"We were talking of Mr. Voltaire," I said. "Have you found out anything more about him?"
"No, I have not. Is there any mystery connected with him?"
"I think there is. I have an indistinct kind of feeling that both he and the Egyptian are deceivers, while I am sure that Mr. Voltaire is—is your enemy."
"I have no doubt he is," I said.
She looked at me strangely.
"I had not been in Temple Hall two hours before that man had marked me as one that he would fain be rid of."
"Indeed," she said; "then if that is the case, you should listen to my advice. Have nothing to do with him."
"But I must have something to do with him, and with his friend theEgyptian as well."
"Don't," she said anxiously; "the two work together, and both are cunning as serpents. I believe," she continued, after a pause, "that the thought-reading and mesmerism were somehow designed to injure you. I think somehow they are acquainted with forces unknown to us, and will use them for evil."
"Yes, I believe all that," I said.
"Then why must you have any dealings with them?"
"Because they will have dealings with me; because they are plotting against me; because there are forces, over which I have no control, drawing me on."
"But why will they have dealings with you? Why are they plotting against you?"
"Because Voltaire knows that I love, with all my soul, the woman he wants to win for his wife."
A curious look shot across her face. What was it? Love, astonishment, pain, vexation, or joy? I could not tell; but my tongue was unloosed.
"Do I annoy you, astonish you, Miss Forrest?" I said. "Forgive me if I do. I have been regarded as a woman-hater, a society-avoider. That is because I never saw a woman in whom I was sufficiently interested to court her society. I have heard it said that such characters fall in love quickly, or not at all. The first day I saw you I fell in love with you; I love you now with all my soul."
She looked at my face steadily, but did not speak a word.
"Voltaire has found out this, and he too wants you for his wife; so he has been trying—is trying—to drive me away from here. How I cannot tell you; but what I have said is true!" I spoke rapidly, passionately, and I saw that her face became alternately pale and red, but she did not reply.
"Am I bold to speak thus?" I asked. "I think I must be, for I have scarcely known you a week. But I cannot help it. My life is given up to you. If I could but know that my love were not in vain! If you could give me some word of hope!"
A beautiful look lit up her eyes; she opened her mouth to speak, when a voice shouted—
"Come, Justin; don't loiter so. We shall not get back in time for dinner, if you do."
It was Tom Temple who spoke, and a turn in the lane revealed him. To say I was sorry would be but to hint at my feelings. But I could not hinder the turn things had taken, so we started our horses into a gallop, I hoping that soon another opportunity might occur for our being alone, when I trusted she would tell me what I desired to know.
I do not know how I dared to make my confession of love, for certainly I had but little proof of her caring for me. If I hoped, it was almost without reason; and yet, as we galloped on, my heart beat right joyfully.
Nothing of importance occurred during the ride. The castle we visited was grim and grey enough; but it was not the kind of afternoon when one could enjoy to the full such a place, so we were not long before we turned our horses' heads homeward. Time after time, on our homeward journey, did I contrive to be alone with Miss Forrest, but always in vain. She kept by the side of Edith Gray in spite of all my schemes to get her by mine. Her lips were compressed, and her eyes had a strange look. I longed to know what she was thinking about, but her face revealed nothing.
We came to the house at length, however, and then I hastened from her side to lift her from the saddle. Then my heart gave a great throb, for I thought she returned the pressure of my hand.
"Do be careful about that man," she said hurriedly, and then ran into the house.
It was joy and light to me, and I needed it in the dark days that came after.
The stable-boy had scarcely taken the horses when a thought struck me. I looked at my watch, and it was almost too dark for me to discern the time, but I saw, after some difficulty, that it wanted but a few minutes to five. In my joy I had forgotten my determination, but now I quickly made my way to the summer-house that stood in the dark fir plantation.
Perhaps some of my readers may think I was doing wrong in determining to listen to the proposed conference between Miss Staggles and Voltaire. I do not offer any excuse, however. I felt that if this man was to be fought, it must be by his own weapons; such, at any rate, as I could use. I remembered the terrible influence he had exercised over me, the power of which might not yet be broken. I remembered Miss Forrest too. Evidently this man was a villain, and wanted to make her his wife. To stop such an event, I would devote my life. Something important might be the result of such a conversation. I might hear disclosed the secret of his influence, and thereby discover the means whereby I could be free, and this freedom might, I hoped, make me his master.
Anyhow, I went. The dark clouds which swept across the sky hid the pale rays of the moon, and, clothed in black as I was, it would be difficult to see me amongst the dark tall trees. I hurried to the summer-house, for I wished to be there before they arrived. I was successful in this. When I came, all was silent; so I got behind a large tree, which, while it hid me from any one entering the house, enabled me to be within earshot of anything that might be said, especially so as the summer-house was a rustic affair, and the sides by no means thick.
Silently I waited for, I should think, half-an-hour; then a woman came alone. Evidently she was cold, for she stamped her feet against the wood floor with great vehemence. Minute after minute passed by, and still there was no third party. Then I heard a low "hist."
"You're late," said the woman's voice, which I recognized as MissStaggles'.
"Yes; and we must not stay long."
"Why?"
"Because I think we are watched."
"But why should we be watched? Surely no one perceives that we are suspicious parties?"
"I cannot say. I only know I cannot stay long."
"Why, again?"
"I have much to think about, much to do." "And I have much to tell you."
"I can guess it, I think; but I must know. Tell me quickly."
He spoke peremptorily, as if he had a right to command, while she did not resent his dictatorial tones.
"They've been riding together again to-day."
"I guessed it. Bah! what a fool I've been! But there, that may mean nothing."
"But it does; it means a great deal."
"What?"
"I believe that he's asked her to be his wife. In fact, I'm sure he has."
"Darkness and death, he has! And she?"
"I hardly know; but as sure as we are alive, she likes him."
"How do you know this?"
"I saw them come in from their ride, and so I guessed that they had become friendly again."
"Well?"
"Well, I met her in the hall. She looked as happy as a girl could well look. I am a woman, so I began to put two and two together. I determined to listen. I went up-stairs to my room, which, you know, is close to Miss Gray's and Gertrude's. If you had known girls as long as I, you would know that they usually make friends and confidantes of each other. I found this to be true in the present case. Gertrude had not been in their room above five minutes before Miss Gray came to the door and asked to come in. It was immediately opened, and she entered."
"And what then?"
"I listened."
"Just so; I expected that. But what did you hear?"
"I could not catch all they said; but I gathered that they had a delightful ride, that Mr. Blake had made a declaration of love to Gertrude."
"And her answer?"
"I could not catch that; she spoke too low. But I should think it was favourable, for there was a great deal of whispering, and after a while I heard something about that dreadful man being Mr. Blake's enemy."
"Ah! How did they know that?"
"I gathered that Mr. Blake told her. Look here, Herod Voltaire; you are playing a losing game."
"I playing a losing game? Do not fear. I'll win, I'll win, or—or—"Here he paused, as if a thought struck him.
"Why don't you get an influence over her, as you did over Blake? Then you could manage easily." "I cannot. I've tried; her nature is not susceptible; besides, even if I got such a power, I could not use it. You cannot force love, and the very nature of the case would make such a thing impossible. Stay! You know Miss Forrest well, don't you, her education, and her disposition?"
"I've known her long enough."
"Well, tell me whether I am correct in my estimate of her character. If I am, I do not fear. She's very clear-headed, sharp, and clever; a hater of humbug, a despiser of cant."
"True enough; but what's this got to do with the matter?"
"In spite of this, however," went on Voltaire without heeding Miss Staggles' query, "she has a great deal of romance in her nature; has a strong love for mystery, so much so that she is in some things a trifle superstitious."
"I can't say as to that, but I should think you are correct."
"Then she's a young lady of very strong likes and dislikes, but at bottom is of a very affectionate nature."
"Affectionate to nearly every one but me," muttered Miss Staggles.
"She is intensely proud—"
"As Lucifer!" interrupted Miss Staggles. "This is her great weakness," went on Voltaire. "Her pride will overcome her judgment, and because of it she will do things for which she will afterwards be sorry. Is this true?"
"True to the letter. You must be a wizard, Herod Voltaire, or you couldn't have summed up her disposition so correctly."
"Her sense of honour is very great. She would sacrifice her happiness to do what was thought to be honourable."
"I believe she would."
"Then my path is marked out," said he, savagely.
From that time I could catch nothing of what was said, although they conversed for five minutes at least. But it was in whispers, so low that I could not catch a word.
Presently they got up and went away, while I, with aching head and fast-beating heart, tried to think what to do. Everything was mystery. I could not see a step before me. Why should Miss Staggles be so willing to help Herod Voltaire, and what were the designs in his mind? What was his purpose in getting at a correct estimate of Miss Forrest's character?
I went to the house pondering these things in my mind, and, arriving there, heard the hall clock strike the quarter, from which I knew it was a quarter past six. We were to dine at seven that day, and, as I did not usually make an elaborate toilette, I knew I had plenty of time. I felt I could not go in for a few minutes; my brain seemed on fire. I turned to take a walk towards the park gates, when I heard a footstep, and turning, saw Simon Slowden.
"Can you give me ten minutes before dinner, sur?" he said.
"I dare say," I said.
He led me into the room in which we had spoken together before. "There's something wrong, yer honour," he said in a low voice.
"How do you know?"
"Why, that 'ere Egyptian hev bin doggin' me all day. He's got a hinklin' as how we're tryin' to match 'em, and reckons as how I'm yer friend. Besides, to-day when I see you ride hoff with the young lady, I thinks to myself, 'There's no knowin' what time he'll be back.' I know what 'tis, yer honour; hi've bin in the arms o' Wenus myself, and knows as 'ow a hour slips away like a minnit. So as there wur no tellin' if you would get to the summer-house to-night at five o'clock, I thought I'd just toddle up myself. But 'twas no go. I sees they two willains a-talkin' together, and when that 'ere Woltaire went off by himself, the other took it 'pon him to keep wi' me. I tried to git 'im off, but 'twas no use; he stuck to me like a limpet to a rock."
"Perhaps it was all fancy, Simon."
"No fancy in me, but a lot o' judgment. Fact, sur, I've begun to think for the fust time as 'ow some things in the Bible ain't true. In the Psalms of Solomon it reads, 'Resist the devil and he'll go away howlin'.' Well, I've resisted that 'ere devil, and he wouldn't go away till he'd knowed as how he'd played his little game;" and Simon looked very solemn indeed.
"Is that all, Simon?"
"All, yer honour. 'Tisn't much, you think; but to me it looks mighty suspicious, as I said to my sweetheart when I see her a-huggin' and kissin' the coachman."
I went away laughing, but my heart was still heavy. Try as I would, I could not dispel the fancy that soon something terrible would happen.
During dinner Kaffar made himself very disagreeable. This was somewhat unusual, as he was generally very bland and polite, but to-night he was so cantankerous that I fancied he must have been drinking. To me he was especially insulting, and went so far as to hint that I, unlike other Englishmen, was a coward; that I hadn't courage to resist a man manfully, but would act towards an enemy in a cunning, serpent-like way. This was not the first occasion on which he had sought to pick a quarrel with me, and I felt like resenting it. I desisted, however, as there were ladies present, and went on quietly talking to my neighbour as if he hadn't spoken. This roused his ire more, while I saw that Voltaire watched me with his light glittering eye, as if expecting a scene.
After dinner, this being New Year's Day, we passed a more than usually merry time. Stories were told, old ballads were sung, while Roger de Coverley was danced in downright earnest by most of those who were present. By midnight, however, the old hall was silent; each of us had repaired to his room, and most, I expect, were quietly asleep, when a terrible scream was heard, after which there were shouts for help and hysterical cries. The sounds seemed to come from the direction of the servants' hall, and, quickly putting on some clothes, I hurried thither. I soon found that the noise had roused the whole household, and so, when I arrived, I found a number of the guests had gathered together. On looking into the room, I saw that the housekeeper was lying in a swoon, one of the servants was in hysterics, while Simon Slowden, who was in the room, and the page boy looked as white as sheets, and were trembling evidently with fear.
"What does this mean?" asked Tom Temple, a little angrily.
At this the housekeeper became conscious and said in a hoarse whisper,"Is she gone?"
"What? Who do you mean?" asked Tom.
"The hall lady," she said fearfully.
"We are all friends here," said Tom, and I thought I detected an amount of anxiety in his voice.
This appeared to assure the housekeeper, who got up and tried to collect her thoughts. We all waited anxiously for her to speak.
"I have stayed up late, Mr. Temple," she said to Tom, "in order to arrange somewhat for the party you propose giving on Thursday. The work had got behind, and so I asked two or three of the servants to assist me."
She stopped here, as if at a loss how to proceed.
"Go on, Mrs. Richards; we want to know all. Surely there must be something terrible to cause you all to arouse us in this way."
"I'll tell you as well as I can," said the housekeeper, "but I can hardly bear to think about it. Twas about one o'clock, and we were all very busy, when we heard a noise in the corridor outside the door. Naturally we turned to look, when the door opened and something entered."
"Well, what? Some servant walking in her sleep?"
"No, sir," said Mrs. Richards in awful tones. "It looked like a woman, very tall, and she had a long white shroud around her, and on it were spots of blood. In her hand she carried a long knife, which was also covered with blood, while the hand which held it was red. She came closer to us," she went on with a shudder, "and then stopped, lifting the terrible knife in the air. I cannot remember any more, for I was so terribly frightened. I gave an awful scream, and then I suppose I fainted."
This story was told with many interruptions, many pauses, many cries, and I saw that the faces of those around were blanched with fear.
"Do you know what it did, Simon," said Tom, turning to that worthy, "after it lifted its knife in the air?"
"She went away with a wail like," said Simon, slowly; "she opened the door and went out. An' then I tried to go to the door, and when I got there, there was nothin'."
"That is, you looked into the passage?"
Simon nodded. "And what did you think she was like?"
"Like the hall ghost, as I've heard so much about," said Simon.
"The hall ghost!" cried the ladies, hysterically. "What does that mean,Mr. Temple?"
I do not think Tom should have encouraged their superstition by telling them, but he did. He was excited, and scarcely knew what was best to do.
"They say that, like other old houses, Temple Hall has its ghost," he said; "that she usually appears on New Year's night. If the year is to be good to those within at the time, she comes with flowers and dressed in gay attire; if bad, she is clothed in black; if there's to be death for any one, she wears a shroud. But it's all nonsense, you know," said Tom, uneasily.
"And she's come in a shroud," said the servant who had been in hysterics, "and there was spots of blood upon it, and that means that the one who dies will be murdered; and there was a knife in her hand, and that means that 'twill be done by a knife."
It would be impossible to describe the effect this girl's words made. She made the ghost very real to many, and the calamity which she was supposed to foretell seemed certain to come to pass. I looked at Gertrude Forrest and Ethel Gray, who, wrapped in their dressing-gowns, stood side by side, and I saw that both of them were terribly moved.
Voltaire and Kaffar were both there, but they uttered no word. They, too, seemed to believe in the reality of the apparition.
After a great deal of questioning on the part of the lady guests, and many soothing replies on the part of the men, something like quietness was at length restored, and many of the braver ones began to return to their rooms, until Tom and I were left alone in the servants' hall. We again questioned the servants, but with the same result, and then we went quietly up-stairs. Arriving at the landing, we saw Miss Forrest and Miss Gray leaving Mrs. Temple at the door of her room. Tom hurried to Miss Gray, and took her by the hand, while I, nothing loth, spoke to Miss Forrest.
"There's surely some trick in this," I said to her.
I felt her hand tremble in mine as she spoke. "I do not know. It seems terribly real, and I have heard of such strange things."
"But you are not afraid? If you are, I shall be up all night, and will be so happy to help you."
I thought I felt a gentle pressure of her hand, but I was not sure; butI know that her look made me very happy as she, together with EdithGray, entered her room a few minutes after.
When they had gone, I said to Tom, "I am not going to bed to-night."
"No?" said Tom. "Well, I'll stay up with you."
"This ghost affair is nonsense, Tom. I hope you will not find any valuables gone to-morrow."
"Real or not," said Tom, gaily, "I'm glad it came."
"How's that?"
"It gave me nerve to pop the question," he replied. "I told my little girl just now—for she is mine now—that she wanted a strong man to protect such a weak little darling."
"And she?"
"She said that she knew of no one, whom she liked, that cared enough for her to protect her. So I told her I did, and then—well, what followed was perfectly satisfactory."
I congratulated him on his audacity, and then we spent the night in wandering about the first floor of the house, trying to find the ghost, but in vain; and when the morning came, and we all tried to laugh at the ghost, I felt that there was a deep, sinister meaning in it all, and wondered what the end would be.
Directly after breakfast I went away alone. I wanted to get rid of an awful weight which oppressed me. I walked rapidly, for the morning was cold. I had scarcely reached the park gates, however, when a hand touched me. I turned and saw Kaffar.
"I hope your solitary walk is pleasant," he said, revealing his white teeth.
"Thank you," I replied coldly.
I thought he was going to leave me, but he kept close by my side, as if he wanted to say something. I did not encourage him to speak, however; I walked rapidly on in silence.
"Temple Hall is a curious place," he said.
"Very," I replied.
"So different from Egypt—ah, so different. There the skies are bright, the trees are always green. There the golden sandhills stretch away, the palm trees wave, the Nile sweeps majestic. There the cold winds scarcely ever blow, and the people's hearts are warm."
"I suppose so."
"There are mysteries there, as in Temple Hall, Mr. Blake; but mysteries are sometimes of human origin."
As he said this, he leered up into my face, as if to read my thoughts; but I governed my features pretty well, and thus, I think, deceived him.
"Perhaps you know this?" he said.
"No," I replied. "I am connected with no mysteries."
"Not with the appearance of the ghost last night?"
I looked at him in astonishment. The insinuation was so far from true that for the moment I was too surprised to speak.
He gave a fierce savage laugh, and clapped his hands close against my face. "I knew I was right," he said; and then, before I had time to reply, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Things were indeed taking curious turns, and I wondered what would happen next. What motive, I asked, could Kaffar have in connecting me with the ghost, and what was the plot which was being concocted? There in the broad daylight the apparition seemed very unreal. The servants, alone in the hall at midnight, perhaps talking about the traditional ghost, could easily have frightened themselves into the belief that they had seen it. Or perhaps one of their fellow-servants sought to play them a trick, and ran away when they saw what they had done. I would sift a little deeper. I immediately retraced my steps to the house, where meeting Tom, I asked him to let me have Simon Slowden and a couple of dogs, as I wanted to shoot a few rabbits. This was easily arranged, and soon after Simon and I were together. Away on the open moors there was no fear of eavesdroppers; no one could hear what we said.
"Simon," I said, after some time, "have you thought any more of the wonderful ghost that you saw last night?"
Instantly his face turned pale, and he shuddered as if in fear. At any rate, the ghost was real to him.
"Yer honour," he said, "I don't feel as if I can talk about her. I've played in 'Amlet, yer honour, along with Octavius Bumpus's travellin' theatre, and I can nail a made-up livin' ghost in a minnit; but this ghost didn't look made up. There was no blood, yer honour; she looked as if she 'ad bin waccinated forty times."
"And were the movements of her legs and arms natural?"
"No j'ints, Master Blake. She looked like a wooden figger without proper j'ints! Perhaps she 'ad a few wire pins in her 'natomy; but no j'ints proper."
"So you believe in this ghost?"
"Can't help it, yer honour."
"Simon, I don't. There's some deep-laid scheme on foot somewhere; and I think I can guess who's working it."
Simon started. "You don't think that 'ere waccinatin', sumnamblifyin' willain 'ev got the thing in 'and?"
I didn't speak, but looked keenly at him.
At first he did nothing but stare vacantly, but presently a look of intelligence flashed into his eyes. Then he gave a shrug, as if he was disgusted with himself, which was followed by an expression of grim determination.
"Master Blake," he said solemnly, "it's that waccinatin' process as hev done it. Simon Slowden couldn't hev bin sich a nincompoop if he hadn't bin waccinated 'gainst whoopin' cough, measles, and small-pox. Yer honour," he continued, "after I wur waccinated I broke out in a kind of rash all over, and that 'ere rash must have robbed me of my senses; but I'm blowed—There, I can't say fairer nor that."
"Why, what do you think?"
"I daren't tell you, yer honour, for fear I'll make another mistake. I thowt, sur, as it would take a hangel with black wings to nick me like this 'ere, and now I've bin done by somebody; but it's the waccinatin', yer honour—it's the waccination. In the Proverbs of Job we read, 'fool and his money soon parted,' and so we can see 'ow true the teachin' is to-day."
"But what is to be done, Simon?"
Simon shook his head, and then said solemnly, "I'm away from my bearin's, sur. I thought when I wur done the last time it should be the last time. It wur in this way, sur. I was in the doctor's service as waccinated me. Says he, when he'd done, 'Simon, you'll never have small-pox now.' 'Think not?' says I. 'Never,' says he; and when Susan the 'ousemaid heard on it, she says, 'I am so glad, Simon.' Then, says I, 'Susan, when people are married they're converted into one flesh. That's scripter. You get married to me,' says I, 'and you'll be kept free from small-pox, without goin' threw this yer willifyin' process.' Wi' that she looks at me, and she says, 'You are purty, and I'll try you for three months; if you don't get small-pox in that time, why then—we'll talk about it.' So I says, 'Say yes at once, Susan. The doctor says I can't get it, so there's no sort o' fear.' I wur young and simple then, and thowt doctors never made a mistake. Well, sur, in two months more I were down wi' small-pox, and when I got up again I wur a sight to behold. As soon as I wur fit to be seen I went to Susan to git a mite o' comfort, and then I see 'er a-courtin' wi' the coachman. And I says to myself, 'Simon Slowden,' I says, 'this yer is the last time you must be ever taken in;' and now I'm right mad that I should 'a bin licked in this yer way."
I could not help laughing at Simon's story, in spite of my heavy heart, and so I asked him what the doctor said when he found vaccination a failure.
"Sent me off without a character, sur," he replied grimly. "Said he couldn't keep a servant as would be a livin' advertisement as 'ow his pet 'obby wer a failure. And so I allays say as 'ow waccination is my ruin. It's ruined my blood and weakened my brain. Still," continued Simon, with a sly look, "I reckon as 'ow I'll be a match for that 'ere doubly waccinated ghost as frightened me so."
I could get nothing more from him. He had formed some notion about the apparition which he would not divulge, so we devoted our attention to sport, and, after frightening a good many rabbits, we returned to the hall.
Nothing of importance happened through the day, except an inquiry which Tom made among the servants. Each declared that they were entirely ignorant as to the appearance of the ghost, and all were evidently too frightened to doubt the truth of their statement. Thus when evening came nothing was known of it.
Kaffar did not speak to me from the time I had seen him in the morning to dinner-time, and evidently avoided me. Voltaire, on the contrary, was unusually bland and smiling. He was pleasant and agreeable to every one, especially so to me.
After dinner we all found our way to the drawing-room, when the usual singing, flirting, and dancing programme was carried out. Suddenly, however, there was comparative silence. One voice only was heard, and that was the Egyptian's.
"Yes," he was saying, "I am what is called a superstitious man. I believe in dreams, visions, and returned spirits of the dead. But, ah! I do not believe in made-up ghosts. Oh, you cold-blooded English people, don't mistake the impulsive Egyptian; don't accuse him of lack of faith in the unseen. So much do I believe in it, that sometimes I long to be with those who have gone. But, bah! the ghost last night was to deceive, to frighten. Got up by some villain for a purpose, and I can guess who he is."
"This is serious," said Tom Temple. "I have inquired of the servants, who all assure me of their entire ignorance of the matter, and I cannot think that any of my guests would assume the person of the traditional ghost for no other purpose than to frighten the housekeeper and two or three servants. I'm by no means superstitious, but I do not see how I can trace it to human origin."
"I cannot see why any guest should assume the person of the traditional ghost, but some men have deep designing minds. They are like clever draught-players; they see half-a-dozen moves ahead, and so do that which to a novice appears meaningless and absurd."
Then I heard another voice, one that caused my heart to beat wildly. It was Gertrude Forrest's. "Mr. Kaffar says he can guess who the person is who has personated this ghost," she said; "I think it fair to every guest that he should speak out."
"I would not like to say," he said insultingly; "perchance I should woundyourtender feelings too deeply."
"Mr. Kaffar will remember he's speaking to a lady, I'm sure," said TomTemple.
"Pardon me," said Kaffar, excitedly; "I forgot I was in England, where men are the slaves of the ladies. With us it is different. We speak and they obey. I forgot I was not in Egypt. I have done very wrong. I implore the lady's pardon."
"I see no meaning in your words," said Miss Forrest, quietly, "thereforeI see nothing to forgive."
"Ah, I live again. A heavy load is gone from my heart! I have not merited the lady's displeasure."
"Still I think it right, if you have grounds for suspecting any one, that we should know," said a voice; "otherwise some one may be wrongly accused."
"Do not ask me," said Kaffar. "Ask Mr. Blake."
Instantly all eyes were turned on me, and, do as I might, I could not help an uncomfortable flush rising in my face. "I do not know what Mr. Kaffar means," I replied. "I am as ignorant as to the origin of the ghost as he is, perhaps more so."
Instantly Kaffar leapt from his chair, and came up to me, his hands clenched, his black eyes gleaming, his teeth set together as if in a terrible rage.
"You are a liar and a villain!" he screamed.
"Ah, remember this morning. I accused him, gentlemen, of being connected with this ghost only to-day, and he flushed guiltily and was silent. He looked like a Judas who betrayed his master."
"Quietly, please," I replied. "You did come to me this morning with some foolish jargon about my being connected with last night's affair, but I was so surprised by the absurdity and foolishness of such a thing, that I could not answer you before you ran away."
"You hear?" shrieked the Egyptian. "So surprised, was he? If he was, it was because I had found him out."
"This man is mad," I said. "Surely he ought to be shut up."
"Mad, am I?" he shrieked. "Yes, and you are a liar, a coward, a villain!You are engaged in a fiendish plot; you are deceiving an innocent lady.Ah, I spurn you, spit upon you."
"Mr. Kaffar," said Tom Temple, "really this cannot be allowed. You must remember you are among gentlemen and ladies. Please act accordingly."
"Ladies there are, gentlemen there are," shrieked the Egyptian; "but he"—pointing at me—"is no gentleman. He is at once a viper, a villain, and a coward. I leave this house; I renounce pleasant society; I leave this country—for ever; but before I go I would like to fight hand to hand with that giant, who—Ha!" He stood close to me and spat at me. "There!" he cried, and then he struck me in the face with all his strength.
Instantly I leapt to my feet. This insult was too great. I could scarcely restrain from striking him to the ground. I mastered myself, however, and so did not touch him.
"I leave this house," he said wildly. "Herod, send on my baggage to Cairo. But"—turning to me—"you I challenge—you, with your big body and trained arms! But, bah! you dar'n't fight. You are a mooning coward."
He rushed out of the room as he spoke, and a minute later I heard the hall door slammed with vehemence.
At that moment I became possessed of a terrible passion. I seemed to be mad. I longed to avenge the insults that had been offered. I looked around the room, and all seemed astounded at the behaviour of the Egyptian, save Voltaire, who was apologizing in profuse terms for his friend. As I looked at his terrible eyes, my passion became greater, and I felt I could not govern myself if I stayed in the room. I think some one came up to me, and congratulated me on my coolness in dealing with the man who had insulted me so; but I did not listen—I could not. An overmastering impulse laid hold of me to follow the Egyptian, and I dimly remember going into the hall and out into the silent night.
I knew the probability was that I should be followed, but I did not know where to go, when I seemed to hear voices all around me uttering the words "Drearwater Pond!" With that I started running with all my might, knowing not where, yet dimly remembering that I had gone the road before. Then all memory and consciousness ceased.
I suppose I must have gone on blindly for some time, for when I again became conscious I stood beside a river, while tall trees waved their leafless branches overhead. Strange noises filled the air. Sometimes wailing sounds were wafted to me, which presently changed into hisses, until it seemed as if a thousand serpents were creeping all around me. The waters of the river looked black, while above me were weird, fantastic forms leaping in the stillness of the night. No words were spoken, no language was uttered, save that of wailing and hissing, and that somehow was indistinct, as if it existed in fancy and not in reality. By and by, however, I heard a voice.
"Onward!" it said, and I became unconscious.
* * * * *
Again I realized my existence in a vague shadowy way. I stood beneath the ruined walls of an Eastern temple. Huge columns arose in the air, surmounted by colossal architraves, while the ponderous stones of which the temple was built were covered with lichen. Large grey lizards crawled in and out among the crevices of the rocks, and seemed to laugh as they sported amidst what was once the expression of a great religious system, but which was now terrible in its weird desolation. By and by the great building seemed to assume its original shape and became inhabited by white-robed priests, who ministered to the people who came to worship. I watched eagerly, but they faded away, leaving nothing save the feeling that a terrible presence filled the place. I heard a noise behind; I turned and saw Kaffar, his black eyes shining, while in his hand he held a gleaming knife. He lifted it above his head as if to strike; but I had the strength of ten men, and I hurled him from me. He looked at me with a savage leer.
"Onward!" said a distant voice.
The temple vanished, and with it all my realization of life, save a vague fancy that I was moving somewhere, I knew not where.
* * * * *
I stood by a well-remembered spot. I was by the side of Drearwater Pond. Around me was a stretch of common land, on which grew heather and furze. In front of me were noiseless waters, a dismal sight at the best of times, but awful as I saw them. Across the pond in the near distance loomed the dark fir trees. No sound broke the stillness of the night. The wind had gone to rest, the moon shone dimly from behind the misty clouds.
I stood alone.
Each minute my surroundings became more real. I recognized more clearly the objects which had struck me during my first visit, while the stories which had been told came back to me with terrible distinctness. I remembered how it had been said that the pond had no bottom, and that it was haunted by the spirits of those that had been murdered. The story of its evil influence came back to me, and in my bewildered condition I wondered whether there was not some truth in what had been said.
What was that?
The waters moved; distinctly moved near to where I stood, and from their dark depths something appeared—I could not at first tell what.
What could it be? A monster of frightful mien? the ghost of some murdered man or woman? I could have believed in either just then. It was neither.
What then? A human hand, large and shapely, appeared distinctly on the surface of the pond. Nothing more, not even the wrist to which it might be attached. It did not beckon, or indeed move at all; it was as still as the hand of death.
I stood motionless and watched, while the outline of the hand became more clear; then I gave an awful shudder.
The hand was red.
I gave a shriek, and for a time remembered nothing more.
* * * * *
I awoke to consciousness, fighting. At first it seemed as if I was fighting with a phantom, but gradually my opponent became more real to me. It was Kaffar.
I had only a dim hazy idea of what I was doing, except that I sought to wrest from his hand a knife. We clutched each other savagely, and wrestled there on the edge of the pond. Weights seemed to hang upon my limbs, but I felt the stronger of the two. Gradually I knew I was mastering him—then all was blank.
* * * * *
A sound of voices. A flash of light. A feeling of freedom, and I was awake!
Where?
Still by Drearwater Pond. No phantoms, no shadow, nothing unreal, save the memory of that which I have but dimly described. That was but as a terrible nightmare—an awful dream.
Where was Kaffar?
I could not tell. Certainly he was not near; but two other forms stood by me, one bearing a lantern.
"Is it you, Justin?" said a voice.
"It is I, Tom," I said, looking vacantly around.
"And where is Kaffar?" said another voice, which I recognized asVoltaire's.
"Kaffar? I—I do not know."
"But you have been together."
"Have we?" I said vacantly.
"You know you have. What is that in your hand?"
I had scarcely known what I had been saying or doing up to this time, but as he spoke I looked at my hand.
In the light of the moon I saw a knife red with blood, and my hand, too, was also discoloured.
"What does this mean?" cried Voltaire.
"I do not know. I am dazed—bewildered."
"But that is Kaffar's knife. I know he had it this very evening. Where is Kaffar now?"
"Is it true?" I remember saying. "Have we been together?" "That's his knife, at any rate. And what is this?"
Voltaire picked up something from the ground and looked at it."Kaffar's," he said. "Look, Mr. Blake; do you recognize this?"
I looked and saw a finely-worked neckcloth, on which was written in Arabic characters the words "Aba Wady Kaffar." It had every appearance of being soiled by severe wrenching, and on it were spots of blood.
My faculties were rapidly returning to me, yet I stood as one in a dream.
"You say, Mr. Justin Blake, that you do not know where Kaffar is, yet you hold in your hand his knife, which is red with blood. Here is his scarf, which has evidently been strained, and on it are spots of blood, while all around are marks indicating a struggle. I say you do know what this means, and you must tell us."
I reeled under this terrible shock. What had I done? Could it be that I had murdered this man? Had I? Had I?
"I do not know what it means," I said. "I think I am ill."
"Men usually are when they have done what you have," he said.
"Why, what have I done?" I said, in a dazed kind of a way. "Done!" he repeated. "You know best about that, in spite of the part you play. Nevertheless, Kaffar has not gone without leaving a friend behind him, and you will have to show how you came by that"—pointing to the knife, which I had dropped with a shudder; "this"—holding up the neckcloth; "you must explain these marks"—pointing to footmarks near the water's edge; "besides which, you will have to produce my friend."
A terrible thought flashed into my mind. I had again been acting under the influence of this man's power. By some means he had made me the slave of his will, and I had unknowingly killed Kaffar, and he, like the fiend he was, had come to sweep me out of his road. Perchance, too, Kaffar's death might serve him in good stead. Undoubtedly the Egyptian knew too much for Voltaire, and so I was made a tool whereby he could be freed from troublesome obstacles. The idea maddened me. I would proclaim the story to every one. If I were hanged I cared not. I opened my mouth to tell Tom the whole truth, but I could not utter a word. My tongue refused to articulate; my power of speech left me.
My position was too terrible. My overwrought nerves yielded at last. I felt my head whirling around, while streams of icy water seemed to be running down my legs. Then I fell down at Tom Temple's feet.
For some time after that I remembered nothing distinctly. I have some idea of stumbling along, with Tom on one side of me and Voltaire on the other, but no word was spoken until we came to Temple Hall. Then I heard Tom say—
"He's better now. You go into the drawing-room as if nothing had happened, and I'll take him quietly up-stairs to bed."
I entered the silent house like one in a dream, and went with Tom to my bedroom, where I undressed like a weary child, and soon sunk into a deep dreamless sleep.
Some one was knocking at the door.
"Who's there?"
"Tom Temple."
I sprang out of bed and let him in. He looked very grave, very worried. Instantly everything flashed through my mind in relation to our terrible meeting of the night before.
"It's nine o'clock, Justin."
"Yes, Tom, I suppose it must be," I said confusedly; "but I have only just awoke."
"I thought I must come; I want to talk with you."
"Thank you, Tom; I am glad you have come."
"How are you this morning? Is your mind clear?"
"Fairly. Why?"
"I must have some conversation with you about last night. Everything is confusion. I can explain nothing."
"Neither can I."
He looked at me keenly and sighed. "Were you with Kaffar last night after he had so abominably insulted you and left the house?"
"I do not know."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"No."
"No idea whatever?"
"Not the slightest."
"Justin, my friend, this looks very strange. Everything is terribly black, terribly suspicious."
I tried to tell him all I knew; tried to tell him of my mad passion, and the scenes through which I seemed to go; but I could not. My mind refused to think, my tongue refused to speak, when that was the subject.
"I suppose Voltaire has told every one the circumstances of last night?"I said at length.
"No."
"No one?"
"No one that will divulge anything. Every one else thinks that Kaffar has gone back to Egypt, as he said, and especially so as Voltaire has been making arrangements for his luggage to be sent to Cairo."
"This is astounding. I do not comprehend in the least; but, tell me, who is this some one to whom you or he has related last night's affair, and why was it done?"
"I do not know whether I ought to tell or no, but you are an old friend, and I cannot refuse. After I had come down from here last night, and fancying that every one had retired, for it was quite midnight, I, knowing I was too excited to sleep, made my way to the library. I had just reached the door when I heard voices. I wondered who could be up at that time of the night, but was not left to remain long in doubt."
"'Mr. Voltaire,' said a voice, 'you have been out looking for Mr. Blake; have you found him?'"
"'Mr. Blake is safe in bed before this, Miss Forrest—probably asleep,' was his reply."
"Miss Forrest!" I cried. "Did she go to him?"
"Evidently," replied Tom. "Indeed, I found out afterwards that she had been very anxious. She had seen you go out, and watched Voltaire and me, who went in search of you, and would not retire until she knew your whereabouts."
"Well, what then?"
"I went into the room. I could not stand and play the eavesdropper. MissForrest seemed very glad to see me, and said eagerly—
"'I came down to ask whether you had found Mr. Blake. I am glad he is safe.'
"'And he must remain safe!' cried Voltaire.
"'Why?' asked Miss Forrest.
"'Miss Forrest,' cried Voltaire, vehemently, 'you have been deprived of your rest to-night in order to know about one who is guilty of what you English people call a foul crime, but which I call a deed that must be avenged.'
"'I do not understand you.'
"'Ah! Miss Forrest, we Easterns are not like you English people. You are cool and considerate; we are warm and impulsive. Kaffar was not one that could be loved by you cold people; but I loved him. We were more than brothers. I know he was faulty, I know he dared the anger of your English giant, but I did not think it would come to this.'
"'Come to what?' she asked eagerly.
"'Voltaire,' I said, 'is this quite fair?'
"'No, no!' he cried; 'but I am so excited that I can scarcely master myself. I will say no more.'
"'Come to what?' repeated Miss Forrest.
"'I will not say,' replied Voltaire. 'I will not wound your tender nature; I will not tell you a tale of villainy; I will not cause a ripple on the even stream of your life. Retire to rest, sweet lady, and think that what I have said is a dream.'
"'Villainy!' cried she. 'Tell me what it is. Yes, there is villainy, I think. I will be answered! Tell me the truth!'
"Even Voltaire was cowed by her words. He stood and looked at her for a minute as if in doubt what to do. Then he burst out passionately—
"'Yes, I will answer you. I will tell you now what all the world must know to-morrow. I had hoped to spare your feelings, but the tone of your demand makes me speak.'
"'He has no proof for what he is going to say,' I said.
"'Proof!' cried Voltaire. 'There is sufficient proof for an English court of law, and that law is terribly hard on murderers.'
"'Murderers!' cried Miss Forrest. 'What do you mean?'
"'This!' cried Voltaire. 'You saw Kaffar challenge Mr. Blake in the drawing-room?'
"'I saw him insult Mr. Blake. I saw that Mr. Blake refrained from crushing him beneath his heel like a reptile. I saw that!' she cried excitedly.
"'Just so,' said Voltaire. 'Then Kaffar went out, and Mr. Blake went after him.'
"'After him! Where?'
"'Mr. Temple and I did not like the look on his face, and we followed him. I traced his footsteps along the high-road for a long while, and then we lost sight of them. We knew not where to go, when Mr. Temple thought he heard voices away in the distance. We went in the direction of the sound, and came to Drearwater Pond.'
"'Drearwater Pond? That terrible place to which we rode the other day?'
"'The same, gentle lady.'
"'And then?'
"'When we came there we found Mr. Blake in a reclining position, with a bloody knife in his hand. I recognized it as belonging to Kaffar. I saw something lying on the ground, and, on picking it up, found it to be a scarf which Kaffar had been wearing this very night. It was twisted and soiled, and on it were spots of blood. Footmarks were to be seen on the edge of the deep pond, indicating a struggle; but Kaffar was nowhere to be seen.'
"'It cannot be! It cannot be!' said Miss Forrest. 'But what then?'
"'I asked Mr. Blake questions. I accused him of many things, but he denied nothing.'
"'Denied nothing?'
"'Nothing, Miss Forrest. He tacitly admitted everything. I wish I could think otherwise; but oh, I am afraid my friend, my only friend, lies murdered at the bottom of Drearwater Pond, and murdered by Mr. Blake.'
"'It cannot be!' cried Miss Forrest. 'Mr. Blake could never,neverdo so. There is some mistake.'
"He took something from his pocket which was wrapped in a handkerchief. He removed this wrapping, and there revealed the knife you held in your hand.
"'This blood cries out for vengeance,' he said; 'ay, and it shall be avenged too.'
"She gave a scream as if in pain. 'Why, what will you do?' she cried.
"'Were I in Egypt, my vengeance would be speedy,' he said, his light eyes glittering; 'but I am debarred from that here. Still, there is a means of vengeance. Your English law is stern. To-morrow the whole country shall shudder because of this dark deed, and to-morrow night that man, Justin Blake, shall sleep in a felon's cell'
"'No, no!' she cried. 'Not that. Have mercy.'
"'Yes, yes!' he said, his voice husky with passion. 'What mercy did he have upon my friend? I will have vengeance, and my vengeance is just.'"
Try as I might, I could not help shuddering at this. A felon's cell! My name mentioned with loathing! 'Twas too horrible. I tried to conquer myself, however, and to tell Tom to go on with his recital. He continued—
"'Does any one know of these things besides you two?' she said at length.
"'No,' replied Voltaire. 'No one has had a chance of knowing.'"
Tom stopped in his recital, as if he would rather not tell what followed.
"What next, Tom?" I cried eagerly.
"I am thinking whether it is fair to her to tell you, and yet it is right you should know."
"What was it, Tom?"
She threw herself down on her knees before us, and besought us to keep the matter in our own hearts.
"'It is not true!' she cried; 'Mr. Blake would never do such a thing.There is some mistake. Promise me no word shall be uttered as to this.Mr. Kaffar has left, as he said, and gone back to Egypt. Why, then,should such a terrible suspicion be aroused? I will answer for Mr.Blake's innocence.'
"'You answer, Miss Forrest?' cried Voltaire. 'Nay, you cannot. I would I could be merciful, but it must not be. My friend's spirit would haunt me from town to town and land to land.'
"'Mr. Temple,' she cried to me, 'you will not tell, will you? You will not spread such a deceptive story about?'
"'No,' I replied, 'I will not. Like you, I think there must be a mistake.My friend Justin could never do this.'
"'There,' she cried to Voltaire; 'there's only you to be silent. Do it for my sake!'"
I could not help feeling a great throb of joy in my heart at this. I was sure now that she loved me. I could bear anything after hearing those words. I was happy in spite of the terrible net that was woven around me.
"'For your sake,' said Voltaire—'for your sake I could do almost anything. For your sake I could give up home, friends, happiness, life. Yes, I say this, here, in the presence of my friend Temple. I could forego anything for you. I would sacrifice father and mother for you.'"
I gave a great start.
"Justin, that man trembled like a leaf. His face became ashy pale; his terrible eyes became brighter than ever.
"'You ask me much,' he continued. 'You ask me to give up what is now the dearest object of my life—except one. But, ah! I am an Eastern. I am selfish; I cannot sacrifice disinterestedly. There is only one thing for which I can give up my scheme of vengeance.'
"'Tell me what it is,' she cried.
"'Ah, sweet lady, I dare not tell; and yet I must. It is you. Be my wife, Miss Forrest; let me call you by your name, and I will wipe the blood from this knife, I will destroy every evidence of the dark deed. Justin Blake shall not lie in a prison cell; his name shall not be a synonym for devilry; he shall not be mentioned with loathing.'"
"And what then?" I cried. "What was her answer?"
"Man, she looked at him with loathing, but he did not see it.
"'Be your wife?' she said.
"'My wife, Miss Forrest,' he replied. 'Love cannot be greater than mine. I love the very ground on which you walk. Be my wife and I will be your slave. Your every desire shall be granted, and I will give up that which is dear to me.'
"'And if I will not?' she said.
"'Ah, if you will not! Then—ah, I am an Eastern, and cannot give up everything. If I cannot have love, I must have vengeance.'
"'But you have made a mistake. Your friend is alive. It is absurd to think that Mr. Blake is guilty of such a deed.'
"He pointed with a trembling hand to the bloody knife.
"'I can have no stronger proof than that,' he said, 'and that blood cries out for vengeance now.'
"'Oh, I cannot,' she said, 'I cannot.'
"'You refuse me?' he said quietly.
"'I must, I must,' she cried. 'It cannot be!'
"He went to the writing-desk that stood near by, and commenced writing. 'If a poor Eastern cannot have love, he can still have vengeance,' he said.
"'What are you writing?' she cried.
"'I am writing a letter to the superintendent of the nearest police station, telling him to come with some men to Temple Hall to arrest a murderer.'
"'Have you no mercy?' she said.
"'Mercy, lady. Only the Great Spirit above knows what I had made up my mind to give up, when I told you the condition on which I would be silent. I loved my friend as Jonathan loved David, and he is dead—murdered by an enemy's hand. Vengeance is one of the sweetest thoughts to an Eastern, and I meant to be avenged. You begged for his life, and I offered it—for your love. I asked you to marry me—me, who would give up everything for you; but you refused. I grieve for you, lady; but since I cannot have love, I must have revenge.'
"He went on writing, while Miss Forrest clasped her hands as if in prayer.
"I am relating this very badly, Justin. I cannot remember many of the things that were said; I cannot call to mind all the gestures, the tones of voice, or the awful anguish which seemed to possess them both. I can only give you a scrappy account of what passed."
I remembered Tom's powers of memory, however, for which he had always been remarkable at school, and I knew that the account he gave me was not far from correct, and I begged him to go on.
"At length she turned to him again," continued Tom. "'I am going to show,' she said, 'that I believe Mr. Blake innocent. You asked me for love; that I cannot give you. I do not love you, I never shall love you; but such is my belief in Mr. Blake's innocence that I promise you this: if he is not proved to be guiltless within a year, I will marry you.'
"He leapt to his feet, as if to embrace her.
"'No,' she said; 'you have not heard all my conditions. Within that year you are not to see me or communicate with me.'
"'But,' he cried, 'if Kaffar is dead, if these terrible evidences of murder are real, then in a year—say next Christmas Eve; 'twas on Christmas Eve we first met in England—then you will promise to be my wife?'
"'I promise.'
"'And your promise shall be irrevocable?'
"She turned on him with scorn. 'The promise of a lady is ever irrevocable,' she said.
"'Ah!' cried Voltaire, 'love is a stronger passion than vengeance, and my love will win yours.'
"'Meanwhile,' she went on without noticing this rhapsody, 'if you breathe one word or utter one sound by which suspicion can fall on Mr. Blake, my promise is forfeited; if you stay here after to-morrow, or attempt to see me within this and next Christmas Eve, my promise is also forfeited.'
"'What, am I to leave you at once?'
"'At once.'
"He left the room immediately after," said Tom, "while, after saying'Good-night' to me, she too retired to her bedroom."
To say that I was astonished at the turn things had taken would not give the slightest idea of my feelings. And yet a great joy filled my heart. The sword of Damocles, which seemed to hang over my head, possessed no terror.
"Is that all, Tom?" I said at length.
"This morning, as I told you, he arranged for Kaffar's luggage to be sent to Egypt, while he himself is preparing to depart."
"Where is he going?"
"To London."
"And Miss Forrest?"
"She, I hope, will stay with us for some time. But, Justin, can you really give no explanation of these things? Surely you must be able to?"
"I cannot, Tom. I am hedged in on every side. I'm enslaved, and I cannot tell you how. My life is a mystery, and at times a terror."
"But do you know what has become of Kaffar?"
"No more than that dog barking in the yard. All is dark to me."
Tom left me then, while I, with my poor tired brain, tried to think what to do.