"I chased after it in a minute or two—but I was too late. It had disappeared. And I've been wondering ever since, who and what it could have been," he finished, his eyes, meeting Captain Dove's, expressing only innocent inquiry.
The footman behind him dropped a plate, and the crash that produced startled every one more than it need have. An atmosphere of strained expectancy and unrest seemed to pervade the shadowy banquet-hall. Even Lord Ingoldsby, who had been regarding Carthew with sulky ill-will, could not but notice it.
"Isn't there a tame ghost of some sort about Loquhariot?" he asked Sallie, and, catching the duchess's eye, shrank into himself again under the glance she darted at him.
"Not another word about wraiths and spectres!" his youthful aunt ordered briskly. "We don't want our dinner spoiled with any such nonsense. The White Lady isn't a subject for table-talk, Ingoldsby. We've a skeleton in the cupboard at Dawn, too, you know, as every respectable Highland family has. But I fancy that what Mr. Carthew really saw to-day was simply some snow-laden bush."
"Dawn must be a very beautiful old place," Slyne remarked to the duchess, and Lord Ingoldsby turned toward Sallie again; as did Mr. Jobling after a glance of extreme disfavour at Carthew, on his other hand. And Carthew could not at all understand the general gravity, until Herries whispered over to him, under cover of the renewed conversation, "You haven't heard of our White Lady here, yet, Mr. Carthew. But she brings dule to the house, and—they say it was her that was seen in the woods this afternoon."
Carthew nodded. He had heard nothing of any such superstition, but knew enough already of the natives of those wilds to understand how they would cling to it. He thought for a moment of telling Herries that it was a man and no woman whom he had seen, but that would perhaps have disclosed too much to Captain Dove, and he decided to keep his own counsel until he could obtain some safer clue to all those mysteries.
Some movement in the little gallery above the buffet caught his attention, and he thought he could see the old housekeeper, Mrs. M'Kissock, at the balustrade with Ambrizette, Sallie's black maid, all eyes, looking down at the gathering. And the smile Sallie flashed at him as he looked at her told him she also knew that they were there.
Slyne grew somewhat distrait and restless as the long dinner ran its course, and Carthew had to devote more attention to the duchess. Among the rest of the company all seemed to be going well. Mr. Jobling and Lord Ingoldsby were both growing always more garrulous, and even Captain Dove had brightened up under the sunny influence of the rare vintages dispensed by the butler; he had got to the length of discussing the lights on that coast with Herries, the factor, before the pop of a cork at the buffet served to announce that the champagne was coming next.
Slyne was obviously about to claim the attention of the table. Carthew supposed he must be going to propose some toast, and wondered whether he did not know any better than that. But he waited till every glass was filled before he made any move, and when Sallie would have refused the wine he sent the butler back to her with a whispered message. At which, Carthew observed, a sudden pallor overspread her face; he was watching her very closely.
The rest of the company and the servants also looked round at Slyne in surprise as he rose, but Carthew did not. He had seen Sallie lift a filmy, lace-edged handkerchief from her lap—and caught sight of something that it was meant to conceal. She raised a clenched hand above the wine-glass before her, and Carthew could have sworn that he saw some colourless drops splash down on the bubbling champagne. Then she slipped her handkerchief out of sight again, and sat with bent head, idly twirling the stem of the wine-glass between her fingers, watching the white froth break at its brim.
And still Slyne said nothing. Carthew scarcely dared to glance up at him till he saw that Sallie was gazing that way with wonder and fear in her eyes.
Slyne was standing rigid. The glass he had lifted was tilting over, its contents dripping out on the table-cloth. His mouth was open, as if to speak, and his lips were moving but emitted no sound. He was staring fixedly into an obscure corner under the musicians' gallery, where was the service-doorway from which the piper always appeared.
The others had turned their eyes in the same direction. The very servants seemed to have lost all self-control, stood stricken, gasping, helpless. And no one even breathed as a shadowy figure came slowly shambling out of the dusk into the crimson light of the fire.
It halted, irresolute, a lean, stooping, bald-headed figure, with a haggard, foolish face contorted to hold a single eye-glass in place. On its forehead was a red smudge, as of iron-rust. It was wearing a disreputable, greasy blue uniform with not a few ragged rents in it. Its boots were equally shapeless and one was burst. There was snow on them.
Captain Dove was the first among the company to recover the power of speech.
"What the devil doyouwant here, Brasse!" he cried, in a choking voice, which yet was charged with relief as if from some paralysing fear.
But before the engineer could answer a word, Herries, the old factor, had risen shakily from his seat and shuffled across the floor toward him, was peering stupidly into his face, looking him up and down with eyes that were almost blind. The duchess had got up too. Slyne had sunk into his chair again, scowling blackly, pulling at his moustache. Lord Ingoldsby and Carthew and Mr. Jobling were still gazing blankly at the intruder. Sallie sat motionless, with one hand always at the stem of her wine-glass.
The duchess lifted the shade off one of the lights on the candelabra and looked still more searchingly at the engineer.
"Torquil St. Just!" she whispered at length, and "Lord St. Just!" cried Herries at the same moment.
The scarecrow with the eye-glass held out a slack hand to the old factor. "Hullo, Herries," he remarked, in a husky voice, "I didn't recognise you at first. You've aged a lot." And, glancing across at the duchess, "Isn't that Lady Jane Gairloch, Herries?" he asked in an audible aside. "She was only a slip of a girl, you know, old chap, when—I left home."
"She's the—Duchess—of Dawn, now,—my lord," answered Herries, the factor, helplessly. "And—you're Earl of Jura—now."
When the chief engineer of theOlive Branchat last put off from the ship for the shore in response to Captain Dove's second and still more peremptory message, he took the tiller of the boat himself, and steered straight for the water-gate of the castle. In one of his pockets he had a rusty key which presently served to turn its creaking lock.
He had left his coat in the boat and ordered the boat's crew to await his return. And he made his way with accustomed steps, almost noiselessly in his rubber-soled shoes, up the sloping underground passage which leads from the long-disused water-gate toward the gun-room which long ago was the armoury of the castle.
Once he halted to strike a match. Its feeble light showed him the rough rock walls and roof of the tunnel, the uneven slope underfoot worn almost smooth by nefarious traffic long since at an end.
He advanced again, cautiously, till he came to the brink of a broad, gaping chasm, which, but for a couple of carelessly carpentered fir-trunks stretching across it, would have closed that pathway effectually against him or anyone attempting to enter the castle by stealth, as he was doing.
He tested that makeshift bridge as well as he might before crossing it. Half-way over, a cold, damp breath from the depths beneath blew out another match he had struck as he started. A muted gurgle and squatter that came uncannily to his ears told of the subterranean tide crawling in to cleanse again the far floor of the pit below which had so often in the past served for a charnel-house. Creeping over the tree-trunks, he shrugged his shoulders as that thought passed through his mind, and drew a breath of relief as he stepped on to the solid rock on the other side.
From there, the way to the steps at the gun-room entrance was clear and the old iron gates above and below were both wide, as he discovered by sense of touch. He set an ear to the panel beyond, to find out whether the gun-room was occupied, and heard only a long-drawn groan. That seemed to come from somewhere behind him. He descended the steps again, listening intently.
Another safety-match sputtered and broke into a blue light in his tremulous fingers. He saw that the bolt on the outside of the cell door at the foot of the steps was shot and judged that there must be some one within. For a moment, he hesitated; and then he pulled the bolt free.
"Who's there?" he asked of the darkness that gave him back only another low groan for answer.
The heavy hinges of the door creaked as he thrust it open and entered. His last match showed him a huddled white heap in one corner, two hands tied behind it, a grey-haired and bleeding head. He turned back and pushed up into the gun-room without more ado. It was empty.
He looked dazedly about him in the bright lamplight, and his eyes fell on a couple of candlesticks. He picked one up and found a full box of matches beside it. From the decanter on the table before the fire he partly filled a glass, and disappeared down the steps again with his candle to show him the way, drawing the panel back into place behind him.
Within the cell door he set down the glass he was carrying and, pulling out a pocket-knife, cut through the cord which secured the wrists of the prone figure in the corner. Its hands fell limply apart and lay palms upward. He did not at once release its ankles, but, stooping over it, pulled it round on to its back—and sprang away from it in such frantic haste that the candle jumped from its holder and left him in darkness again.
He all but brained himself as he rushed for the door, but he got outside and, stunned as he was, set his shoulder to it. It closed with a clang and, as he shot the bolt home, he sank to his knees, breathing brokenly, his forehead on its rusty iron. He righted himself with an effort, but stayed where he was, sitting huddled together against the rock wall, his face damp with cold perspiration. He was blind in the blackness about him and could hear nothing but the trip-hammer beat of his own strained heart.
Its turbulence began to die down by degrees and in time he regained some command of his stupefied faculties.
"It couldn't possibly be," he kept on assuring himself. "I must have been mistaken. It couldn't possibly—"
He pulled his slack limbs up under him, and rose, slowly, forcing them to obey him.
"But I must make sure," he muttered, and still let himself linger outside the cell door, to listen for any sound from within.
A groan, fainter than the first he had heard, encouraged him.
"Pretty far through, whoever he is," said he to himself, and with another effort of will-power once more pulled back the bolt.
The fresh match he struck, before going further, showed him that the man inside had not moved, and he found his candle where it had fallen, in time to light it before his match burned out. With it in one hand he went forward on tiptoe, to study the other's features intently, his own expressing fear, absolute disbelief, doubt, a growing conviction in turn.
"It is M'Kissock!" he cried finally, and at the words unconsciously uttered, the other's eyelids began to flicker in the candle-light until at length they opened and remained open at their widest. And for a long time they two stayed thus, regarding each other as if bereft of power of movement or speech.
Then Farish M'Kissock's slack jaws took to twitching convulsively. A low moaning broke from his mouth. A film came over his dreadfully staring eyes. He would have fallen unconscious again had not the engineer snatched up the glass at one side and poured down his throat a few drops of the spirit it held. His teeth closed with a snap and he groaned again, heartrendingly; but, in a little, he had so far benefited by that hurtful remedy as to recover the use of his voice. His lips moved and his rescuer leaned forward to catch the hoarse, agonised whisper that came from them.
"You were always—a cruel devil, Lord St. Just," gasped Farish M'Kissock, "even when you were alive. It should be my right—to tormentyounow, and not—you me!"
The engineer drew back a little. He knew then that he had not been mistaken.
"You're not dead yet, M'Kissock," said he soothingly, in his voice of a gentleman, "although—I'll be damned if I can understand how that is!" And then, suddenly realising a little of all it must mean to him that his old enemy was still living, "If I had only known—" he murmured with exceeding bitterness. "Oh, my God! Think of all those awful years!"
Farish M'Kissock attempted to laugh, with a very horrid effect. He raised a trembling hand to his head, and looked at its fingers, all smeared with red. His rolling eyes tried to pierce the obscurity of the vault in which he was lying. Remembrance of the more immediate past began to stir in his mind. He drew a long, deep, painful breath.
"I thought—I thought—" he mumbled brokenly, and his eyes closed. He was once more insensible.
The engineer of theOlive Branchlooked round for the candlestick he had dropped, and, finding that, made his light safe. Then he kneeled down beside the other and raised his head and lifted him so that his shoulders should rest on the rock behind. Another teaspoonful of the stimulant in the glass flogged his patient's flagging heart into further effort, and Farish M'Kissock opened his eyes again.
"Loose my feet," he begged brokenly, and the engineer did so: but he lay still where he was, too weak to move. For a time, the only sound to be heard was his hurtful, irregular breathing. Then he glanced curiously, for the first time, at his rescuer's threadbare blue uniform.
"You're just in time, Lord St. Just," said he, his voice clearer and his ideas beginning to gain some coherent shape. "Though that's not the name I should be calling you now, since you're still living in spite of me, and Earl of Jura by all the laws of the land.
"But—where have you come from so late-along? Where have you been since—They hold it against me here to this day that I murdered your lordship; and—there was your body found later on at the foot of the cliffs in front of your hut."
The other sat down by the doorway, with a limp shrug of the shoulders that spoke a weariness beyond words.
"I didn't fall very far, M'Kissock," he answered presently. "And—I thought you must have slipped over too as we fought there—for I saw a body sunk among the rocks in the water below; it was a still day, you remember. But—where were you?"
"I took to my heels through the woods, thinking it would go ill with me when what I believed had happened to you came out; for it was known that I had gone to your hut to seek you, and why." His voice grew very hard, and he shot a glance of unquenchable hatred at his companion. "So I lay hid in the hills till nightfall, and then fled the countryside. I heard afterwards that they had found your body, although it was scarcely more than a rickle of bare bones by then, and of course they put the blame of it all on me without more ado."
The engineer of theOlive Branchwho was also the Earl of Jura sighed drearily. The best years of his life had gone to pay the penalty fate had exacted, through that mistake, for a fault he had almost forgotten. And now, desire had failed him; his spirit was utterly broken.
"I was just such another fool as yourself, M'Kissock!" said he in a hopeless tone. "I was afraid they would lay your death at my door, and—I bolted too; without a word to a living soul. I've been afraid ever since, because—I've been told that the police were always looking for me."
M'Kissock's jaw dropped. He looked again at the other's torn uniform.
"Who was it told you that?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"The Old Man on theOlive Branch. I've been chief engineer on his ship for five or six years, and before that—I shipped as a stoker at first, M'Kissock, at Yedo, in Japan. I was starving there. And I've worked for him all that time like a slave—on the strength of a groundless lie!"
"Had he any idea who you were?" the other demanded.
"I thought he must know; but I can see now that he was simply making a fool of me for his own ends. If he had known, he surely wouldn't have sent for me to come ashore here."
"He certainly would not," agreed his companion with grim assurance, and they both fell silent again, each engrossed in his own overwhelming, embittered reflections.
"Dove knows nothing at all about you," said Farish M'Kissock presently, and Lord Jura looked up as if astonished at the sound of his voice.
"But—how do you know that, M'Kissock?" the latter inquired in a querulous tone, pulling nervously at his under-lip. "What are you doing here, in that queer rig-out? I don't understand. Where have you—"
"I've been just such another fool as yourself, my lord," said Farish M'Kissock, his voice vibrant with impotent, irrepressible anger. "It's worse than damnable to think—You'll scarcely believe that I've served under Dove in my time, but it's true enough. I was second mate on theFer de Lance, long ago, when he called himself Captain Brown. And—I owe him a score as heavy as yours, ay, and heavier; a score I came here to pay. But I was too hasty, and—he got the better of me at the start; I was no match for the two of them—he had the man Slyne on his side." His breath almost failed him and he fell to coughing convulsively.
"And—what has brought them to Loquhariot?" the other asked in utter amazement as soon as he could make himself heard. But Farish M'Kissock sat wheezing and gasping for some little time before answering that.
"They have come with one whom they call the Lady Josceline Justice," said he at length, glancing askance at his companion. "Slyne's minded to marry her now—and so lay hands on all that is yours."
The Earl of Jura gazed blankly at his burst boots. His mind was all in a muddle. The stokehold of theOlive Branch, and then its engine-room, seemed to have sapped whatever intelligence he might once have possessed. His belated release from slavery had left him with his wits benumbed and torpid.
"But, of course, they don't know that I—" he began, his face brightening, and then broke off. "Where did they get hold of her, M'Kissock?"
"Dove's had her on board his ship for years," said Farish M'Kissock brusquely.
"Is it Sallie you're talking about!" he exclaimed. "Good God! Can it be possible that—But never mind now. I must—" He made as if to rise.
"Wait a minute, my lord," requested Farish M'Kissock in a tone which compelled his attention. "You've got two desperate men to deal with above-stairs. You've seen how they've handled me, and they would think nothing of throwing the two of us, neck and crop, into the drowning-hole in the tunnel behind you. You will be very ill-advised to beard them alone. I can help you—"
"How?"
"You'll see when the time comes."
"But I can't stay squatting here like a rat in a drain while they—I'm a free man—now that I know you're alive after all," declared the ragged scarecrow with the eye-glass, as if to encourage himself. "And I'm Earl of Jura; there's no getting out of that. I must put a stop to Slyne's villainous scheme at once, M'Kissock. He's a rotten bad egg;Iknow him. It would never do to let him get—her into his infernal clutches."
Farish M'Kissock eyed him with no good will.
"Ay," he agreed reluctantly. "Your lordship's a belted earl now, by all the laws of the land. And Farish M'Kissock that was a king is fated to die a beggar.
"But, first,—and it's hard, dooms hard!—I must help you—so far at least. It's the two of us against those other two, for the moment. Afterwards, we will talk of—yon old matter between us; for, mind you! Lord Jura, I neither forget nor forgive."
The Earl of Jura shrugged his shoulders again. He had almost forgotten the cause of his old quarrel on the cliffs with the gamekeeper's son. He had more than enough to think about in its seemingly endless outcome. And his apparent indifference seemed to inflame the hatred the other still bore him.
"I will help you—but only because Imust," said Farish M'Kissock harshly. "And you must help me to help you—to your own hurt."
He leaned forward, panting, as if enraged over his own weakness of body. The engineer rose, regarding him as if not very sure of his sanity, and, having picked up the candle, assisted him to his feet. He stood for a moment supporting himself by the wall, his knees giving and recovering under him, and then the giddiness passed. He took a tentative step or two and presently was able to follow his rescuer from the cell.
"Is there anyone in the gun-room?" he asked in an anxious whisper at the foot of the steps. Lord Jura listened closely for a moment or two at the panel above, drew it open a little, and looking down again, shook his head. He pulled the panel wide and then held out a hand to his follower; who took it very reluctantly and, with its aid, reached the room above, step by slow, uncertain step.
"Sit down and rest for a minute or two," suggested the engineer.
"Not here," he demurred. "It wouldn't be safe—too near the tunnel. We must have help at hand when we meet them. What time is it? They'll be at dinner now. Take me along the servants' passage and by the terrace to the Pipers' Port: we should meet no one that way."
But the other, a hand at his tremulous lips, was looking with mazed eyes about the remembered room that he had so often seen in his dreams during the age-long time of torment he had endured. His rods lay ready for use in the long rack where he had left them. A pair of guns his father had given him stood in their usual place at one end of the full stand adorning one wall. The head of his first stag still hung above the mantel, and the big wild-cat he had killed in the wood behind his hut on the cliffs glared at him out of its glass eyes from over the door leading to the pantry. That corner at least of the castle was quite unchanged.
He caught sight of his own reflection in the plate-glass casing which covered another full stand of guns, and turned away from it with a grimace of distaste. He had certainly changed, and very much for the worse, himself, since he had last seen Loquhariot. He glanced at Farish M'Kissock, the gamekeeper's son with whom he had fought, as he almost blushed to remember, about a girl, and was still more shocked to see the skeleton-like, decrepit-looking old man regarding him with hot, inimical eyes from under shaggy down-drawn white eyebrows above which hung long matted locks of grey hair darkly discoloured with drying blood; for they two had been headstrong lads together, friends in some sort, companions at least in many a scapegrace prank.
"Ay," said Farish M'Kissock unpleasantly, as though reading the thought that ran through his mind. "I'm far worse-looking than you are, my lord. And something of that I am owing your lordship. But never mind now; we have other matters before us first, and it will be well to attend to them before it may be too late."
The engineer started at that. His head was not very clear and he had for the moment almost forgotten—
"Come on, then, M'Kissock," said he, and blew out the candle he was still unconsciously carrying and led the way through the little pantry behind.
The two of them emerged from that into a dimly lighted passage along which they proceeded without a sound as far as another door which opened outward on to the lower battlements at the seaward front of the castle.
"Let me through first," requested Farish M'Kissock, after his companion had made sure that there was no one beyond it, "and mind that the wind doesn't drive it shut with a clash." He was firmer upon his feet now and seemed to have gained some measure of strength from the stimulus of his stubborn purpose. Bare-foot as he was, he took no notice of the driving snow on the terrace outside, although his companion shivered as they turned along the wall in the teeth of the blast that was blowing.
"Get inside, for God's sake!" Lord Jura begged of the ghostly figure in front of him as it stooped to set an ear to the keyhole in the portico at the other end of the terrace, and his teeth were chattering when he entered the dark, empty closet behind it.
He had to set his shoulder to it to shut it against the storm. As soon as he had accomplished that, he shook the snow from his ragged coat and struck a match and glanced stupidly about him.
"Put that out," ordered Farish M'Kissock in a suppressed, angry whisper. "They'll maybe see some glimmer—they're all inside."
The other obeyed him meekly, and for a space the two of them stood there in the darkness, on the alert, drawing quick, restricted breaths. They could hear the echo of voices from the banquet-hall. These gradually died away, all but one which seemed to be telling some story. A distant crash, as of a dish dropped on the floor, alarmed the two listeners, but after that the conversation and laughter within went on again. The engineer crossed the closet noiselessly on his rubber soles, and, "What next, M'Kissock?" he whispered, as if content to resign himself to the guidance of the more masterful will.
"You will go in to them," the other instructed him. "Hear what you can before you declare yourself, and—you must judge for yourself what to say and do. I'll wait behind for a bit—Dove and Slyne believe that I'm safely out of the way—but, as soon as it's needful, I'll face them too. Till then, never mention my name nor any word of what I have told you.
"Pluck up some heart!" he hissed savagely. "This is the Castle of Loquhariot—and you're the Earl of Jura. But they'll out-match you yet unless you stand your ground against them."
The engineer humbly attempted to square his shoulders, and, fumbling, found the latch of the door. He opened it very quietly, enough and no more to see through into the banquet-hall: and stood there for a time studying the scene at the table. Farish M'Kissock, at his elbow, was staring out at it too, with fierce, eager eyes. He pulled the door slowly back, and Lord Jura passed through, unnoticed among the shadows in that obscure corner.
A cork popped explosively, and the butler came forward from the buffet with a big, golden-necked bottle. The engineer paused. He had recognised Captain Dove in the distance and notwithstanding the old man's unusual garb and black glasses.
He caught sight of Sallie, bewilderingly beautiful in a costume such as he had not set eyes upon since—he had last dined there himself. He squared his stooping shoulders again, and saw Slyne rise from his seat, the wine-glass the butler had just filled for him in one hand.
The talk and laughter gradually subsided and silence ensued. Lord Jura took a tentative step toward the table, and stopped again as Slyne's careless, smiling glance suddenly met his and changed to a rigid scowl. Then Captain Dove looked round, and, after a breathless interval, "What the devil doyouwant here, Brasse!" he cried explosively.
At the sound of that harsh, hated voice, all the uncertain presence of mind the intruder could boast deserted him. He stood as if rooted there, a shrinking, irresolute figure, until the old factor came shuffling across the floor toward him and some one else lifted the shade off one of the lights on the candelabra so that it shone full on his drawn, haggard face.
"And you're—Earl of Jura—now," stammered Herries, helplessly, as though that undeniable fact altogether staggered belief.
The ragged scarecrow with the eye-glass nodded, somewhat shamefacedly, and once more made a pitiful effort to straighten his stooping shoulders. Herries looked away, wretchedly, and then, as if understanding something of what must be in his mind, took it upon himself to dismiss the servants, but bidding them remain within call and also to see to it that no word went elsewhere of what they had seen and heard in the banquet-hall.
The rest of the company were regarding the ex-engineer of theOlive Branchwith very varied expressions. A sickly pallor had overspread Slyne's rigid features as he heard the title by which Herries had addressed that untimeous intruder. Captain Dove, his hands still on the table before him, and crouching as if to spring, was breathing jerkily from between set teeth, like one with a seizure. The Marquis of Ingoldsby's narrow forehead was corrugated by a fixed and splenetic frown which kept his eyes and mouth at their very widest. Behind Sallie's questioning, compassionate, clouded glance lurked hope, and fear, and a steadfast determination; she was still holding fast the stem of her wine-glass. Justin Carthew looked as if he did not know in the least who or where he was. Mr. Jobling's purple visage and pendulous jowl spoke plainly the apoplectic and painful nature of his emotions. Of them all, only the Duchess of Dawn seemed to have preserved any measure of self-possession.
While Herries was giving the butler his orders, she crossed toward the fireplace with a little characteristic, impulsive gesture.
"I hope you haven't forgotten me, Torquil?" said she, almost timidly. It could not but hurt her to see what the years had made of the man who, when she had met him last, had been little more than a teasing, mischievous school-boy.
"I knew you at once," he replied, and blinked back at her and cleared his throat uncomfortably. The pinch of his present decayed estate before her once more quickened his numb sense of the grievous injury done him by Captain Dove. He glanced again in Captain Dove's direction, but the old man's gaze met his absolutely mystified; and his heavy heart began to grow hot again as he recalled how often his cunning taskmaster had cowed him by dint of threats to disclose his unknown identity to the police.
"We all believed you were dead," said the duchess, and he answered her stupidly, at random. His sullen eyes had encountered Slyne's, in which he read aright dismay unspeakable and a stunned seeking after some elusive scheme to turn the tables upon him yet. She saw how distrait he was. "But you'll tell me by and by something of your adventures," said she. "I just wanted to say how glad I am—that you're safe and sound after all. And now I'll be off to the drawing-room with Ingoldsby. We're only in the way here. I know you must have a great deal to say to your sister."
He started at hearing Sallie so styled. His restless regard had reached her, at the end of the table next him, and he wondered what it could be that had brought such an uncontrollable gleam of relief into her still bewildered eyes.
"I wish you would wait for a little, if you don't mind," he answered the duchess. "I'd like you to stay beside her until—I get rid of some of those others, if you don't mind."
She nodded, if rather reluctantly, and turned aside toward Herries as Sallie approached, holding out to the shabby prodigal whose belated return had brought about such a stupefying change in the situation there a tremulous, eager hand.
"You're just in time," Sallie said to him in such a glad, warm, grateful voice that even he, who knew very well her generous nature, was almost surprised by her evident pleasure in thus admitting his prior right to the high rank and vast heritage which he believed should have been hers but for him. He was infinitely embarrassed when, before them all, she stooped and touched with her lips the back of the claw-like, toil-stained hand, he had tried hard to withhold from her.
And she, having sealed her abdication in such wise, looked up into his flushed face with a swift, shy smile, the flutter of the fledgling hope in her heart stirring softly the priceless lace that outlined her bosom, and the little golden locket that lay therein.
"You're my brother—my step-brother, now, aren't you, Mr. Brasse?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
"It seems so, Sallie," he answered mechanically, his wandering wits almost beyond his control. Her unconscious use of the name by which she had always known him had brought to his mental vision a blurred picture of her on the bridge of theOlive Branchin a stiff breeze, himself at the fiddley-hatch.
"And everything that might have been mine is yours now?"
"Ours," he corrected, without any interest, as if that was of no consequence. "There should be enough for us both; and, in any case, I need very little—now."
"But it's all yours by law, isn't it?" she urged. "I must make sure, because—" She looked back, over her shoulder. Mr. Jobling had joined Slyne and Captain Dove; the three of them were engaged, with bated breaths, in a sibilant argument, their heads very close together. Lord Ingoldsby had just risen and was slouching over to the other ingle-nook, where the duchess had made Herries sit down. Only Justin Carthew remained motionless, half turned in his high-backed chair, leaning heavily on one of its arms while he still stared, almost unseeingly, at Sallie and her companion.
"How does that fellow come to be here?" asked the ex-engineer, indicating Carthew with a puzzled nod, and, as Sallie told him what had occurred since she herself had arrived at Loquhariot, his expression grew always more blank again. But when she went on to explain how Slyne had tried to entrap her for his own profit, his dull eyes brightened and began to burn.
"And now," she said at last, "perhaps he won't want to marry me—when there's nothing to be gained by it. I can't tell you how thankful I am that you've come home in time."
Carthew got up from the table then and came limping forward to greet the man whose belated home-coming had made such a difference to him. And Mr. Jobling, evidently fired by his example, followed, to beg an introduction from her ladyship to his lordship.
"I've been acting for Lady Josceline, my lord," he explained very volubly, having thus secured his lordship's by no means favourable attention, "just as I would have been most happy to act for your lordship if I had known—" He came to a sudden stop, except for a stifled, explosive hiccough, as Captain Dove shouldered him aside and confronted the ex-engineer of theOlive Branchwith his most sleek, benevolent expression.
Slyne was close behind Captain Dove. The pallor had passed from his face. Mr. Jobling apparently did not deem it politic to push in again just then. He choked down his not unnatural indignation and stayed hovering about, very ill at ease, in the background. The others, all but Sallie, had also moved a little away.
But it did not seem to be Captain Dove's idea to exchange any quiet confidences with his late chief-engineer. What he had to say was for all ears. Without witnesses he would, no doubt, have conducted himself very differently. Handicapped as he was by their company, he had no recourse but to enlist their sympathies on his side.
"Well, if this doesn't beat all for luck!" said he in a tone of the extremest gratification, his visible features wreathed in an unctuous smile. "I don't suppose you're sorrynowthat you came ashore when I sent for you, eh! You must admit that I've managed a very pleasant little surprise for you—"
"You've managed nothing—except to put your own neck into a noose at last," retorted Lord Jura. He was standing very erect although he could not control the nervous tremor at the back of his neck. He saw no need now to mince matters with the old man, whose callous effrontery was stirring his sluggish pulses to such a pitch that he could scarcely resist the dire temptation to spring at his throat and choke the evil life out of him there and then. But a light hand laid on his arm diverted him for a moment from any such insane idea, and his unreasoning rage died down a little as he looked round into Sallie's appealing eyes.
"How long will it take to get the police here, Herries?" he asked abruptly over one shoulder. And, at that, the arras in the dark corner beside the Pipers' Port swayed slightly, as though there were some one behind it about to come forth.
"The telegraph-wire is down, my lord," the old factor answered doubtfully, "and—it would maybe be wasting a life to send anyone to attempt the Pass with a message in weather like this. But—till we can safely get word to the police, there are lots of stout lads in Loquhariot that will do your lordship's bidding."
"And more on board theOlive Branchthat will do mine," Captain Dove interrupted, with a smooth assurance which could not but add to the listeners' perturbation. "Da Costa has his orders, too. It will be a bad look out for Loquhariot if ever he and his lambs have to come ashore here to look for me. You've seen them crack far harder nuts than this ramshackle old castle of yours! You know very well—
"But what's the use of arguing about it? You owe me far too much to talk in that style. If you could fetch the police here at this moment, you couldn't afford to face them. You've surely forgotten—"
"I have forgotten nothing," Lord Jura assured him, in a steady, ominous voice.
"That's just as well," declared Captain Dove, who seemed determined to stand his ground, "because it will save me reminding you, before your fashionable friends, how much I've done for you, first and last, since I picked you up derelict on the beach at Yedo. You'd have been very badly off without me then, eh! And, but for me, you'd maybe have come to a worse end than starving, since. I've brought you back to your own, when all's said and done. It doesn't say much for you, Lord Jura, that you'd turn round onmenow!"
He spoke pathetically, as one disappointed in the return made him for favours lavished with a free hand. And such of the others as did not know the real facts of the matter looked somewhat doubtfully at Lord Jura. Captain Dove was obviously pleased with the impression he had produced.
"Everything you have done has been done entirely to serve your own ends," the ex-engineer answered him in few words. "I owe you no favour—not the very slightest. You owe me God knows how many years of my life that you've tricked me out of. And, what's more—"
"And what's more," Captain Dove interrupted, "you think you owe me only a grudge. You've no more use for me now that I've served your turn. I've asked nothing of you, you'll notice. It's only because you've thought fit to threaten me that I've reminded you—"
"There was no need," Lord Jura asserted. "I have forgotten nothing. You can tell your side of the story to the judge at the next assizes—and I'll tell mine."
Mr. Jobling's puffy face blanched at that, but Captain Dove did not even change countenance.
"So much for yourself," said he patiently. "You think you can best whiten your own record by trying to blacken mine. I'll say no more about that—except that it isn't always true that dead men tell no tales. And you'll have to tell the judge at the next assizes the real reason why you ran away from home."
He was watching the other's face narrowly, to see what effect that stray shot might have, and was clearly encouraged at seeing Lord Jura wince.
"But there's another point to be settled," he went on with slow insistence, "before we go any further. I've brought you back to your own, as I said, and, more than that, I've brought you back—your sister. I wouldn't have made any song-an'-dance about such a small matter either, but—since it's to be debit and credit between us, I'd like to know how you think that affects the account.
"You say you've forgotten nothing. Have you remembered that I've brought her up, so to speak, since she was knee-high to me? Have you ever thought where she'd be to-day if I hadn't—But, of course, you don't know where I came acrossher. And I'm not going to tell you just now. All Iwillsay is that it rests absolutely in my hands whether—whether she stays safe here with you or—You may believe me or not, as you like, but—Better talk it over with her before you go any further,—my lord!"
He frowned, as if warningly, at Sallie, and turned on his heel and, swaggering back to the table, grotesquely aggressive, sat down again with his back to them all, leaving them to make whatever they liked of his veiled threat and half-spoken hints as to his mysterious power over her. Slyne followed him. But Mr. Jobling pushed forward again, eager to establish himself on a safer footing of service to the other side.
"If your lordship will allow me," said he, his head on one side, shoulders bent and hands clasped, "I think I can undertake to arrange matters for you with Captain Dove. Some small money payment, perhaps, would save further unpleasantness—for her ladyship as well. We can scarcely contest his claim for at least the amount of—"
"I don't know what you're talking about—or what business it is of yours!" said Lord Jura sharply and turned to give Herries some order. But, before he could speak, Sallie claimed his attention again.
"Let them go," she implored of him vehemently. "Oh, please let them go. Don't send for the police. I couldn't bear to think that they had come to any harm through helping me—even for their own purposes. And some of what Captain Dove says is true enough: he's looked after me for longer than I can remember, almost—and but for him I wouldn't be here now. The past has sometimes been very hard for us both. It would spoil the future entirely for me if I felt that I had been the means of betraying him to the police. If they'll only promise to leave us alone now, won't you let them go?—for my sake."
Lord Jura pulled at his under-lip in helpless indecision. He knew that he could not for long deny the girl anything she asked of him thus.
"You don't understand, Sallie," he said at length, very vexedly. "You'd better go off to your own room now,—and take Lady Jane—the duchess—with you. Leave me to deal with the Old Man and Slyne; it isn't only on my own account—"
"Will you set them on board theOlive Branchsafe, if they promise to leave us alone now?" she urged, not to be denied in her purpose.
"But,—what are they to you?" he demanded. "Surely—it can't be—You don't—care for Jasper Slyne, do you, Sallie? I'll lethimgo, if you like—though he doesn't deserve it."
She shuddered. "If you hadn't come to-night," she told him tremulously, "you wouldn't have found me here—alive. I had made up my mind—" Her voice died away, but he understood.
"But I can't treat them as they would me," she reminded him, her anxious eyes holding his till he looked away, with an effort of will. "I could never be happy here, or anywhere else, if I left any of my old shipmates in the power of the law. Chance has brought us both here—and in time. Will you not wipe the past out of your mind entirely, as I have done, and—You won't refuse me the first favour I have asked of you, here in your home? And I won't ever forget how good you have always been to me."
He looked into her eyes again, and was lost. "Have it your own way, then," he said, as if with a grudge. "But—" His face fell. He looked furtively behind him. He had just remembered his pact with Farish M'Kissock. "You must get rid of them both at once, and very quietly," he whispered. "I won't answer for what may happen yet unless—"
Sallie did not even wait to thank him for his weak-willed complaisance. She crossed swiftly to the table where Jasper Slyne and Mr. Jobling were once more in low-voiced conclave with Captain Dove.
The three conspirators, sitting with heads together, in angry, undertoned argument, glanced up as she approached them. Their lowering faces lightened a little at sight of her, but fell again into black, rebellious masks while they listened sullenly to what she had to say. As she finished, Captain Dove brought a heavy fist down upon the table like a sledge-hammer, and, while the glasses still rang to its impact on the solid oak, "I'll be damned if I budge from here by one step," he cried at the top of his voice, and sprang from his chair, "till it suits me." He pulled his smoked glasses from off his nose, flung them on the floor, and trod viciously upon them as he advanced on Lord Jura again, ignoring all his companions' attempts to restrain him.
"Now, see here, my friend!" said he with another fierce imprecation, and thrust his face up close to the ex-engineer's while Carthew stepped hastily forward beside Lord Jura. "Now, see here, my friend! I've had about enough of you and your nonsense. Say whatever you've got to say to me now yourself and be done with it. Then I'll tellyouwhat you're going to do—for me and my adopted daughter. There's no need for any more humming and hawing about it. Speak up!"
But his former slave did not shrink from before his withering glance. The banquet-hall of Loquhariot was not the bridge of theOlive Branch: and Lord Jura was even glad that his one-time tyrant did not seem disposed to avail himself of that last chance of escape at which Sallie had beguiled him into conniving.
"For my sister's sake," he said quietly, and not without dignity, "I was willing to—"
"You'll do whatever I tell you—for your own sake as well as your sister's," broke in Captain Dove, and looked him up and down with a virtuous frown. "Why, but for me, you'd have no sister!" He lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. "And you'd have hung long ago yourself, for the murder that you did here!" he hissed.
Lord Jura regarded him gravely for a moment or two, in silence; and then, turning toward the Pipers' Port, "Are you there, M'Kissock?" he called, in the tone of one entitled to prompt attention.
There was something very dreadful about Farish M'Kissock's appearance as he came shuffling forward from the corner under the gallery. His torn and travel-stained white robe gave him a ghostly aspect which was heightened by the cold and clammy pallor of his face, his sunken eyes, the matted, blood-stained tangle of grey hair that merged into a long, unkempt beard and moustache. He moved like an automaton, with all his limbs and joints loose. The stamp of death was on him.
The Duchess of Dawn shrank into the ingle behind her as he approached, and her noble nephew backed after her, one elbow uplifted, fists clenched, with the apparent idea of protecting her from that spectre-like apparition; at whom Herries also was gazing, aghast but motionless, while Mr. Jobling, with bulging eyes and open mouth, felt about him as if for some friendly hand to clutch at and, finding none, laid hold of Slyne by the coat—who struck his fingers away with a muttered oath. Slyne and Captain Dove and Justin Carthew were all regarding him with blank dismay. Sallie uttered a little, low, pitiful cry as she recognised in the worn-out wreck who had halted mutely a few paces away the man she had seen only a month or two before in the prime of life and the plenitude of his power, the Emir El Farish.
His burning eyes met and held Captain Dove's cowed, murderous, questing glance for a moment; and then he laughed, in a most grisly manner.
"I'm dying now, Captain Dove," said he, in a strong, deep voice that contrasted strangely with his obvious bodily exhaustion, "a day or two sooner than need have been—but for you.You'rehale and strong yet. You'll fight hard—when the hangman and his mates come quietly into your cell at daybreak to pinion you. And, when you're standing on the trap, with your head in a bag and the knot in a new rope rasping under one ear, you'll think of me that's waiting for you in the pit below the scaffold.
"But that's for by and by; and there's to-day to be done with first." He laughed again, in such a fashion that the listeners shuddered. "I told you there was nothing at all that would avail you against me," said he. "Maybe you'll believe me now!"
Captain Dove looked furtively round at the others' faces, and spoke, with obvious difficulty. "I've no idea what you're talking about—"
"I found M'Kissock—where you left him," interrupted Lord Jura, as if to say that it was needless now to deny anything.
"You'd better send him back there, then," Captain Dove retorted rancorously. "The man's mad—and dangerous. That's why I had him shut up. He thinks he has some grudge against you, too. Take care he doesn't—"
"I'm not mad. I'm not even dangerous enough to save the hangman his job with you," said Farish M'Kissock quietly, and turned to Lord Jura again. "Butyou'llsee to it, my lord, that the cruel wrongs this old Judas has wrought you and me—ay, and even the innocent girl beside you there—are avenged to the uttermost. I can trust you for that at least."
Lord Jura looked forlornly at Sallie. He could not now recall his promise to her if Captain Dove still chose to take advantage of that.
"Sal—My sister has begged me to let him go free, M'Kissock," he said at length, almost apologetically, "and—I've agreed."
Farish M'Kissock's head had begun to shake as if with palsy. He tried to speak, but could not articulate. The veins about his clammy, yellow temples were swelling darkly out, like cords. Carthew limped across to the table and brought him over a glass of water. He swallowed some with difficulty, and, finding his voice again, "You fool!" he cried, with inexpressible bitterness. "Oh, you blind fool! Will you let him serve you as he served me with her to help him!"
Lord Jura's face flushed.
"I want to hear no more from you in that strain," he said haughtily, as if the old spirit of place and power were stirring within him again. "It is sufficient that my sister's wishes—"
"If Salliewereyour sister, it would make no difference," the dying man declared with fierce impatience. "This is no time to humour whim of hers. In any case—she is no kin of yours, Lord Jura, as Captain Dove well knows. He could have told you—Keep him off!He'll make an end of me before my time if he can, to silence me. And you must hear, before I go,—" He staggered backward, coughing, and almost choked for want of breath. Captain Dove had made a wild lunge at him, but Justin Carthew had sprung forward in time to save him from the old man's frenzied attempt: and Herries and Lord Ingoldsby also stepped in between him and his would-be murderer.
"All right, then," panted Captain Dove. "Leave me alone, and I'll do him no harm. I quite forgot that he was off his head, his lies provoke me so."
Lord Jura had put Sallie behind him to shield her in the struggle that promised. He looked round at her then with dazed, doubtful eyes and read in hers pain and horror and disbelief equally dreadful. He drew a deep, sobbing breath and confronted Farish M'Kissock again.
"What in God's name are you driving at!" he demanded, in a tone which told the stress of mind he was suffering. And Farish M'Kissock regarded him very evilly for a little before replying. Slyne and Captain Dove and Carthew were waiting, as if on barbed tenter-hooks. The others, and Sallie also, seemed to be stricken speechless and still.
"I am here to seek my revenge, my lord, as you know," said Farish M'Kissock slowly at length, and licked his bloodless lips. "There is still a small matter betwixt your lordship and me that remains to be settled—an old wrong done, which your lordship has almost forgotten, it seems.Ineither forget nor forgive.
"I may not have time left to tell all I owe Captain Dove there—for that goes back through long years to what I owe you. But, before I am done with, I think I can settle with you as well as with him.
"Sallie is no sister of yours, as Captain Dove knows—though she herself has been beguiled as easily as your lordship. Your lordship's sister, the Lady Josceline Justice, died in my arms eight or nine weeks ago: and she was my wife. Sallie there, knowing nothing, saw her a few hours before—"
He blinked and hung his head for a moment, as if recalling all that had come to pass since he had laid the light, wasted body aside on the sand, and set a guard over it until—until he could spare time to see to a decent grave.
"She was my wife," he said again, looking up at the last of the haughty Juras with hate unquenchable in his glance. "And that's the revenge I have taken on you and yours, my lord, for the ill your lordship lightly wrought—the other, that should have been."
A woman's voice came wailingly from the musicians' gallery and Mr. Jobling uttered a low moan of abject fear. His nerves had evidently failed him altogether. Hasty steps were descending the short stone stairway which led to the gallery, and then Janet M'Kissock came tottering forth across the floor from the foot of it.
"Oh, Farish!" the old woman cried to her brother. "Have you no heart at all! Are there not enough lives ruined already that you would wreck her ladyship's here as well?" And she turned toward Sallie with a poor, pitiful gesture as of protection. "Itcannotbe as you say," she whimpered. "For how couldIbe mistaken, that knew her father far better than you—ay, and the countess her mother too; whose locket she was wearing at her neck the day she first came to Loquhariot. I'll swear to it, at any rate! I had it for a time in my own keeping, before the countess—went away.
"Ask her ladyship where she got the locket, your grace. And then my poor, distracted brother will maybe admit that he's been deceived about her."
The duchess's anxious, encouraging look seemed to beg an answer of Sallie. But the girl was gazing, with dumb dismay in her wide, wounded eyes, at Farish M'Kissock, recalling as well as she could amid such a maze the incidents of the hours she had spent in his camp on the African coast.
Under the spell of his piercing glance the shadowy banquet-hall of Loquhariot seemed to fade away from her, and in its place she saw again the spacious rose-pink pavilion behind the carved chair on which he was seated in state among his staring councillors, under a great green flag with a golden harp on its heavy folds. Behind her, from about the picket-lines where she had noticed the negro slaves at their work, she seemed to hear the whinnying of the horses, the vicious squeals of the restless camels. In the dim crimson glow of the dying fires she was gazing again at the horsehair tents in the background, and the multitude of men and women and children all busy about them in the open air.
She saw, as if in a vision, the Emir spring from his seat and come hastily forward to where she stood shrinkingly at Captain Dove's shoulder. He was tall and stalwart on foot, a fine figure of a man even in his loose, shapeless garments, with a bronzed, hook-nosed, handsome face of his own, a heavy moustache, the brooding, patient, predatory eyes of a desert vulture. And, as he confronted Captain Dove, over whom he seemed to tower threateningly, the hood of hisselhamslipped back, disclosing a flaming shock of red hair.
Her own veil had slipped to her chin, but she had been unconscious of that until his blazing eyes had shifted from Captain Dove's unconcerned face to hers. She pulled it hurriedly back into place, and he, turning to the curious onlookers, rid himself of their company before he called, in a caressing voice, on some one within the big, white tent that was the heart of his stronghold. And there came forth a woman, veiled as she herself had been, but clad in silk instead of cotton, who bowed submissively to what he had to say, and then held out a slender, bloodless, burning hand to her....
It all came back to her memory, as if in a lightning-flash that left her stunned and helpless to face the appalling present again. She knew now who the Emir's wife had been—a girl of her own age, but grown old before her time and weary of the little life that had been left in her then. She knew that Farish M'Kissock was speaking the truth now, and that she must bear witness to it at whatever cost to herself. It made no difference that Captain Dove's expression was a mute and none the less dreadful threat of what she might look for at his hands if she dared to do so. The helpless horror of the position in which his cunning intrigue had left her broke on her mind like a thunderbolt. She covered her shamed, white face with both hands, and turned, swaying on her feet, and would have fallen had not the duchess thrown both arms about her and held her there in a close, warm clasp, while Justin Carthew and Lord Ingoldsby, who had both darted forward to help her, glared at each other vindictively.
"Itcan'tbe true!" said the duchess, half to herself, but Sallie heard, and stood upright again, dizzily, letting her hands fall, prepared to do public penance for her innocent and unwitting part in the shameless fraud that had been perpetrated. She did not give a thought to the fact that all her own fair dreams of the future were finally shattered and past repair. But she wondered what the poor folk she had befriended about the village would have to say when they heard that she was no better than a common impostor, and the duchess, who had befriended her, and Justin Carthew, whom Mr. Jobling had treated as a trespasser there!
"Itistrue," she asserted, desperately, in a tone which might have touched even Captain Dove, "though I didn't know till now—" She almost broke down under the dire humiliation she was enduring, but the duchess would not let her go when she would have drawn away from the arm at her waist, and she forced herself to go on with her unspeakably hurtful confession.
"The locket was given me by the girl who died in the desert—who was that man's wife," she said so that all might hear, her face aflame now under the others' blankly believing glances. "I didn't want to take it at all—but she believed she would not live long, and I felt that it would be unkind to refuse."
Farish M'Kissock looked round, in baleful triumph, at Captain Dove, whose hopes he had thus thwarted and brought to nought. But Captain Dove's evil eyes were fixed on Lord Jura.
"Did she tell you nothing at all of herself—or her history?" the duchess asked very gently.
"Not a word," Sallie answered with transparent honesty.
"But there's another here that knew who she was," said Farish M'Kissock, and pointed to Justin Carthew, who could only nod most unhappily, avoiding Sallie's sudden, incredulous glance.
And, at that, Lord Jura seemed to start from the stupor into which he had gradually lapsed. His haggard face grew dark with insane and uncontrollable passion as he began to realise the fiendish ingenuity of the revenge exacted by the man whom he had, in the first place, wronged so cruelly. No other torture, bodily or mental, could have caused him such anguish as the thought of all his sister must have suffered ere she died. He lifted two twitching hands and suddenly leaped, as a tiger might, at Farish M'Kissock's throat.
So swift and unforeseen was the movement that no one could interfere. But he overshot his mark and slipped and fell on the polished oaken floor as Farish M'Kissock stumbled aside, just in time to escape his clutch. He came down with a crash, and his eye-glass dropped and splashed about him in fragments as his forehead struck. But, stunned as he was, he turned on one shoulder and thrust an arm out, and was trying to rise when something seemed to snap in the coat-pocket underneath him, and he uttered a scream of agony as his arm collapsed at the elbow, so that he fell face forward again, struggling like a swimmer with cramp.
"Keep back!" shouted Slyne. And Justin Carthew, in the act of stooping to try to help the ex-engineer, sprang to one side in time and no more to escape the touch of a wriggling thing, black and slimy, like a live shoe-string, which had come slithering out from under the hand with which the fallen man was clawing at the floor. It was almost at Carthew's ankles. He leaped convulsively again, and came down on it with both feet. Its little venomous head writhed round and struck more than once at the patent leather of his low shoes, and then fell limply back and lay still. He set his heel on it, to make sure that it would work no more harm, and turned hastily toward Lord Jura again.
Herries was before him, however, and had already lifted the stricken man's head and shoulders a little. Carthew would have helped to raise him to a sitting posture, but all his limbs curled in a dreadful convulsion and straightened rigidly and curled again in a last awful spasm, and so relaxed, lifeless, while his rolling eyeballs also grew fixed and still. He had ceased to breathe.
"He's dead," said Captain Dove, and started, as if alarmed by the sound of his own voice. And for a space no one else spoke, and no one moved at all. The only undertones that broke the silence were the subdued, helpless weeping of the three women, the muted moaning of the wind on the terrace without. Carthew and Herries were still on their knees, one on either side of the dead man, from one of whose pockets protruded a broken, empty cigar-box. The others stood staring down at him as if they could scarcely yet understand what it was that had made such an instant difference in him.
Carthew got stiffly to his feet. "We must get the women away out of this at once," he whispered to Herries, and held out a hand to help the old factor up.
Herries gazed at him, out of lack-lustre eyes into which a slow return of intelligence crept as he too rose.
"Yes,—my lord," he answered in a low voice, that yet was audible to all but the unhearing ears of him who had been the ninth Earl of Jura, whose heritage was now no more than a quiet niche in the lonely graveyard on the most seaward of the Small Isles, and a young girl's ignorant prayers that he might there find rest and peace.