A pile of rocks overgrown with stunted rhododendron bushes and shaggy,
weather-beaten pines, also stunted. Among these a foaming mountain
torrent cleft its way, dashing through the deep, narrow chasm which
walled it in some fifty feet below. A seldom-frequented path wound
around the base of the rocks, passing over a crazy wooden bridge.
On the morning subsequent to the events just detailed Richard Fordham
sat among the rocks aforesaid, smoking a cigar. He had lighted it on
first arriving at this sequestered spot, and now the glowing end was
almost burning his fingers. This showed that he had been waiting there
for some time--half an hour at least.
Waiting? That was just what he was doing. But there was no impatience
attendant on the process. His gaze had scarcely wandered from the
stretch of open meadowland lying between his position and the brown
roofs of Zermatt nearly a mile away--yet in it there was no concern, no
anxiety.
An object was approaching along the path--a grey sunshade. Beneath this
was a human figure--a female figure. Watching its approach, the
expression of his countenance underwent a change; but in it there was
still no impatience. The expression of that dark, saturnine countenance
was one of exultant ferocity, such as might animate that of the
concealed leopard as it watches the unsuspecting antelope advance step
by step within easy springing distance of its lurking-place.
The new arrival continued to advance slowly until she had reached the
rickety wooden bridge. There she paused and looked around as though
puzzled.
At the sound of a cough above she started and changed colour, then
catching sight of another path, began to ascend to where he stood. This
was a platform of rock on the edge of the chasm. It was shut in by the
trees in such fashion that any one standing there would be scarcely
discernible from without, while commanding the approaches from the
quarter whence any one would be in the least likely to advance.
The new-comer was an extremely well-preserved woman of middle age. She
was slightly above the medium height, and her dark, flashing eyes and
strongly marked brows gave her an imperious look which it needed not the
firm jaw and erect figure to confirm. But the expression stamped upon
her pale features at that moment was not that of power, rather it was
one of apprehension--of undisguisable dread, dashed with strong
abhorrence. As she stood there, panting with the exertion of the
ascent, or agitation, or both, a chance observer might have discovered
in her countenance a curious likeness to that of Fordham himself.
The latter made no gesture, uttered no word of greeting. The evil
expression in his face was qualified by a thin, cold sneer. Thus they
confronted each other--the one pale, apprehensive, yet with strong
aversion and defiance in her eyes; the other self-possessed, thoroughly
conscious of power, and returning hate for hate in fullest measure.
"Well?" broke from her at last, to the accompaniment of a half-checked
stamp of the foot.
"Well?"
"What have you got to say to me?" she said curtly; adding, in a
repressed volcano-storm of wrath and bitterness. "I have obeyed orders,
you see."
"You could not have done otherwise. Even you have the sense thoroughly
to realise that."
"But I didn't know _you_ were here," she went on; "not yet, anyhow.
When I saw you I got something of a shock, for my system is not what it
was. You quite took me by surprise."
"I believe you--for once. Finished actress as you are, even you could
hardly have counterfeited the tragic effect produced by my unexpected
appearance yesterday. The devil himself could hardly have scared you
more."
"Of the two it is the devil himself that I should have preferred to
see."
"Undoubtedly. But the malevolent powers commonly attributed to that
functionary are nothing to those I shall bring to bear on you if you
neglect to carry out my instructions implicitly. On you and yours, I
should have said."
Was it there that the secret of his power lay? An involuntary spasm
passed through her frame as if she had received a stab.
"Perhaps, then, you will oblige me by communicating them," she hastened
to reply. "For it happens I have made arrangements to leave here this
very day--or to-morrow at latest."
"Those arrangements you will have the trouble of cancelling, then."
"Indeed! And may I ask why?"
"Certainly. Your appearance here yesterday is going to supply the
weapon I have been working to forge for years. Nothing is now wanting
to complete the chain. Yours is the hand that shall do so. To that end
you will remain here--as long as I require your presence."
"That is a very odd turn for events to take--that you should require my
presence," she said, with a bitter sneer.
"Very. In fact, the irony of the situation is unique. And yet there
are people who say there is no such thing as poetic justice."
"But now, suppose you begin by giving one some idea as to the nature of
this wonderful plan of yours. I take for granted it is for nobody's
_good_, anyhow."
"You are wrong there. It will tend most distinctly to the good of two
people. And--calm your amazement--one of those people is yourself."
"Your warning is wholly needed. The idea that any action of _yours_
could tend to _my_ advantage is sufficient to justify the wildest
amazement, were there room for any other emotion than complete
incredulity," she answered, with a scornful smile.
"You shall see directly. But, first of all, let me congratulate you on
the extremely fascinating appearance of--your daughter. It really does
you the greatest credit--"
"We will leave her out of the question, if you please," she interrupted,
speaking quickly.
"But I don't please--and that for the best possible reason. I said just
now that the scheme in which I require your aid will tend to the
advantage of two persons, one of them being yourself. The other is--
your daughter."
"Then you will certainly not obtain my aid. In anything that tends to
involve my child in co-operation--however indirect--with yourself, I
flatly refuse to have any hand."
The sardonic smile deepened around Fordham's mouth. He opened his
cigar-case, took out a fresh cigar, and lighted it with the greatest
deliberation.
"It is always a pity to commit oneself to a rash statement," he said.
"The determination just expressed you will directly see reason to
reconsider--certainly before you leave this delightful spot."
"Never!"
"Oh, but you will! You are, to do you justice, far too much a woman of
the world--life has been far too comfortable, too prosperous for you--
for you both--during, we'll say, the last twenty years, for you to face
the alternative now."
"Has it? I will risk anything--face any alternative."
"Even that of starvation?"
"Even that. But it will not come to that. Poverty it may be--but--we
can work--we can live somehow."
"Ha! ha! ha! Can you? Only try it. I see I was giving you undue
credit just now when I defined you as a woman of the world. Those who
talk airily of poverty are always the ones who have spent life in
luxury. Think of it in all its aspects--of being on the very verge of
starvation, of the fireless grate, and weeks of north-east wind and
snowstorm, of the foul, insanitary den--kennel rather--covered by the
same roof as that which shelters the most debased two-legged animals
which ever bore semblance to the stamp of humanity. Think of the sights
and sounds, the mad-drunk ruffians, and the fighting, clawing,
screaming, harpies; the `language of the people,' and nights made
hideous with the yells of some one being murdered. This is what poverty
is going to mean in your case. This is what you and your--child will
come to. Stay a moment. You think I am exaggerating? You think, no
doubt, you have friends who will help you--who will never see you come
to this? But don't flatter yourself. I will prevent them from helping
you. I will cause them to spurn you from their doors--both of you. In
fact, I will hunt you down into utter and complete ruin--both of you.
Both of you--mark it well! Why do I not do so in any case? I don't
know. But oppose me in the slightest particular--neglect in the
minutest detail the scheme I am going to set you to carry out--and
this--and more than all this shall come upon you--shall come upon you
both--as sure as I am a living man."
Her face was as white as a sheet, and in her flashing eyes there was the
look of a tigress whose whelps are menaced, as she advanced a step
nearer to him, her breast heaving violently.
"Dare you boast that you _are_ a living man?" she panted, clenching and
unclenching her hands. "Are you not afraid I shall kill you where you
stand? I shall some day--I know it!"
"Do--if you can. And, by the way, this would have been an excellent
opportunity. In the first place, you would be entirely free from
interruption, for I have already scouted the whole of this covert to
ensure the absence of the regulation dauber intent on evolving the
pictorial presentment of a dissipated-looking sugar-loaf, under the
impression that he or she is sketching the Matterhorn. In the next,
this country has practically abolished the death penalty, so that you
would get a dozen years at most, and your child would have the honour of
being the daughter of a convict as well as--But drop these
melodramatics, and return to sound sense. Heavens, woman! I wonder you
dare talk to _me_ like this." And as his memory leaped back his deep
voice took the snarling rumble of an enraged wild beast.
Man and Nature are ever offering the most vivid and jarring contrasts.
The brown roofs of the village, dominated by the white cubes of the
great hotels, lay nestling amid the green meadows, against a background
of stately mountains. The hoarse rush of the torrent, pent up in the
narrow fissure at their feet, joined with the deeper roar of the
churning Visp, gathering hourly in volume as the midday sun told in
power upon its feeder, the great Gorner glacier, whose sheeny _seracs_
reared their dazzling battlements in a blue and white line above the
vernal pastures at the head of the valley, while the stately monolith of
the giant Matterhorn towered aloft into the vivid blue of the cloudless
heavens. Yet there, amid the sequestered solitude of the jagged pines,
stood these two, confronting each other with deadly rage in their
hearts, with bitterest hate and defiance flashing from their set faces
and burning eyes--a very hell of evil passions surging alike in both.
"Now take your choice," he went on. "Carry out my plan as I am about to
lay it before you, and you will benefit yourself in doing so. Refuse,
or mar it in the slightest detail, either by bungling or of set design,
and I will utterly crush you both, beginning from this day. You know
me."
She made no answer. She never removed her eyes from his, and her breath
came in quick, hard gasps. Her aspect was that of some dangerous animal
cornered, driven to bay. Barely a couple of yards behind him was the
brink of the narrow fissure by which the churning torrent cleft its way
through the heart of the rocks. The sneering, mocking smile which came
into his face as he read her thoughts was devilish in its maddening
provocation.
"No go," he said. "You couldn't do it. I am much too firm on my pins.
You would be extremely likely to go over yourself, and then what would
become of Laura, left to _my_ tender mercies?"
"You fiend! I think Satan himself must be a god compared with you."
"Am I to take that as a compliment? Well, now to business. Sit down."
"Thank you. I prefer to stand."
"I don't," seating himself upon a boulder and puffing deliberately at
his cigar. "Please yourself, however. And now kindly give me your best
attention."
Then for the next twenty minutes he did all the talking, though every
now and then an ejaculation of anger, disgust, or dissidence would
escape her. This, however, affected him not in the slightest degree.
The cold, cutting, sarcastic tones flowed evenly on, laying down the
details of what was to her a strange and startling plan. Not until he
had unfolded it in all its bearings did he pause, as though to invite
comment.
But by that time it was noticeable that the horror and decisiveness in
her refusal to co-operate with which the woman had first received his
suggestion had undergone a very marked abatement. She could even bring
herself to discuss the scheme in some of its details.
"Now," he concluded--"now you see I am practically proposing to be
Laura's greatest benefactor; yours, too, in a secondary degree, for the
event will render you, to a large extent, free from my bondage."
"That indeed would be to benefit me," she answered, with a return of the
old, rancorous aversion. "But even now the motive you have given is not
above suspicion. It is too inadequate."
"Not so. If you look at it all round you will perceive it is complete.
I am of a revengeful disposition, and now, after half a lifetime, I see
my opportunity for taking a most sweeping revenge. But I like my
retribution to be as original as it is far-reaching. This one is. In
fact, it is unique."
How unique it was even she could not at the moment fathom. But she was
destined to learn it later, in all its grim and undreamed-of horror.
"I hope I may be allowed to change my mind," said Mrs Daventer,
sweetly, as she entered the bureau of the hotel that afternoon. "I wish
to counter-order the arrangements I made for leaving to-morrow. It can
be managed, I hope?"
"I will see immediately, madame," said the civil _employe_, looking up
from the pile of letters he was sorting, and which had just come in. "I
tink de mules are already ordered. One moment--I will just inquire."
He went out, leaving Mrs Daventer alone in the bureau. She turned over
some of the letters. Among the uppermost in the half-sorted pile was
one addressed "Philip Orlebar, Esq." The handwriting was rather large
and bold, but distinctly feminine, and the envelope bore the Zinal
postmark. At sight of this Mrs Daventer's pulses quickened and her
eyes dilated. Then she heard the _employe's_ steps returning.
"It will be all right, madame," he said. "Another party is going down
who will be very glad of de mules."
She thanked him, entered into a few pleasant commonplaces as to the
attractions of the locality, the number of people abroad that year, the
fineness of the season, and so forth, and expressing a little
disappointment at the man's reply that the pile of letters just
delivered contained none for her or her daughter, she went out.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Philip Orlebar received several letters that afternoon, but they did not
comprise one bearing the Zinal postmark, which circumstance, however,
conveyed no disappointment, inasmuch as he had never expected they
would.