THE SPIRIT'S STORY IS CONCLUDED.
"I SHOULD say," volunteered Hopkins, with a shake of his head, "that
that was about the most unpleasant situation he had got you into yet;
and yet he was not entirely to blame. He requested candour from you, and
you declined to be candid. You should have told him of your engagement
to Miss Hicksworthy-Johnstone. That would at least have prevented his
kicking her father out of your office and rolling downstairs with him."
"It is easy enough to say now what ought to have been done," sobbed the
exile. "I do not think you would have done very differently if you had
been in my position. I was jealous of the fiend, I suppose, and I didn't
know but what he would insist upon doing some of the courting--which
would have been intolerable."
"Better that than to be set down by your _fiancee_ as a heartless
trifler," returned Hopkins. "But what happened next? Was the old
gentleman hurt?"
"Not he," replied the exile. "When he and I, as he supposed me to be,
reached the bottom of the stairs he landed on top, and was the first to
get on his feet again. And then, Hopkins, I was glad not to be in my
normal condition; for as the fiend attempted to rise my Arabella's
father, who still retained his grip upon that oak stick, gave me the
worst licking I ever had in my life, and I--well, I really enjoyed the
spectacle, because I knew that I deserved it. The fiend, hampered
somewhat by the corse to which he was not yet entirely accustomed was at
a tremendous disadvantage, and I know Mr. Hicksworthy-Johnstone's blows
caused him considerable pain. The only possible escape for him was to
leave the body, which he did just as the attacking party landed a
resounding thwack upon the back of my neck. Of course, the minute the
fiend evacuated the premises, I appeared to Mr. Hicksworthy-Johnstone to
have been killed, because there was in reality no slightest bit of
animation left in my body. It was the horror of this discovery that
covered the retreat of the fiend, who, more horribly green than
ever--the green that comes from rage--mounted the steps he had so
summarily descended a moment before, and hurried into my room, dragging
me by sheer force of will, which I was unable to resist, after him. You
see, Hopkins, we were now nothing more than two consciousnesses; two
minds, one mortal, the other immortal; one infinitely strong, the other
finite in its limitations, and I was of course as powerless in the
presence of the fiend as a babe in the arms of its nurse. Mr.
Hicksworthy-Johnstone, thinking that he had killed me, after a vain
endeavour to restore my stricken body to consciousness--in which he
would have succeeded had the fiend permitted me to take possession
again, for I did not wish Arabella's father to suppose for one instant
that he was a murderer--sneaked on tip-toes from the building, and,
mumbling to himself in an insane fashion, disappeared in the crowd of
pedestrians on the street.
"'This is a pretty mess you've got us into,' said the fiend. 'I should
like to know what excuse you can have for such infernal duplicity as you
have been guilty of?'
"'I cannot discuss this matter with you,' I answered. 'The duplicity is
not mine, but yours. You have endeavoured to exercise rights which were
clearly not yours to exercise. I informed you that in matters of love--'
"'Matters of love!' he ejaculated. 'Do you call this a matter of love?
Do you think it's a matter of love for an entire stranger to throw a
two-pound crystal inkstand loaded with ink at the very core of my
waistcoat? Is it a matter of love for a grey-haired villain like that to
drag me or you, whichever way you choose to put it, down a flight of
stairs and then knock the life out of us? It seems to me, you have a
strange idea of love.'
"'Don't you understand!' I cried. 'That man was only doing his duty. He
is Arabella's father!'
"'Again, I must ask,' said the fiend, in a manner that aggravated me as
it had aggravated the old gentleman, 'who, in all creation, is
Arabella?'
"'My _fiancee_!' I yelled. 'My _fiancee_, you poor blind omniscient!
Whom did you suppose?'
"As I uttered these words, Hopkins, the fiend's whole manner changed. He
was no longer flustered and angry merely; he was a determined and very
angry being. He rose from his chair, and fixing his eye upon the point
where he thought I was--and he had a faculty of establishing that point
accurately at all times--and pointing that horrible finger of his at me,
fairly hissed with rage.
"'That settles it, sir,' he cried. 'You and I part for ever. You, by
your foolish perversity, by your inexplicable lack of candour, by your
sinful refusal to trust your welfare to my hands, who have done so much
for you, have nearly overthrown the whole structure of the greatness I
have builded up. Your idiotic behaviour has decided me to do that which
from the very beginning I have most feared. I have been haunted by the
fear that you would want to marry some woman simply for the empty,
mortal reason that you loved her, utterly ignoring the fact that by a
judicious matrimonial step you could attain to heights that otherwise
could never be yours. Having your interests entirely in view, I had
arranged a match which would strengthen into permanence your, at
present, rather uncertain hold upon society. Lady Ariadne Maude
Fackleton, to whom you are at present engaged, as the daughter of the
Earl of Pupley, can give you the _entree_ to the best circles in London
or out of it; while this Arabella of yours can serve only to assist you
in spending your income and keeping your parlour free from dust. Now,
what earthly use was there in your philandering--'
"'I fancy I have a right to select my own wife,' I said.
"'You always were strong on fancies,' he retorted. 'You might have
known that with the career opening up before you a plain Arabella would
never do. Do you suppose you could take her to a ball at the Earl of
Mawlberry's? Do you suppose that any woman, in fact, who would consent
to marry you as your weak inefficient self could go anywhere and do me
justice? I guess not; and your behaviour has settled our partnership for
ever. We part for good.'
"'Well, I'm glad of it,' I retorted, goaded to anger by his words. 'Get
out. I don't want to see you again. You've ruined me by putting me in
false positions from the time we met until now, and I am sick of it. You
can't leave too soon to suit me.'
"When I had spoken these words he darted one final venomous glance at
me, and walked whistling from the room. As long as his whistle was
perceptible I remained quiet--quiet as my agitation would permit; and
then, when the last flute-like note died away in the distance, I floated
from the room and down the stairs to get my poor bruised body and put it
in shape to call on Arabella.
"Hopkins, when I reached the foot of the stairs my body had disappeared!
I was frantic with fear. I did not know whether it had been found by the
janitor and conveyed to the morgue, whether Arabella's father had
returned to conceal it, and so conceal his fancied crime, or whether the
fiend had finally crowned his infamous work by stealing it. I sought for
it in vain. Forgetful of my invisibility, I asked the janitor if he had
seen it, and he fled shrieking with fear from the building, and declined
ever thereafter to enter it again. Every nook and corner in the Temple I
searched and found it not, and then I floated dejectedly to Arabella's
home, where I found her embracing her father in a last fond farewell.
The old gentleman was about leaving the country to escape the
consequences of his crime.
"'Arabella!' I cried, as I entered the room.
"The girl turned a deadly white, and her father fell cringing upon his
knees, and then I realized that, recognizing my voice, they feared my
ghost had come to haunt them, and with this realization came to my
consciousness the overwhelming thought that both would go insane were I
to persist in speaking while invisible.
"The situation, Hopkins, was absolutely terrible, and if I had had my
teeth I should have gnashed them for the very helplessness of my
condition."
"Did the old gentleman persist in his determination to leave the
country?" asked Hopkins.
"He did. He sailed for the United States on a small freight schooner
that night, and reached New York in time to hear in that far-off clime
of the marriage of his supposed victim; but I must not anticipate," said
the exile.
"For three weeks after that horrible day I never caught sight of my
missing person, nor did I discover the slightest clue as to its
whereabouts. It never turned up at my quarters that I could learn, but
that it was not dead or buried I had good reason to believe; for one
morning, while I was away from my rooms floating along Rotten Row,
hoping to catch sight of myself if perchance I still lived, four
truckmen arrived at the Temple here and moved all my clothes and
furniture, whither I never discovered, in consequence of which act, upon
my return here, I found the room cold and bare as a barn."
"That was rank robbery," said Toppleton.
"We should have trouble in establishing that fact in court," returned
the exile. "I could not deny on oath that my hand had penned the order
for the removal of the goods, and as for the clothes and other things,
most of them had been bought by the money I had earned through the
fiend's instrumentality."
"That is so," said Toppleton, hastily acquiescing in the exile's words,
lest he should seem to his visitor less acute than a full-fledged lawyer
should be. "And how long was it before you encountered yourself once
more?"
"Three weeks," returned the exile. "And where do you suppose the meeting
took place?"
"I don't know," said Hopkins. "At Buckingham Palace?"
"No, sir. In Arabella's parlour! It was just three weeks from the hour
in which Mr. Hicksworthy-Johnstone appeared at my office door in the
Temple that, for the want of something better to do, I floated into
Arabella's parlour again, and was filled with consternation to see
standing there before the mirror, adjusting his tie, the fiend in full
possession of my treasured self. I was about to utter a cry of delight
when I heard an ejaculation of fear behind me, and turning saw Arabella
herself entering the room, pale as a sheet. I tell you Hopkins, it was
dramatic; though, as far as the fiend was concerned, he was as
nonchalant as could be.
"'You are not dead!' cried Arabella, hoarsely.
"'Not that I am aware of, madam,' said the fiend coolly.' Have I the
honour of addressing Miss Arabella Hicksworthy-Johnstone?'
"'Oh, Edward, Edward,' she cried--'I forgot to tell you, Hopkins,'
explained the spirit, 'my name was Edward'--'oh, Edward, what does this
mean?' she cried. 'My father has fled to America, thinking that in that
unhappy moment of Saturday three weeks ago he had killed you.'
"'Indeed!' returned the fiend. 'I sincerely hope he will enjoy the trip,
though he did inflict injuries upon me from which I shall be a long time
in recovering. But tell me, madame, are you Miss Arabella
Hicksworthy-Johnstone?'
"'Edward,' she replied, 'are you mad?'
"'I have a right to be indignant at your father's treatment of me, if
that vilely vindictive old person was your father, but I am not what you
might call mad. I cherish no vindictive feelings. But as my time is
limited I should like to proceed at once to the business I have in hand,
if you will permit me.'
"Arabella sat aghast as the man she deemed her _fiance_ spoke these
words to her. She was utterly unable to comprehend the situation, and I
could not clarify the cloud upon her understanding without imperilling
her reason. Oh, Hopkins, Hopkins, were the fires of Hades to become
extinguished to-day, there are other tortures for the spirit close at
hand more hideously unbearable even than they!"
"It would seem so," said Hopkins. "If I had my choice between your
experience and Hades, I think I should warm up to the latter. But go on.
What did Arabella say?"
"She drew herself up proudly after a moment of hesitation, and said, 'I
have no desire to hinder you in going about your business.'
"'Thanks,' said the fiend. 'Assuming that you are Miss Arabella
Hicksworthy-Johnstone, I would say to you that I should like to know
upon what your father's claim that you and I are engaged rests.'
"'Really, Edward,' she returned impatiently, 'I cannot comprehend your
singular behaviour this afternoon. You know how we became engaged. You
know you asked me to be your wife, and you know that after keeping you
on your knees for several hours I consented.'
"'Madam,' observed the fiend, 'I never went on my knees to a woman in my
life. I never asked but one woman in this world to be my wife, and you
are not she.'
"'What!' cried Arabella. 'Do you mean to say to me, Edward, that you did
_not_ ask me to be your wife?'
"'I meant to say exactly what I said. That I am engaged to be married to
Lady Ariadne Maude Fackleton, daughter of the Earl of Pupley, the only
woman to whom I ever spoke or thought of speaking a word of love in my
life. I mean to say that Lady Ariadne Maude Fackleton and I expect to be
married before the month is up. I mean to say that I never saw you
before in my life, and I should like to know what your intentions are
concerning this absurd claim that I am engaged to you may be, for I do
not intend to have my future marred by any breach of promise suits. In
short, madam, do you intend to claim me as your matrimonial prize or
not? If not, all well and good. If so, I shall secure an injunction
restraining you from doing anything of the sort. Even should you force
me to the altar itself I should then and there forbid the banns.'
"'Sir,' said my Arabella, drawing herself up like a queen, 'you may
leave this house, and never set foot again within its walls. I should as
soon think of claiming that celebrated biblical personage, of whom you
remind me, Ananias, for a husband as you. Do not flatter yourself that I
shall ever dispute the Lady Ariadne's possession of so accomplished a
lord and master as yourself,--though I should do so were I more
philanthropically disposed. If it be the duty of one woman to protect
the happiness of another, I should do all that lies in my power to
prevent this marriage; but inasmuch as my motive in so doing would, in
all likelihood, be misconstrued, I must abstain; I must hold myself
aloof, though the whole future happiness of one of my own sex be at
stake. Farewell, sir, and good riddance. If you will leave me Lady
Ariadne's address, I will send her my sympathy as a wedding gift.'
"'Madam,' returned the fiend, bowing low, 'your kind words have taken a
heavy load from my heart. You deserve a better fate; but farewell.'
"Then as the fiend departed Arabella swooned away. My first impulse was
to follow the fiend, and to discover if possible his address; but I
could not bring myself to leave Arabella at that moment, she was so
overcome. I floated to the prostrate woman, and whispered the love I
felt for her in her ear.
"'Arabella,' I said. 'Arabella--my love--it is all a mistake. Open your
eyes and see. I am here ready to explain all if you will only listen.'
"Her answer was a moan and a fluttering of the eyelids.
"'Arabella,' I repeated. 'Don't you hear me, sweetheart? Open your eyes
and look at me. It is I, Edward.'
"'Edward!' she gasped, her eyes still closed. 'What _does_ it all mean?
Why have you treated me so?'
"'It is not I who have done this Arabella; it is another vile being over
whose actions I have no control. He is a fiend who has me in his power.
He is--oh, Arabella, do not ask me, do not insist upon knowing all, only
believe that I am not to blame!'
"'Kiss me, Edward,' she murmured. 'One little kiss.'
"Hopkins," moaned the exile, "just think of that! One little kiss was
all she asked, and I--I hadn't anything to kiss her with--not the
vestige of a lip.
"'Kiss me, Edward,' she repeated.
"'I cannot,' I cried out in anguish.
"'Why not?' she demanded, sitting up on the floor and gazing wildly
around her, and then seeing that she was absolutely alone in the room,
and had been conversing with--"
"Oh!" ejaculated Hopkins, wringing his hands. "Dear me! The poor girl
must have been nearly crazy."
"Nearly, Hopkins?" said the exile, in a sepulchral tone. "Nearly?
Arabella never did anything by halves or by nearlies. She became quite
crazy, and as far as I know has remained so until this day, for with the
restoration of consciousness, and the shock of opening her eyes to see
nothing that could speak with her, and yet had spoken, her mind gave
way, and she fled chattering like an imbecile from the room. I have
never seen her since!"
"And the fiend?" queried Toppleton.
"I saw him at St. George's on the following Wednesday," returned the
exile. "I had been wandering aimlessly and distractedly about London for
four days since the dreadful episode at Arabella's, when I came to St.
George's Church. There was an awning before the door, and from the
handsome equipages drawn up before the edifice I knew that some notable
function was going on within. The crowds, the usual London crowds, were
being kept back by the police, but I, of course, being invisible,
floated over their heads, past the guards, through the awning into the
church. There was a wedding in progress, and the groom's back seemed
familiar, though I could not place it at first, and naturally,
Toppleton, for it was my own, as I discovered, a moment later. When the
last irrevocable words binding me to a woman I had never before seen had
been spoken, and the organ began to peal forth the melodious measures of
the Lohengrin March, the bride and groom, made one, turned and faced
the brilliant assemblage of guests, among whom were the premier and the
members of his cabinet, and as complete a set of nabobs, mentioned in
Burke, as could be gathered in London at that time of the year, and I
recognized my own face wreathed in smiles, my own body dressed in
wedding garb, standing on the chancel steps ready to descend.
"I was married, Hopkins, at last. Married to a woman of beauty and
wealth and high position, utterly unknown to me, and not only were my
own mother and my best friends absent, but I myself had only happened in
by accident.
"My rage knew no bounds, and as the fiend and his bride passed down the
aisle amid the showered congratulations of the aristocratic multitude, I
impotently endeavoured to strike him, of which he was serenely
unconscious; but as he left the church my voice, which had been stifled
with indignation, at last grew clear, and I howled out high above the
crowds,--
"'You vile scoundrel, restore me to myself! Give me back the presence of
which you have robbed me, or may every curse in all the universe fall
upon you and your house for ever.'
"He heard me, Toppleton, and his answer was a smile--a green
smile--seeing which his bride, the Lady Ariadne Maude Fackleton, fainted
as they drove away.
"That, Hopkins, is substantially the tale of villainy I have come to
tell. Little remains to be told. The fiend has been true to his promise
to make me famous, for every passing year has brought some new honour to
my name. I have been elevated to the peerage; I have been ambassador to
the most brilliant courts of Europe; I have been all that one could hope
to be, and yet I have not been myself. I ask your assistance. Will you
not give it to me?"
"Edward," said Toppleton warmly, "I will. I will be candid with you,
Edward. I am almost as ignorant of law as a justice of the peace, but
for your sake I will study and see what can be done. I will fight your
case for you to the very last, but first tell me one thing. Your name is
what?"
"Edward Pompton Chatford."
"What!" cried Toppleton, "the famous novelist?"
"He made me so," said the exile.
"And the fiend's present title is?"
"Lord Barncastle of Burningford."
"He?" said Toppleton, incredulously, recognizing the name as that of one
who fairly bent beneath the honours of the world.
"None other," returned the exile.
"Heavens!" ejaculated Toppleton. "How Morley, Harkins, Perkins, Mawson,
Bronson, Smithers, and Hicks will open their eyes when I tell them that
I have been retained to institute _habeas corpus_ proceedings in the
case of Chatford v. Barncastle of Burningford! Morley particularly, I am
afraid will die of fright!"