"I lived on and on,
As if my heart were kept beneath a glass
And everybody stood, all eyes and ears,
To see and hear it tick,"
E.B. BROWNING.
"Mr. Rutledge, sir!" exclaimed the captain, vehemently, bringing his
hand down on the table with a force that made the glasses ring, "it's my
opinion that there's a black mystery to be unravelled yet about that
murder. It's my opinion that all our ears would tingle if we knew the
truth. Certainly, in some inexplicable way, this place is connected with
it. The man lurking about the grounds, the footprints across the
garden-beds, the cravat found at the old summer-house--all seem to point
out this neighborhood as his hiding-place."
"I cannot see that exactly, Captain McGuffy," returned his host. "I
acknowledge that there is a mystery, and a dark one, yet to be cleared
away from the matter; and that the murderer may have taken a temporary
refuge in the woods near the house, is a possible, though not an
infallible deduction to be drawn from the circumstances you have
mentioned. The fact of garden-beds defaced with footprints on such a
night as that of the masquerade, can hardly excite any surprise; and as
to the suspicious-looking person lurking about the grounds all day, why,
none of the three witnesses who swear to having seen him, can at all
describe his appearance or occupation. A drunken loafer from the village
sleeping off the effects of a night's carouse in the shelter of our
woods, is a much more simple interpretation of it, to my mind."
The captain shook his head. "I cannot agree with you, sir; I cannot
think that that cravat, blood-stained and soiled, was left in the
summer-house by any village loafer. Village loafers, sir, do not, as a
general thing, wear such cravats, nor stain them with anything darker
than the drippings of their lager-bier."
"I know you'll all laugh at me,"' said Ellerton Wynkar, "but, absurd as
it is, I can't help thinking I've seen that cravat worn by----. Good
heavens! what's the matter now! Mrs. Churchill, your niece is going to
faint!"
"Oh no!" said Grace, coolly passing me a glass of water. "Only turning
white and looking distractingly pretty, then rallying a little, and
looking up and saying faintly, 'I'm better, thank you,' and regaining
composure gradually and gracefully. That's the programme. We're quite
used to it by this time. When I have a _fiancé_ who must go to Europe, I
shall be perfected in the art of graceful grief if I attend properly to
the example I have now before me."
"There's one art you're not perfected in at all events," said Phil.
"What's that, bonnie Phil; what's that?"
"The art of feeling," said her cousin, shortly.
"Grace is thoughtless," said her mother, and entered into an apology so
elaborate, that Phil was really distressed, and felt that he had been
most unkind and unjust. He gave his hand to Grace, and said, with an
honest smile:
"I didn't mean any reproach, Gracie, only you know you _are_ a tease!"
"But, sir," continued the captain, unable to relinquish the subject that
most interested him, "do you really feel that everything has been done
toward the clearing up of this mystery that lays within your power?
Don't you think that if some stronger measures were taken, some more
detectives placed on the track, the thing might be ferreted out? It's
aggravating to one's feelings to think that the villain may be within
pistol shot of us, and get clear after all."
"It makes me so nervous," said Ella Wynkar, "I can't sleep at night, and
Josephine makes Frances barricade the doors and windows as if we were
preparing to stand a siege."
"It's truly horrible," said Josephine, with a shudder. "I wouldn't go
half a dozen yards from the house alone for any consideration."
"Yes, Joseph, you are a coward, there's no denying it. Mr. Rutledge,
what do you think of a girl of her age looking in all the closets, and
even the bureau drawers, before she goes to bed at night, and making
Frances sit beside her till she gets asleep?"
"I really think," said Mr. Rutledge, rising from the table, "that you
are all alarming yourselves unnecessarily. Every precaution has been
taken to insure the arrest of any suspicious person, and there is no
danger of any abatement in the zeal and activity of our rustic police.
The woods and neighborhood are swarming with volunteer detectives, and
till the offer of the reward is withdrawn, you may rest assured that
their assiduity will not be. I think the young ladies may omit the
nightly barricading, and excuse Frances from mounting guard after eleven
o'clock. I should not advise your walking very far from the house
unattended, but beyond that, really, I think you need not take any
trouble."
"And really _I_ think," muttered the captain, as we moved into the hall,
"that he takes it very coolly. Upon my word, I didn't think he was the
man to let such a thing as this be passed over in such an indifferent
way."
"God bless him for it!" I thought in my heart.
"Stephen is waiting at the door to speak with you, sir," said Thomas to
his master. Stephen's face expressed such a volume of alarm and
importance, that we involuntarily stopped in the hall, as he answered
Mr. Rutledge's inquiry as to his errand.
"The body of a man, sir, has just been found in the lake. It has
evidently been there a day or more. The men are down there, sir; I came
immediately up to let you know."
Mr. Rutledge gave a hurried glance at me, as he said quickly:
"Possibly one of the laborers. I will go down with you at once."
Capt. McGuffy, with an I-told-you-so nod to Phil, snatched his hat, and,
followed by the other gentlemen, hurried with Stephen toward the lake.
The ladies, in a frightened group, clustered together on the lawn and
watched them from a distance.
How well I could have told them who it was, and how long the bloated,
disfigured corpse had lain floating among the reeds and alder-bushes at
the head of the lake! How their ears, indeed, would tingle, if they
should know the quarter part of what I knew. How sleepless and terrified
Josephine's nights might well be, if she knew that a single foot of
brick and mortar was all that separated her from the execrated murderer,
with the horror of whose crime the country rang. How doubly aghast she
would be, if she knew that the murderer was none other than the guest
she had herself invited to Rutledge--the brilliant and clever man whose
admiration she had vainly striven to obtain--the affianced husband of
her cousin! What if they knew all this? What if my brain should give way
under the pressure of this dreadful secret, and I should betray all!
Sometimes I really thought I was losing my reason; the knowledge that I
held the life of another in my own weak hands, made them tremble more;
the keeping of the secret was wearing my very life away; sleepless
nights and wretched days were doing their sure work with me, and the
terrible excitement within, shone out in my eyes and burned in a crimson
spot on each white cheek, throbbed in my quick pulse and sapped the
strength and vigor of my being. I could have wrestled with and overcome
fear and timidity, if they had been all; I could have been brave and
strong, if I had had but his sin to cover, his crime to hide; if I had
been true, if my own heart had been pure of sin, I could have borne it.
But it was the weight of remorse, added to all the rest, that crushed me
to the dust. It was remembering how great a part I had had in Victor's
sin, that took all courage out of my heart. If I had not deceived him,
and allowed him to believe I loved him--would he not now have been safe?
From those first beginnings of pride and resentment, I traced my sin in
regard to him. Whenever they had got a foothold, the soothing flattery
of Victor's love had crept in, to allay and lull the pain they caused.
And I had not remembered to pray in those hours; I had trusted to
myself, and gone on sinning. Just so far as I had been estranged from
duty, and grown cold to holy things, just so far had I gone forward in
the path which had now brought me to such terrible bewilderment.
Whenever I had prayed and repented, his influence and the temptation of
his presence had been weakened or withdrawn; whenever I had listened to
the whispers of wounded pride or determined resentment, his voice had
been at my ear, his love laid at my feet. When little Essie's death had
drawn my thoughts awhile toward heaven, and made me realize the
littleness and impotence of pride and wrath, and the insignificance of
things seen, the power and eternity of things unseen, he had been
forgotten and indifferent; but so soon as I had allowed the return of
worldliness, so soon had I found myself snared in hypocrisy and deceit
toward him. The little sins of every day, they had tempted me on to
where I now stood. It was so easy to look back and see it all--how one
slight omission of duty had led to another--how one moment of indulgence
had weakened self-control--one disregard of truth had grown into the
tyrant sin from which I could not now release myself; struggle as I
might, I was helpless in its grasp. Every step but plunged me deeper;
every word was but a fresh deceit.
I saw Victor that evening for a few moments; Kitty had watched long for
a safe chance to admit me. Mrs. Roberts, contrary to all precedent, had
taken her knitting and seated herself in one of the hall windows,
declaring that it was the coolest place in the house, and there remained
the whole afternoon. There was nothing to induce her to do it but the
obstinate instincts of her nature, to which she was ever true. She may
have had some lurking suspicion that there was "something going on"
upstairs, and though entirely ignorant of its nature, she could not
doubt its evil tendency, believing as she had reason to, that Kitty was
concerned in it. She had encountered that young person on the stairs
after dinner, with a surreptitious plate of confectionery and fruit from
dessert. Kitty had readily answered upon demand, that it was for her
young lady; and Mrs. Roberts had very tartly remarked that in _her_
time, young ladies thought it best manners to eat as much as they wanted
at the table, and not take the credit of being delicate, and then have
extra plates of good things brought up to their rooms. Kitty could
hardly brook the implied taunt, but she had to swallow it. She hovered
anxiously around all the afternoon, inventing all manner of excuses to
get Mrs. Roberts away, but to no avail, and it was only after dusk, when
she had at last withdrawn to order tea, that Kitty eagerly beckoned me
to follow her to the door of the hidden room, that had always had such a
mysterious awe in my eyes.
As I crept through the narrow space between the wardrobe and the door, I
grasped Kitty's hand with an involuntary shudder. "Don't go away," I
whispered.
"No, Miss. I'll stay just outside the door and watch, and you must come
the very minute I tap at it, for Mrs. Roberts will be back as soon as
ever she has given out the things for tea. I won't go away, don't be
afraid, Miss."
The twilight was too dim for me to distinguish anything as Kitty closed
the door softly behind me, and I groped my way into the room. "Victor!"
I said, in a whisper, as no sound met my ear.
A dark figure between me and the faint light of the window, started
forward as I spoke, and, in another moment, my hands were grasped in
hands as cold and trembling. Did it give me a shudder to remember the
work those hands had done in the grey shadowy twilight, one short week
before? I tried not to think of it. I tried to remember it was the man
who loved me--who had risked his life for my love. But crime and remorse
had strangely darkened and changed him. There was a wild sort of despair
in his very tenderness--a fierce recklessness when he spoke of the
future; I tried in vain to reassure myself and soothe him, but I quailed
before a nature, beside the strength of whose passion, all that I had
known or seen of despair and desperation faded into insignificance. A
weak man can sin weakly, and bewail it feebly and with tears: a strong
man, who is hurried into crime by the very intensity and strength, of
his nature, turns fiercely upon the remorse that besets him; the very
gall of bitterness is his repentance--blood and curses are the tears he
sheds.
Tenderness and confidence shrunk back affrighted from such contact; I
trembled in his grasp, and he caught a suspicion of my fear. I never
shall forget the agony of the gesture with which he released me, and
turning away, buried his face in his hands. I started forward, and
tried, in faltering accents, to assure him of--what? The words died on
my lips. At that moment there was a hurried tap at the door, and Kitty's
voice whispered:
"Quick!"
"There is your release!" he exclaimed, bitterly. "You have done your
duty; draw a long breath, and hurry back into the light and freedom of
the outer world. Quick! I must not keep you."
"You are wrong," I murmured, "I must go, but it is just as dark and
miserable outside to me, as it is here for you. Don't fancy, Victor,
that there is any pleasure for me now."
"You need not remind me of that!" he exclaimed, sinking down, and bowing
his face on the table before him. "You need not remind me of that! I
know I have dragged you down with me in my fall, and it is the cruellest
thought in all my cruel anguish; but you shall be freed--be sure you
shall be freed!"
"Why will you talk so strangely, Victor? What have I done to make you
doubt me now? I would die to serve you--I have no other thought than how
to save you from the danger that threatens"----
Kitty shook the door impatiently, and implored me to come out.
"I must go, Victor," I whispered. "Will you not speak to me? Good
night."
I bent over him, and touched my lips to his forehead, and then groped my
way hastily to the door. He did not move or speak, and I turned back
irresolutely, to beg him for a word of forgiveness, but Kitty, opening
the door, caught me by the hand, and pulled me out.
"They are all asking for you; Miss Josephine has been upstairs for you,
and when she came down and said you weren't in your room, master looked
so white, and started up so frightened, that the others all caught it of
him, and began to call you and hunt all about for you; and I couldn't
let you know, for old Roberts was marching up and down the hall, and
keeping her eyes all about her. She's gone into her room a minute--now's
your chance; run right down the private staircase--there's nobody in the
butler's pantry--go out on the piazza, and so around to the front door.
Quick! She's coming back!"
I should have done anything Kitty told me to do at that moment. It was
lucky for me she was the clear-headed, ingenious girl she was. I ran
downstairs, and hurried round the piazza. At the hall door I paused a
moment, and leaned against one of the pillars, to recover myself before
I entered. Some one hurrying out of the house brushed against me. An
exclamation of surprise and relief escaped his lips, and looking up, I
saw Mr. Rutledge.
"Where have you been?" he asked, abruptly.
The suddenness of the question, and my miserable nervousness, overcame
my self-possession entirely. I struggled in vain to speak, but ended by
putting my face in my hands, and bursting into a flood of tears.
"You are not well," he said, kindly, taking my hand and drawing me to a
seat. "You are very unhappy. I cannot bear to see you suffer so. Will
you not tell me what it is, and let me help you?"
"No one can help me--no one can do me the least good."
"You think so, perhaps; but you do not know how far I might. You do not
know how much I would sacrifice to see you happy again. If you will only
confide to me the anxiety that I see is killing you, I will promise to
further your wishes, and to endeavor to relieve your mind, at the cost
of anything to myself except my honor."
I shook my head. "You cannot help me--no one can."
"If it is only grief at parting with your lover," he went on, quickly,
"I cannot do you any good; but if it is what I fear for you, I can
perhaps advise you--perhaps materially aid you. Trust in me for this;
show the confidence in me that you have hitherto refused, and you shall
see how well I will serve you--how unselfishly and unreservedly I will
try to restore you to happiness."
Pity can make the human face almost like the face of an angel; there is
no emotion that is so transforming. When pride, self-will, and
selfishness, resign their sway, and pity, heaven-born and god-like,
dawns, all that is mean, and coarse, and earthly, seems to fade before
it, to grow dumb and quiet in the calm radiance of its risen fullness.
Such pity beamed on me now, but its healing and tenderness came too
late,
"As on the uprooted flower, the genial rain."
"You are very kind," I murmured; "but there is nothing anybody can do
for me."
He rose sadly. "I will not torment you, then. Will you come into the
house? If you desire to go to your room, I will manage your excuses for
you."
With almost inaudible thanks, I hurried into the hall and upstairs. My
aunt came up in the course of the evening, but Kitty represented me as
"just going to sleep," and I was spared an interview.
"Kitty!" I exclaimed, starting up, long after she had fancied I was
soothed to sleep, "how--how will it all end? What is to become of him
after we go? It was decided yesterday that we leave in two days' time,
and you know it will not be safe for him to think of escape till the
excitement has died away in the country. Poor Victor! What is to become
of him?"
"Don't fret," said Kitty, soothingly, "even if you have to leave him
here, there'll be no more danger for him than if you stayed. Mr.
Rutledge is going too, you know, and the house will be shut up, and it
will be safer, if anything, than now. I'll write you every day of my
life, and tell you how things go on. And, depend upon it, the worst of
the danger is over. Since this body has been found in the lake, people
will begin to content themselves that there's no use in looking further
for the murderer--that he did it and then drowned himself in despair.
Michael hasn't brought up the news of the inquest yet--he's waiting in
the village to hear it; but I've no manner of doubt what it'll be.
Everybody knows he and the doctor had dealings together, and that, with
the character he bears, will tell against him."
"You don't suppose he had any papers about him that might do Victor
harm?"
"If he had had, they wouldn't be of any use now; they've been in the
water too long to serve any purpose, good or bad. No, Black John, as
they call him, will have to bear the credit of the crime he was hunting
poor Mr. Victor to death for. There ain't many that he didn't deserve to
take the credit of. Everybody knows that he was nothing slow at all
manner of wickedness, and it seems the likeliest thing in the world that
he should do the devil's work; and, mark my words, before a week is
over, there won't be man, woman or child in the country round, that
won't curse Black John as Dr. Hugh's murderer. It won't do him much harm
now, poor wretch; a few curses more or less won't make much difference
to him where he is now, I suppose."
"Had he a wife?"
"A drunken, half-crazy thing. She spends her time between the poor-house
and the grog-shop. She'll never mind about her husband, beyond howling
for an hour or two when she first hears it, if she happens to be sober.
Now, Miss, don't think any more about it, but try to go to sleep. You'll
be quite worn out."
And Kitty threw herself upon her mattress by my bed, where she now
slept, and, faithfullest and tenderest of attendants, never left me, day
or night.