the next day. In company with his son and Tait, the old gentleman drove to the railway station, some three miles distant, and took the up express. When established comfortably in a first-class smoking carriage—for Captain Larcher was fond of a pipe—he resumed the conversation with Tait which had been broken off on the previous night. This time the subject was Hilliston and his doings.
"I have been thinking over your suspicions regarding Hilliston," he said, addressing himself more directly to Tait, "and I confess that it is difficult to reconcile some of his actions with your view that he is guilty. Claude, as you know, was ignorant of the Horriston tragedy until enlightened by Hilliston."
"I know that, my dear sir," said Tait quietly, "Hilliston certainly placed the papers containing the account of the matter in Claude's hands, but he was forced to do so by the action of Mrs. Bezel—I beg pardon, Mrs. Larcher."
"Continue to call her Mrs. Bezel, if you please. I prefer it so. How did she force Hilliston to confide in Claude."
"Because she read the book 'A Whim of Fate,' and seeing the tragedy therein described, she wrote asking Claude to see her with the intention of telling him all. As you may guess, her story differs materially from that of Hilliston's, so of two evils, choosing the least, he determined to forestall her and inform Claude of the matter."
"And he did so by means of the press," said Claude eagerly. "In place of telling me the story himself he allowed me to gather what information I could from the scanty report of theCanterbury Observer. My dear father, the Genesis of the whole matter springs from the finding of those papers by Jenny. Had she not read them and told Linton the story he would not have written the book; had he not done so Mrs. Bezel would not have determined to tell me her version; and but for her threat to do so Hilliston would not have produced the papers."
"Humph! The action was compulsory on the part of Hilliston?"
"I think so, sir," said Tait complacently; "therefore it is quite in keeping with his usual character. The rat did not fight till it was driven into a corner."
"It is not in the corner," remarked Captain Larcher significantly, "but we'll drive it there and see if it willface our accusation. But what about Hilliston's introduction of Claude to me? Would it not have been to his interest to keep us apart?"
"Oh!" said Tait, with some contempt for Hilliston's diplomacy, "that was another case of necessity. He knew that Claude and I were bent on discovering the truth, so, fearing that we should do so by further investigation, he thought to stop the whole matter by bringing you face to face with your son."
"I don't see how that would accomplish his aim."
"Hilliston hoped it would do so in two ways," explained Tait glibly. "First, he hoped that you would give your consent to Claude marrying Jenny, and so lead his mind away from the case, and second, he trusted that when Claude found you alive he would no longer desire to pursue the investigation."
"He was right so far," said Claude seriously.
"If that was Hilliston's calculation, he made one great mistake," said Captain Larcher scornfully. "He did not think that I should wish to see my wife."
"He must have been satisfied that Claude would tell you she was alive."
"That, of course. But he thought I would stay at Thorston as Ferdinand Paynton, and be afraid to admit my identity even to my wife. I might have done so but for Claude. But I owe it to him to clear myself, and this meeting with my wife will be the first step toward doing so. Between us we must solve the mystery."
"It is none, so far as I am concerned," said Tait grimly. "I am sure as I am sitting here that Hilliston murdered Jeringham. The gardener was just too late to see him do the deed."
"But his motive?" asked Claude curiously.
His father and Tait stole a glance at one another. They neither of them wished to make any remarks about Mrs. Larcher and Hilliston's passion, preferring that Claude should be ignorant of that episode. Still when he asked so direct a question it was difficult to avoid a direct answer, but Larcher gave him one which was sufficiently evasive to stop further inquiries.
"We must try and find out his motive," he said quietly. "Depend upon it, Claude, there is a good deal of underhand work in this of which we know nothing."
"Do you think Mona committed the crime?"
"No, I do not. In no way could she have gained possession of the dagger with which it was committed."
"My mother says she had a dagger in the sitting room."
"That is a mistake," said Captain Larcher, using as delicate a word as he could think of. "She threatened me with the sheath of the dagger, and no doubt, being agitated at the time, she thought it was the weapon itself. But I noticed when she entered the room that the sheath was empty. Her story to the police at the time of the trial is more likely. She lost it in the ballroom. The question is, who picked it up? Judging from the knowledge I now have of his character I believe it was Hilliston who did so."
"Or Jeringham," said Tait suddenly.
"Impossible! How could Jeringham have found it?"
"He was with Mrs. Larcher all the evening, and may have seen the dagger fall. Or again, he may have taken it out of the sheath to examine it and haveforgotten to return it. It is not improbable that in such a case he might have recollected it when he was in the garden, and offered it to Mona to return to her mistress."
"Oh!" said Claude with contempt. "And on that slight ground you suppose that Mona killed him?"
"It is not beyond the bounds of probability."
"Nonsense!" said Captain Larcher angrily. "I don't believe it. Mona was a good girl, foully deceived by Jeringham. She fled from the house to hide her disgrace, thinking my wife would tell her brother. Hilliston afterward met her in London, where she died in giving birth to Jenny."
"Then it was Hilliston who brought Jenny to you?"
"Yes. Because her Uncle Denis was in my service. I adopted Jenny, but told her that she was the child of a Mr. Kennedy and Mona Bantry. She believed her father and mother were married, so do not disturb that view of the case."
"Certainly not," said Tait emphatically. "It would be cruel to do so. But here we are at Victoria. After seeing Mrs. Bezel at Hampstead we can resume our conversation."
"If we do it will be from a different standpoint, I fancy," said Larcher significantly, as the train stopped.
Tait's brougham was waiting for them at the station, and in this they drove up to Hampstead. Leaving it in Fitzjohn's Avenue they walked down Hunt Lane to Clarence Cottage. Mrs. Bezel occupied her usual seat in the window, and caught sight of Claude as he preceded his father and Tait up the path. A terrified expression crossed her face, but she made no motion to forbid their entrance. Yet a sense of coming evilstruck at her heart, and it needed all her self-control to prevent herself from fainting when they were shown into the room.
"My dear mother," said Claude, kissing her, "you must be prepared for unexpected news. I beg of you to control yourself for——"
He stopped short in astonishment. Mrs. Bezel was looking at Captain Larcher with a bewildered air, and he gazed at her face with an expression of amazement. She shrank back as he crossed the room with rapidity, and bent over her.
"Mona Bantry!" he cried, "is it possible that you still live?"
AN EXPLANATION.
Onhearing his father's exclamation Claude turned round with a look of supreme astonishment. He could not understand the meaning of that sudden exclamation.
"Father, you do not understand. This is your wife—my mother."
"Is it, indeed?" sneered Captain Larcher, who had recovered from his momentary emotion. "Nothing of the sort, sir. This woman is Mona Bantry, who was my wife's maid."
"Are you sure?" cried Tait, who was beginning to be bewildered by these successive revelations.
"Sure, sir! as sure as I am of my own innocence. As sure as I am George Larcher, this is the sister of Denis Bantry, who——"
"Denis!"
The interruption came from Mrs. Bezel. She had sat dumfounded at the unexpected appearance of the man whom she had thought dead, and she had said nothing while assertion and denial were going on, but the mention of her brother's name stirred her dormant faculties, and she sat up looking wildly around.
"Denis!" she cried, in a terrified tone. "Is Denis here?"
"Denis is down at Thorston," said Captain Larcher gruffly, "as you no doubt knew well enough."
"I swear I did not. Francis told me Denis was in America."
"Francis?" exclaimed Claude, forgetting to whom the name belonged.
"Francis Hilliston."
"Ah!" said Captain Larcher, with a disdainful look round. "I might have guessed as much. Off with the dead love, on with the living. You have amended the proverb."
"I did not know Mark was dead, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Bezel passionately. "Francis said that he had gone to America with Denis. I thought he had done so to escape the consequences of his crime, but——"
"Of his crime!" cried Claude. "He was the victim, poor soul, not the murderer. It was Jeringham who was killed, not my father."
"Your father?" said Mrs. Bezel, looking steadily at Captain Larcher. "Yes; it is my old master. So you are alive and he is dead. Why did you kill him, sir?"
"I did not kill him," replied the captain quietly, "and as a counter question, may I ask why you passed yourself off to Claude as my wife?"
Mrs. Bezel burst into a wild laugh, and clapped her hands together. Then she covered her face and commenced to weep, but in a few moments the fit of hysteria passed away, and she became cool and composed. Thrown off her balance for the time being, she had now gathered her wits together, and was ready to fight. Her folly and impulse had brought about this catastrophe, and it was her duty to set it right again—if she could. But the upshot of the matter was extremely doubtful.
On his part, Captain Larcher was relieved to find that Mrs. Bezel proved to be Mona Bantry instead of his wife. Ever since the communication made by Claude, he had suffered agonies at the thought that his wife had been living all these years under the protection of his false friend. Now that fear was set at rest once and forever. Julia Larcher had really died, as Hilliston had asserted, and the woman in Clarence Cottage, who had taken her name, was the maid in place of the mistress. Out of all the trouble Larcher extracted this morsel of comfort, his honor was unstained.
Meanwhile the three visitors sat waiting to hear what Mrs. Bezel had to say. She saw that they expected a confession, and resolved to disappoint them. Leaning backward among her cushions, she closed her eyes, and played a waiting game. It proved successful, for in two minutes or thereabouts Captain Larcher broke out. His temper was none of the best, and recent events had not tended to improve it."
"Well, madam," he said sharply, rapping his stick on the ground, "I am waiting to hear what you have to say."
"I have nothing to say," said Mrs. Bezel quietly.
"Oh, yes, you have," began Tait. "As you set the ball——"
But at this moment he was interrupted by Larcher.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Tait, but I will question this woman myself. Pray do not speak, nor you, Claude, till I have done."
Both young men bowed their heads and acquiesced in silence. After all, the captain was the proper person to examine Mona Bantry. He knew more of the casethan anyone else, and conversant as he was with the events of that fatal night, he would know whether she spoke truly or falsely. Mrs. Bezel looked uneasy on hearing his resolution, but only compressed her lips tighter as though resolved to let nothing escape her. But he was a match for her in obstinacy.
"Now then," said Larcher, turning to her, "relate your history from the moment you left me alone with my wife twenty-five years ago at The Laurels."
"It would not help you if I did."
"I'm not so sure of that. But I understand. You are afraid of incriminating yourself."
"I!" exclaimed Mrs. Bezel indignantly. "What have I to do with the matter. I know nothing of it. I left the house then and there, and only heard of the tragedy while I was concealed at Horriston, more than a week afterward."
"Why did you state to my son that Mrs. Larcher threatened me with the dagger."
"So she did," said Mrs. Bezel coolly. "I saw her hand raised, I saw the dagger in it."
"You saw the sheath of the dagger, you mean," retorted Larcher; "it fell on the floor and was found there next day. But the weapon with which the crime was committed was lost by my wife at the ball."
"It may have been," said the woman indifferently. "I don't know anything about it."
"Did not Jeringham show it to you when you joined him in the garden?"
"I tell you I did not see him on that night. When you found out my secret, I was afraid that you and the mistress would betray it to my brother Denis, so I left the room and fled. I thought Jeringham wouldjoin me at Horriston next day, but then I heard of your supposed death, and that he had fled. Until this hour I did not know that it was the other way round."
"Did not Hilliston tell you? He knew."
"No, Captain Larcher, he did not," said Mrs. Bezel emphatically. "He said that Jeringham had gone to America with my brother."
"Where did you go after leaving Horriston?"
"I came to London, and remained there till my baby was born."
"And then?"
"I found that my money had come to an end, and called at Mr. Hilliston's office to ask him to help me."
"What right had you to expect help from him."
"I had no right, but that I knew he would assist me because of his love."
"His love!" exclaimed Larcher sharply. "Did Hilliston love you?"
"Yes; I refused to have anything to do with him on account of Jeringham. But he did love me. Oh, yes, I know you thought he was in love with your wife, but such was not the case. He loved me, and me only."
Larcher drew a long breath, and looked puzzled. He was relieved to find that he had not been mistaken in Hilliston, after all, yet the assertion of Mrs. Bezel only seemed to further complicate the case. If Hilliston did not love Mrs. Larcher, what possible motive could he have to kill Jeringham? The looks of Claude and Tait reflected his perplexity; but dismissing this special point for the moment, he pursued his examination.
"How did Hilliston receive you?"
Mrs. Bezel looked around with a bitter smile. Hermeaning was clear from the contemptuous expression on her face.
"Can you not guess from what you see here?" she said quietly. "Francis Hilliston bought me. He loved me well enough, but not sufficiently to marry me. He did not ruin me, for I was already ruined. I accepted his offer to come here and be his mistress. What else could I do? I was alone in London. I was friendless. I believed that my lover and my brother had fled to America. I could not return to Horriston lest I might be involved in the tragedy at The Laurels. I did what any other woman would have done, and made the best of a bad business. I accepted the love and protection of Francis Hilliston. The protection still continues, as you see—the love, that is dead and done with."
"I see you are thinking of Louisa Sinclair," interposed Tait quietly.
"What do you know of Louisa Sinclair?" asked Mrs. Bezel, with a violent start.
"Everything, thanks to you," answered Tait. "Your letter put the clew into my head. I went to Horriston; I saw a portrait of Miss Sinclair. I know that she went to America after the tragedy, and returned as Mrs. Derrick, rich and beautiful, to marry Hilliston."
"Ah, you know that much. Yes! Louisa Sinclair is my rival! Ten years ago she came back to England and wanted Francis to marry her. I fell ill—I became paralyzed. He forgot me, he forgot my love, and she became his wife. Oh, how I hate her! I hate him. It was on that account that I wrote to you, Claude, to reveal all."
"You then acted out of revenge!"
"Yes, I did!" said Mrs. Bezel sullenly. "Look at me, a wreck; look at her, his wife, rich and handsome and healthy."
"Not healthy, poor soul," said Claude. "She is ill with the smallpox."
"With the smallpox," echoed Mrs. Bezel joyfully. "I'm glad of it! I'm glad of it! Her beauty will depart, as mine has done. Then Francis may come back to me."
"You love him still?" asked Captain Larcher, in wonderment.
"Too well to ruin him. You want me to accuse him of the crime, but I tell you he is innocent; he knows nothing."
"He was in the garden alone on that night. None other but he——"
"He was not alone," cried Mrs. Bezel sharply. "Louisa Sinclair was with him. Yes, she followed him from the ball because she was jealous of me. In my flight I passed her at the gate. She had a cloak over her dress, but I saw that it was the costume of Mary, Queen of Scots."
"And you knew her by that?"
"Partly. My mistress told me that Miss Sinclair had a similar costume to her own, for she was very angry about it. But I saw her face as I fled. She may know who killed Jeringham. I do not. Hilliston does not. Now, I have told you all. Go away and leave me. I speak no more."
"First tell us why you declared yourself to be my mother?" said Claude sharply.
"For safety. I regretted that I had told you; thatI had forced Hilliston into defending himself. I was afraid lest you should learn too much and denounce me as the criminal. So long as you thought I was your mother you would not dare to do so, and therefore I told you I was Mrs. Larcher."
"One last word," said Captain Larcher, rising to his feet. "Your child. What became of it?"
"Hilliston took it away," said Mrs. Bezel, in a melancholy tone. "I was ill at the time and he overcame my scruples. I don't know where my child is. Often and often have I wanted to see her again, but Francis has always refused. Oh, where can she be?"
"I can tell you."
"You?" cried Mrs. Bezel, starting up in amazement.
"Yes. Your daughter Jenny was brought by Hilliston to me. I adopted her as my child, and she is now at Thorston with her Uncle Denis—your brother."
Mrs. Bezel tried to speak, but could not. With a wild glance around she heaved a long sigh and fainted. The joy of hearing that her child was alive proved too much for her enfeebled frame.
THE TRAGEDY OF A WOMAN'S VANITY.
MeantimeHilliston, unaware of that fatal meeting with Mona Bantry, which threatened to demoralize his plans, was devoting himself to his unfortunate wife. She was very ill, and not expected to recover, so feeling that he would soon lose her, the lawyer stayed constantly by her side, and strove, though unsuccessfully, to ameliorate her cruel sufferings. It was all the more credit to him that he did so, as he had married her mainly for her money, and was still in love with Mrs. Bezel. No doubt, remorse had something to do with his present attitude.
The landlord of the Connaught Hotel had insisted upon Mrs. Hilliston being removed when the first symptoms of disease showed themselves. He declared that were it known that he had a smallpox patient in his house, he would be ruined for the season, so Hilliston, recognizing the truth of this assertion, took steps to isolate his wife, as was necessary from the nature of her illness. Assisted by the doctor, who attended to all details relative to the municipal authorities, he hired a small house on the outskirts of Eastbourne, and thither the wreck of what had once been a beautiful woman was removed one evening. Nurses were hired from London, Hilliston sent word to his partner thathe would not return to business for some weeks; and then began the slow martyrdom of the sickroom.
It was a fortnight since Mrs. Hilliston had been seized with the disease, and now it had taken so favorable a turn that the doctor held out great hopes that she would recover. But the beauty of which she had been so proud was gone, and with it went the hopes that she could still retain her husband by her side. Mrs. Hilliston knew well enough that it was only her persistence which had made Hilliston marry her, and now that she had lost her good looks—the one hold she had on his lukewarm affection—she foresaw only too clearly that he would neglect her in the future. Moreover, the woman's vanity was so powerful that she could not accept calmly the possibility of surviving, a scarred and maimed object, to face looks of pity and of horror. She felt that she would rather die, and in fact resolved to do so. Meanwhile she tossed and turned, and moaned and wept on her sick bed; crying out against the stern Fate which had dealt her such hard measure. Yet in her secret soul she admitted that the punishment was just.
Hilliston was scarcely less unhappy than his wife. While her illness was serious, he had thought of nothing but how to save her, but now that a chance of recovery offered a respite from his arduous attendance by the sick bed, he had time to turn his thoughts toward the Horriston tragedy. He wondered that he had not heard from Paynton relative to the interview with Claude, and, fearful lest some untoward event had occurred to upset his plans, he wrote to Rose Cottage asking for information. To-day he had received a reply, and on reading it saw his worst fears realized.
"I know you now [wrote Captain Larcher briefly]. I have seen Claude; I have seen Mona. Henceforth I look upon you as an enemy, and I intend to take immediate steps to clear my name at your expense."
There was no signature, but Hilliston was too well acquainted with his friend's writing to have any doubt as to the genuineness of the letter. The blow had fallen; Mona had betrayed him, and he sat there helpless, with the letter in his hand, a spectacle of baffled scheming, of unmasked villany.
"To clear his name at my expense," muttered Hilliston to himself. "What does he mean by that? He cannot have discovered—but no, that is impossible. When they find out who picked up that dagger at the ball, they may learn the truth, but not till then. I defy them all. Larcher will remain Paynton till the end of his life. Mona! Ah, I shall punish her when I return to town for her cruel treachery."
While he was thus thinking, a nurse entered the room to intimate that Mrs. Hilliston would like to see him. The lawyer obeyed the summons at once, placed Larcher's letter in his pocket, smoothed his brow, and entered the sickroom. Signing to the nurse to go away, Mrs. Hilliston waited till she was alone with her husband.
"Francis," she said in a low voice, stretching out her hand, "I wish to speak to you—on that subject."
"I think it would be wise if you refrained from doing so," replied Hilliston, knowing to what she alluded. "We understand one another on that point; you can do no good by bringing it up again. Why should you?"
"For Claude's sake," said Mrs. Hilliston feverishly. "You owe him some reparation."
"I owe him none, Louisa. I have acted like a father to him, and he has turned on me. I helped Larcher to hide himself when it was dangerous for him to become known, and he tells me that I am his enemy."
"Have you heard from him?"
"I received a curt note of three lines intimating that he was about to assert his innocence, and clear his name at my expense."
"Francis," cried Mrs. Hilliston, in a tone of terror, "you are lost! If all is known——"
"All will not be known," replied Hilliston, patting her hand; "only two people know the truth—you and I. We can keep our own counsel."
"But that little man, Tait, is at Horriston."
"What of that?"
"He will see Belinda Pike there. You know how she hated me because I loved you. She wanted to marry you herself. If he meets Miss Pike she will speak against me."
"What of that?" said Hilliston soothingly. "You forget, my dear, that your life is different now. No one can find Louisa Sinclair in Louisa Hilliston. When you went to America you vanished and returned as Mrs. Derrick, the rich widow. Belinda Pike can never learn that. My dear, you distress yourself suddenly. We are perfectly safe."
"But the garnet scarfpin," questioned Mrs. Hilliston feverishly.
"I am secure on that point. Larcher knew that I was in the garden on that night, and may have thoughtI dropped it. He will not dare to accuse me of the crime. If he did," continued Hilliston, his brow growing black, "I could turn the tables on him in a manner he little expects. There is more evidence against him than against me."
"But if they learn that I was with you on that night?"
"They will never learn. No one saw you there. If they did, what does it matter? Louisa Sinclair is dead. You need have no fear of being recognized. I'll answer for that."
"It does not matter to me if I am known or not," said Mrs. Hilliston gloomily; "I have done with life."
"My dear, the doctor says you will recover."
"I shall not recover," said the sick woman, with emphasis. "Oh, do not deceive yourself, Francis! I shall never rise from this sick bed to be an object of horror and pity to you."
"My dear——"
"You never loved me. You only married me out of pity. At Horriston you refused to make me your wife, and it was only when I returned from America a rich woman that you did so. Pity," she said, with a scornful laugh, "no, not pity, but necessity. You would have been ruined but for my money."
"I admit it, Louisa, and I am deeply grateful to you for the way in which you have helped me. I can never repay you for saving my name and credit."
"You can, Francis. Get me my dressing case."
"Louisa, you cannot——"
"I insist upon being obeyed," she said imperiously. "Get me my dressing case."
With great reluctance he brought it from a distant table and placed it on a chair by the bedside. In obedience to her directions he opened it, and took therefrom a sealed envelope.
"In there," she said, as he held it in his hand, "is an account of all I saw on that fatal night. You must send that letter to Captain Larcher when I am dead."
"Louisa, do you wish to ruin me?"
"I wish to save you, Francis. Do not deceive yourself into a belief that the investigation is at an end. Claude may cease to meddle with the matter, for he is in love with Jenny, and will probably marry her, for by this time, according to you, he knows who she is. But I am afraid of Spenser Tait. He will hunt you down; he will urge Larcher to find out the truth. If it comes to that, send them my account of the matter."
"It will ruin me," he said again.
"It will save you," she repeated. "Do not be foolish, Francis. You can read it before sending it away."
"But you?"
"I shall be dead. I feel sure I shall not live. Promise me that if the worst comes you will send that letter."
"I promise," he said, sorely against his will, "but it will not be sent: you will live."
"I don't think so, Francis. I know better than the doctor. Now kiss me, my husband, and leave me to myself."
He did so in silence, and took up the dressing-case, whereupon she stopped him. "Let it be," she said quietly: "some of your letters are in it, and I wish to read them. Kiss me again."
Again he kissed her, and reluctantly left the room. So quiet and self contained was she that he had no inkling of her intention. Had he guessed her fatal resolve, little as was the love he bore her, he would surely have striven to turn her from her purpose. But he guessed nothing, and left her alone, with the devil tempting her.
Good-by, my husband!" she murmured, as the door closed, and then burst into tears. He had gone, she would never see him again, and she moaned over her lost beauty which failed to retain him by her side. He was coldly polite; he was affectionate out of pity, but he had no love for her, and she hungered for the want of it. Her life passed before her, episode after episode, till it stopped short at the spectacle of a closed door, and herself lying alone and deserted in that sickroom.
She wept and prayed, and then, with a firm hand, took out of her dressing case a small vial filled with a dark brown liquid. Twice she put it to her lips, and twice she hesitated; the third time she accomplished her purpose. The thought of her lost beauty, of her husband's neglect, of her childless home and wretched future, all these nerved her, and she drank off the contents, then quickly replaced the bottle in the dressing case.
When the nurse came in to see her patient, Mrs. Hilliston was lying back with a quiet smile on her pale lips. She had found peace at last.
THE LAST APPEARANCE OF FRANCIS HILLISTON.
Unawareof the tragedy which had taken place at Eastbourne, Captain Larcher was in London brooding over his wrongs, and weaving schemes how to avenge himself on Hilliston. His eyes had been opened by Tait with regard to the conduct of that gentleman, and he now saw plainly that he had been Hilliston's dupe for all these years. Indeed, he began to share Tait's opinion that the lawyer was guilty, and was casting about in his own mind how to prove this, when an announcement in the papers informed him of the death of Mrs. Hilliston.
"The smallpox killed her, no doubt," said Tait, when he had expressed his regrets.
"No!" remarked Claude, who had been looking over the general news. "It was a case of suicide."
"Suicide!" exclaimed the hearers, in one breath.
"Yes, according to this paragraph. It appears that in some way or another she became possessed of a bottle of laudanum while the nurse was absent. The woman returned to find her patient dead. Poor Mrs. Hilliston!" added Claude, folding up the paper with a sigh. "How sorry I am to hear this."
"I wonder why she committed suicide?" said Tait meditatively. "She looked too determined a woman to yield to such a weakness."
"No doubt she found out that her husband was guilty of the crime," said Larcher grimly, "and so did not care to live longer with a murderer."
"You are wrong, father," observed Claude, looking up; "it was the knowledge that she had lost her looks which killed her. Depend upon it, she took the poison so as to avoid dragging out her days a scarred and miserable object."
"How do you know that, Claude?" asked his father, with a curious look on his face.
"Because not once, but twice, or thrice, Mrs. Hilliston told me she would kill herself rather than grow old and ugly. The loss of beauty came with the smallpox; and so she has carried out her resolve."
"It will be a blow to Hilliston."
"I don't think so," said Captain Larcher rather cynically. "From what I remember of Louisa Sinclair, the love was all on her side. No doubt he married her when she was Mrs. Derrick purely for her money. No! No! I quite believe the story of Mona Bantry. She was and is the woman of his love. Now the wife is dead he can console himself with the mistress."
"That reminds me," observed Claude suddenly. "What are we to do about Jenny? Is she to be informed that her mother is yet alive?"
Captain Larcher shook his head. "Set your mind at rest on that point," he said with a nod. "I told Mrs. Bezel that Jenny was about to become your wife; that she thinks her parents are dead; and I pointed out that it would be unwise to mar the happiness of the girl by letting her know the truth. Mrs. Bezel agrees with me, and she has consented that things shall remain as they are."
"Does she not want to see Jenny, father?"
"Of course she does. It is only natural, poor soul, but she loves her child sufficiently to avoid casting a shadow on her life. Jenny will never know that Jeringham was her father or that her mother is still alive. She will marry you, Claude, as Miss Kennedy, and know no more of her connection with the matter than she does at present."
"And Denis?"
"Denis has been told. I wrote him two days ago, and I have no doubt he will come up to town to see the last of his wretched sister."
"The last of her?"
"Can you doubt it? Mrs. Bezel has death written on her face."
"Another blow for Hilliston," said Tait, in a rather regretful tone. Villain as he knew the lawyer to be, he could not help feeling sorry for his troubles. Fate had held her hand a long time, but now she was dealing a full measure, and pouring the vials of her wrath on the head of the sinner.
"It will be a heavier blow than the last," said Larcher, in a severe tone, "for there is no doubt Hilliston truly loves Mona."
"I suppose Denis will object to his going near her again."
"It is impossible to say. We must leave that to the man himself."
This conversation took place in Tait's rooms one morning some three weeks after the momentous interview with Mrs. Bezel. It had been Captain Larcher's intention to return at once to Thorston, but he had been dissuaded from this by his son, who thought afew weeks in town would do his father good. There was no doubt on this point, for Captain Larcher brisked up wonderfully in the exhilarating atmosphere of the West End. But for the unexplained mystery of Jeringham's death, he would have been quite happy in the recovered society of his son, and even while the future was still black enjoyed himself in no small degree. It did Claude good to see that his father was at length getting some pleasure out of life, after his years of incessant trouble and wearing anxiety.
The next day Denis, looking older and grayer than ever, came up to see his sister. He saw his master for a few minutes, and then went on to Hampstead.
"I have told Denis how ill she is," explained Captain Larcher, as the man took his departure, "and he has promised to be as lenient as possible toward her wrong-doing. By the way, Hilliston is in town."
"Hilliston!"
"Yes. He came up in the same train as Denis, and had the impudence to speak to him. Asked him where I was, as he wanted to see me."
"To see you, father?" cried Claude, in astonishment. "What for?"
"I think I can guess," interposed Tait quietly, "Hilliston has been stricken by his wife's death, and wants to atone for his sins by confessing the truth. I would not be surprised if he called here this afternoon."
Captain Larcher looked skeptical, but said nothing, and the matter dropped for the time being. As it happened Denis was still ignorant that his sister had been the mistress of the lawyer, else there might havebeen trouble. He had but a confused idea of Hilliston's connection with the case, and, beyond knowing that he was the owner of the garnet scarfpin, could not conceive that he had been actually present in the garden when the murder was committed. True it was that the scarfpin had been found on the spot where the corpse of Jeringham had lain, but assured by his master that Hilliston was innocent, as Captain Larcher had truly believed these many years, Denis never gave the matter a second thought. Now he would learn the truth from Mrs. Bezel.
Denis only came back in the afternoon, looking much put out. The ruin of his much loved sister by Jeringham had been a great blow to him, but the discovery that she was alive and had been living in sin with Hilliston startled him considerably. He could hardly reply to the questions of his master, but ultimately related that they had parted friends. Mrs. Bezel had told him that the doctor assured her she could not live much longer; and in the shadow of death Denis had freely forgiven her all her sins and follies.
"And, indeed, sir, what else could I do," said Denis, wiping the tears from his eyes, "when I saw the poor thing lying there like a corpse? It's a bitter time she's had of it, these last ten years, in that death-in-life state. Oh yes, captain, I forgave her freely, poor soul!"
"And Hilliston?" asked Larcher inquiringly.
"May his black soul burn," cried Denis, with a scowl. "Were I or he younger I'd leave my mark on him. Mona had a letter from him saying he was calling to see her this evening, but that he had an appointment with you, sir."
"With me, Denis! It is the first I have heard of it. Where is he?"
At this moment, as if in response to his question, the door opened and Tait appeared, looking very disturbed.
"Mr. Hilliston is here, Captain Larcher, and wishes to speak with you."
Claude had entered the room by another door, and, on hearing this, stepped forward looking slightly pale. He slipped his arm within that of his father, as though to protect the elder man. Then they all waited to hear what Captain Larcher had to say. The permission for the interview must come from the man who had been most deeply wronged. He thought for a moment or so with a frown on his face, then sank into a chair with a deep sigh.
"Denis, stand behind me," he said, in a peremptory tone. "Claude, sit down yonder. Now, Mr. Tait, we are ready to see our friend."
Tait anticipated this permission, and was already prepared for it. Without a word he threw open the door, and Hilliston, dressed in deep mourning, entered the room with a paper in his hand. He looked pale and worn, his fresh color was gone, and as he spoke he kept his eyes persistently on the ground. It could be easily seen that the man had received a shock from which he would not easily recover.
"I have called to see you and deliver this," he said, in a low tone, placing the paper he carried on the table. "I do not ask your forgiveness, Larcher, for I do not consider I have done anything to justify your anger against me."
"You could have saved me all these years ofanguish by telling me the truth," said Larcher indignantly.
"Perhaps! But it was not to my interest to tell you the truth."
"I don't wonder at that," said Claude bitterly. "You were afraid of the law."
"Perhaps," said Hilliston again. "On the other hand I may not be so guilty as you think me. You will find the truth in that paper."
He pointed toward the table, and the eyes of all immediately turned in that direction, while Hilliston moved toward the door.
"Having fulfilled the promise I made to my dead wife, I now take my leave," he said quietly. "I will never see any of you again, and some day you may learn that you have misjudged me. Good-by."
He opened the door, but before he could pass through Denis sprang forward.
"My sister?" he said, with an indignant look in his eyes.
"I am about to repair the wrong I did her," replied the lawyer gravely. "By to-morrow she will be my wife."
THE TRUTH.
Hillistoncame and went in the space of a few minutes. None of those present made any attempt to stay his exit, but as the door closed after him they looked at one another in silence. Thinking of Hilliston's last speech, Denis was the first to speak.
"What does that mean, sir?" he asked his master, with an air of helpless bewilderment.
"I think it can only mean one thing, Denis," replied Larcher, rousing himself. "Mr. Hilliston has at length awakened to the fact of his dastardly treatment of your sister, and is about to make reparation for the past. He intends to marry her."
"But his wife only died a few days ago, master."
"I know that. But Mrs. Bezel will also die shortly, and if Hilliston desires to atone for the past he has no time to lose. He can marry her at once, but he will again be a widower within the month."
Denis lifted a pair of shaking hands, and slowly left the room, followed by the sympathetic looks of the others. He did not even pause to learn the contents of the sealed envelope left by Mr. Hilliston. Great as was his curiosity to learn all that had taken place on that fatal night, his love and grief for his sister were greater still. Bowed and gray and older-looking than ever, he departed; but in his heart there was onecomfortable thought—Mona would die an honest woman, if Mr. Hilliston was to be believed.
When the three found themselves alone, Captain Larcher picked up the sealed letter with some reluctance.
"Strange," he said, balancing it in his hand. "For years I have been eager to know the truth. Now that I have only to open this envelope to learn it, I feel half afraid."
"Nevertheless, it will be as well to lose no time in making ourselves acquainted with the contents," said Tait eagerly, for he was in a fever of impatience to know all. "It may be a confession by Hilliston."
"I think not. It is directed to me in the handwriting of Mrs. Hilliston."
"To Ferdinand Paynton?"
"No. To Captain Larcher."
"H'm!" said Tait, with a start. "How did Mrs. Hilliston know you were Captain Larcher? Did she see you at Thorston?"
"No. But her husband doubtless informed her of my real name. However, we will learn all from this," said Larcher, breaking the seal. "I believe this is a confession by Mrs. Hilliston."
"But what can she have to confess?" cried Claude, as his father smoothed out a closely written letter. "She can know nothing of the tragedy."
"You forget," said Tait, with a sudden recollection, "Louisa Sinclair; she was at Horriston, and, according to Mona Bantry, was in the garden of The Laurels on that night. I would not be surprised if she saw the committal of the crime."
"What! Do you think she is about to betray her husband?"
"Oh," said Tait significantly, "we are by no means sure of Hilliston's guilt!"
Larcher found that the writing was too small for him to read comfortably, so handed the letter to Claude, with a request that he should read it out aloud. Excusing himself on the plea of the illegibility of the writing, Claude passed it to Tait, who accepted the office with avidity. The letter was without date or direction, and began in an abrupt manner, highly suggestive of the agitation under which it had been written. Tait mentally noted these points, and began.
"This confession is to be read after my death by Captain George Larcher, and, if he sees fit, he has my free permission to make it public. Still I trust out of regret for the memory of an unhappy woman that he will not do so save in the arising of two contingencies. First, should he be still alive, and accused of murdering Mr. Jeringham. Second, should my dear husband be accused of the crime. In the event of the occurrence of either of these contingencies, I authorize him to make these pages public.
"To explain myself I must go back twenty-six years, when I was residing at Horriston. You, Captain Larcher, will remember me well as Louisa Sinclair, for at that time I saw a great deal of yourself and your wife. I saw too much of her, for my eyes were sharp, and, but for a natural reluctance to disturb your domestic peace, I could have enlightened you as to her conduct. She was never worthy of a good man like you. She was as bad as I afterward became, andthat is saying a great deal, as you will see by reading on.
"I loved Francis Hilliston, your intimate friend. Belinda Pike loved him also, but there was no need for either of us to be jealous of the other, for Mr. Hilliston loved a third person; none other than your wife. No doubt you will be angry when you read this, but your anger cannot alter facts. Yes, your dearest friend loved your wife. Let him deny that if he can."
At this point there was a marginal note by Hilliston: "I do deny it, and but that I am not in a position to do so I would not let George Larcher's eyes rest on this confession. My poor wife was insanely jealous of Mrs. Larcher, but I swear that she had no grounds to be so. I admired Mrs. Larcher as a friend, nothing more, and I loved Mona Bantry. She is the only woman who has ever attracted me, and, notwithstanding my marriage, now dissolved by death, she attracts me still."
This note was hastily scribbled in pencil, and after Tait had read it, without interruption from Captain Larcher, he continued the confession:
"I admit that I was jealous of his attentions to your wife," continued Mrs. Hilliston, "for though I did all in my power I could not win him to my side. Regarding the efforts of Belinda Pike, I say nothing. She tried to gain his love, and she failed. I was more successful in the end, but not till the lapse of many years. Here I may say that I have gypsy blood in my veins, which at times renders me insanely jealous, and in such a state I am capable of all things. A recollection of this may enlighten you as to my acting as I did in the garden of The Laurels.
"I knew that your wife loved Jeringham, and could have told you of it. I am sorry I did not now, as she would have been disgraced, and then Francis might have turned to me for consolation. But I held my peace, and paid the cost of doing so. I am doing so now; you also; for if you had been forewarned you would never have had to conceal yourself under a feigned name on account of Jeringham's death.
"At the fancy dress ball held at the Town Hall, matters came to a climax. My gypsy blood made me mad on that night, owing to the way in which I was neglected by Francis Hilliston. With some difficulty I learned that your wife was to be dressed as Mary, Queen of Scots, and, with a view to making myself attractive in Hilliston's eyes, I chose the same dress. With the assistance of the dressmaker who worked for us both, I obtained a dress similar in all respects to that of Mrs. Larcher, hoping that by doing so he would speak to me under the impression that I was your wife. My stratagem was successful. I was masked and dressed as she was; he spoke to me, thinking I was she, and I learned then how he loved her. At that moment I could have killed her. I could have killed him."
Here there was another note in Hilliston's handwriting: "Again I say that the poor creature was mistaken. I did speak to her under the impression that she was Mrs. Larcher, but I said nothing that she could construe into a declaration of love. Her jealousy rendered her mad, and she distorted the idle words I spoke. She took them up in the wrong sense."
"My suspicions were confirmed later on," continued the confession, "for I overheard them talkingtogether; yes, Francis Hilliston and your wife were in a corner together, talking of love. I listened. It was mean to do so; but then, I was in love and would have stooped to any degradation to have rescued him from her clutches. They talked about a dagger which he had given her to complete her dress. Aha! he did not think to complete my costume with such a gift. Mrs. Larcher took the dagger out of its sheath and together they examined it. She blamed him for putting an inscription on it, saying it would make her husband jealous. Francis laughed, and said that you would never suspect him. Then Mrs. Larcher slipped the dagger back in the sheath, as she thought; but in reality it slipped down among the folds of her dress, and when she arose to go it fell on the ground. They departed, and I picked up the dagger.
"At once I looked at the inscription, and there it was on the gold handle—'To J. L., from F. H.' I was so enraged that I could have broken the dagger. I tried to, but it was too strong for me. Therefore I thrust it into my waistband and went in search of Hilliston to return it to him, and reproach him for giving it to Mrs. Larcher. I saw him, wrapped in his cloak, go out with Mrs. Larcher. He was seeing her home, and in a frenzy of jealous rage I resolved to follow."
Margin note by Hilliston: "It was not I who went home with Mrs. Larcher, but Jeringham. I was dressed that evening as a Venetian senator, and wore a long black cloak. This Jeringham borrowed from me to conceal his fancy dress when he left the Town Hall. My wife thought it was me, but she was mistaken. I went home with George Larcher, as he knows."
The confession continues: "They left in Mrs. Larcher's carriage, and I, hastily wrapping a cloak round me, followed in a fly. When I got to The Laurels they were talking together at the door, and the carriage had driven round to the stables. I sat back in my fly, for the driver did not know who I was, and watched. I saw Mrs. Larcher kiss Hilliston and run inside. Then I went out of my mind—I was possessed by a devil. He came down the path and turned midway to look back at the house. I had my hand on the dagger—it tempted me, and I sprang out on him. He turned sharply round, and had I not been blinded with rage I would have then recognized him. But I hardly knew what I was doing, and, before he could utter a word, I buried the dagger in his heart, when he fell with a choking cry. I knelt down beside him, and withdrew the dagger. Then I heard a sound, dropped the weapon, and fled.
"Some little distance off I ran into the arms of Francis Hilliston. I shrieked as though I had seen a ghost, and told him I had killed a man—that I had intended to kill him. He explained the mistake of the cloak, and said I must have murdered Jeringham. Then he saved my life. No one had seen me come to The Laurels, no one had seen me in the garden; so Francis took me back to Horriston, and I returned to the ball without anyone having suspected my absence.
"The next day the news of the disappearance of Jeringham was all over the town; afterward the body was discovered down the river, and mistaken for that of Mr. Larcher. Francis advised me for my own sake to hold my tongue. I did so, and shortly afterward I went on a visit to a sister of mine in America. Francisrefused to marry me on account of my crime. In America I married Derrick, the millionaire; he died, and I returned to London. I found Francis greatly in want of money, and as I still loved him, I married him. No one but us two knew who really killed Jeringham, but for your sake, Captain Larcher, I acknowledge my guilt lest you should be found out and accused of the crime. I could say much more, but this is enough. When you read this I will be dead, and my last words I swear are true. I and none other killed Mark Jeringham in mistake for Francis Hilliston."
Note by Hilliston: "It will be seen that my wife was actuated all through by jealousy, but I swear she had no reason. I loved Mona, not Mrs. Larcher, nor her. I saved her life because she committed the crime for my sake; I married her because I was on the verge of pecuniary ruin. I have nothing more to add. You can blame me if you like, but I consider I have acted all through as I was forced by circumstances."