It was past nightfall when Major Keene returned to Dorade. As he drove
past the hotel where the Tresilyans lodged he looked up at the windows
of their apartments, and was somewhat surprised to _see_ no light there;
but no suspicion of the truth crossed his mind. He had made all
preparations for the intended flight with his habitual skill and
foresight. The Levantine steamer left Marseilles early on the third
morning from this, and relays were so ordered along the road as to
prevent the possibility of being overtaken, and just to hit the hour of
the vessel's sailing. So far every thing seemed to promise favorably for
the accomplishment of his purposes, and Royston could not have explained
even to himself the reason of his feeling so moody and discontented. He
went straight to his own rooms, without looking in at the Molyneuxs';
for he was heated and travel-stained; and, under such circumstances, was
wont to postpone the greeting of friends to the exigencies of the
toilet. This was scarcely concluded when his servant brought him Mark
Waring's card, with a request penciled on it for an immediate interview.
Even the Cool Captain started perceptibly when he read the name. He was
well acquainted with the episode connected with it; for Cecil had kept
back none of her secrets from him, and this was among the earliest
confidences. _Then_ he had felt no inclination to sneer; but now his lip
began to curl cynically.
"_Coramba!_" he muttered; "the plot begins to thicken. What brings the
old lover _en scène_? I hope he does not mean to make himself
disagreeable. I haven't time to quarrel just now; and, besides, it would
worry Cecil. Well, we'll find out what he wants. Tell Mr. Waring that I
am disengaged, and shall be happy to see him."
The major advanced to meet his visitor with a manner that was perfectly
courteous, though it retained a tinge of haughty surprise.
"I can not guess to what I am indebted for this pleasure," he said.
"Pardon me, if I ask you to explain your object as briefly as possible.
I have much to do this evening, and my time is hardly my own."
Waring gazed fixedly at the speaker for a few seconds before he replied.
Like most of his profession, he was an acute physiognomist, and in that
brief space he fathomed much of the character of the man who had rivaled
him successfully. He confessed honestly to himself that there were
grounds, if not excuse, for Cecil's infatuation; but he shrank from
thinking of the danger which she had escaped so narrowly.
"Yes, I will be as brief as possible," Mark answered at length. "Neither
of us will be tempted to prolong this interview unnecessarily. I have
promised to deliver a letter to you, and when you have read it I shall
have but very few words to say."
A stronger proof than Keene had ever yet given of superhuman control
over his emotions was the fact that, neither by quivering of eyelid,
change of color, or motion of muscle, did he betray the faintest
astonishment or concern as he took the letter from Waring, and
recognized Cecil's hand on the cover. It was not a long epistle, for it
scarcely extended beyond two sides of a note-sheet. The writing was
hurried, and in places almost illegible: it had entirely lost the firm,
even character which usually distinguished it, from which a very
moderate graphiologist might have drawn successful auguries. Perhaps
this was the reason that Royston read it through twice slowly. As he did
so his countenance altered fearfully; the deadly white look of dangerous
passion overspread it all, and his eyes began to gleam. Yet still he
spoke calmly--"You knew of this being written?"
"I am happy to say I was more than passively conscious of it," Mark
replied. "I did all in my power to bring about the result that you are
now made aware of, and I thank God that I did not fail."
While the other was speaking Royston was tearing up the paper he held
into the smallest shreds, and dropping them one by one. The act might
have been involuntary, but seemed to have a savage viciousness about it,
as if a living thing were being tortured by those cruel fingers. (The
poor letter! whatever its faults might have been, it surely deserved a
better fate: it was doubtless not a model of composition, but some of
the epistles which have moved us most in our time, either for joy or
sorrow, might not in this respect emulate Montague or Chapone.) Still he
controlled himself, with a mighty effort, enough to ask, steadily, "Were
you weary of your life, to have done all this, and then come here to
tell me so?"
Waring laughed drearily.
"Weary? So weary that, if it had not been for scruples you can not
understand, I would have got rid of it long ago. But I need not inflict
my confidences on you, and I don't choose to see the drift of your
question."
The devil had so thoroughly by this time possessed Royston Keene, that
even his voice was changed into a hoarse, guttural whisper. "I asked,
because I mean to kill you."
Mark's gaze met the savage eyes that gleamed like a famished panther's,
with an expression too calm for defiance, though there might have been
perhaps a shade of contempt.
"Of course I shall guard my own life as best I may, either here or
elsewhere, but I do not apprehend it is in great danger. There is an old
proverb about 'threatened men;' they are not killed so easily as women
are betrayed. Beyond the simplest self-defense, I warn you that I shall
not resent any insult or attack. I will not meet you in the field; and
as for any personal struggle, I don't think that even you would like to
make Cecil Tresilyan the occasion for a broil that might suit two
drunken peasants."
Though shorter by half a head, and altogether cast in a less colossal
mould, as he stood there, with his square, well-knit frame, and bold
Saxon face, he looked no contemptible antagonist to confront the swarthy
giant. In utter insensibility to fear and carelessness of consequences
(so far as they could affect a steady resolve), the Cool Captain had met
his match at last. Even then, in the crisis of his stormy passion, he
was able to appreciate a hardihood so congenial to his own character;
pondering upon these things afterward, he always confessed that at this
juncture, and indeed all throughout, his opponent had very much the best
of it. Ferocity and violence seemed puerile and out of place when
contrasted with that tranquil audacity. He covered his eyes with his
hand for a moment or so, and when he raised his face it had recovered
its natural impassibility, though the ghastly pallor still remained.
Besides, the truth of Waring's last words struck him forcibly. He
muttered under his breath, "By G--d, he's right _there_, at all events;"
then he said aloud, "Well, it appears you won't fight, so there is
little more to be said between us. You think you can thwart my purposes
or mould them as you like. We'll try it. I told you I had many things to
do to-night: I have one more than I dreamed of on hand. I wish to be
alone."
Mark gazed wistfully at the speaker without stirring from his seat. "I
know what your intention is perfectly well. You mean to follow her. I
believe it would be quite in vain; you have misjudged Cecil Tresilyan,
if you fancy that she would alter her determination twice. But you might
give her great pain, and compromise her more cruelly than you have done
already. There are obstacles now in your way that you could not
encounter without causing open scandal. Her brother's suspicions are
fairly roused by this time, and he can not help doing his duty: he may
be weak and credulous, but he is no coward. There is no fear of farther
interference from me: my part is played. But I do beseech you to pause.
Supposing the very worst--that you could still succeed in persuading
Cecil to her ruin--are you prepared deliberately to accept the
consequences of the crime? You are far more experienced in such matters
than I: do you know a single instance of such guilt being accomplished
where _both_, before the year was ended, did not wish it undone? I do
not pretend to be interested about your future; but I believe I am
speaking now as your dearest friend might speak. You both delude
yourselves miserably if you think that Cecil could live under disgrace.
I do you so much justice. You would find it unendurable to see her
withering away day by day, with no prospect before her but a hopeless
death. In God's name, draw back while there is time. It is only a sharp
struggle, and self-command and self-denial will come. Loneliness is
bitter to bear: _I_ know that; but what is manhood worth if it can not
bear its burdens? I have put every thing on the lowest grounds, and I
will ask you one question more--you might guard her from some suffering
by hiding her from the world's scorn--could you guard yourself against
satiety?"
He spoke without a trace of anger or animosity, and the grave, kind
tones made some way in the winding avenues leading to Royston's heart.
Besides this, the last word struck the chord of the misgiving that had
haunted him ever since he proposed the flight, and had already made him
half repent it. But the fortress did not yet surrender.
"All this while you have had some idea of improving your own position
with Cecil. It is natural enough: yet I fancy you will find yourself
mistaken there."
Instead of flushing at the taunt, Waring's face grew paler, and there
shot across it a sharp spasm of pain.
"So you can not understand disinterestedness," he said. "Before I
ventured on interference, I was aware of the certain consequences, and
weighed them all. Miss Tresilyan thought she had done me some wrong; and
I trusted to her generosity to help me when I spoke for the right. But I
knew that the spell could only be used once, and that the canceled debt
could not be revived. I shall never speak to her--perhaps never see
her--on earth again. Do you imagine I love her less for that? Hear this:
I suppose I have as much pride as most men; but I would kneel down here
and set your foot on my neck if I thought the humiliation would save her
one iota of shame or sorrow."
Keene was fairly vanquished. He was filled with a great contempt for his
own guilty passion, compared with the pure self-sacrifice of Mark's
simple chivalry. He raised his eyes from the ground, on which they had
been bent gloomily while the other was speaking, and answered without
hesitation, "I owe you some amends for much that has been said to-night;
and I will not keep you in suspense a moment unnecessarily. I shall
leave Dorade to-morrow; but it will not be to follow Cecil Tresilyan.
More than this: if there is any chance of our meeting hereafter, on my
honor, I will avoid it. I wish many things could be unsaid and undone;
but nothing has occurred that is past remedy. As far as any future
intentions of mine are concerned, I swear she is as safe as if she were
my sister."
Waring drew a long breath, as if a ponderous weight had been lifted from
his chest. "I believe you," he said simply: then he rose to go. He had
almost reached the door, when he turned suddenly and stretched out his
hand. It was a perfectly unaccountable and perhaps involuntary impulse;
for he still could not absolve the other from dark and heavy guilt. The
major held it for a few seconds in a gripe that would have paralyzed
weaker fingers: even Mark's tough joints and muscles were long in
forgetting it. He muttered these words between his teeth as he let it
go--"_You_ were worthy of her." So the interview ended--in peace.
Nevertheless, there was little peace that night for Royston Keene; he
passed it alone--how, no mortal can know; but the next morning his
appearance fully bore out the truth of the ancient aphorism, "There is
no rest for the wicked." His face was set in the stoniest calmness, but
the features were haggard and drawn, and fresh lines and furrows were
there deeper than should have been engraved by half a score of years. A
violent, passionate nature does not lightly resign the one object of
its aims and desires. Larches and firs will bear moving cautiously, for
they are well-regulated plants, and natives of a frigid zone; but
transplanting rarely succeeds in the tropics.
Harry Molyneux came to his friend's apartments early on the following
day, in a very uncomfortable and perplexed frame of mind. In the first
place, he was sensible of that depression of spirits which is always the
portion of those who are left behind when any social circle is broken up
by the removal of its principal elements. There is no such nuisance as
having to stay and put the lights out. Besides this, he was quite
uncertain in what temper Royston would be found; and apprehended some
desperate outbreak from the latter, which would bring things, already
sufficiently complicated, into a more perilous coil.
Keene's first abrupt words in part reassured him.
"Well, it is all over; and I am going straight back to England."
Harry felt so relieved that he forgot to be considerate: he could not
repress his exultation.
"Is it really all over? I am so very glad!"
"And I am not sorry," was the reply. The speaker probably persuaded
himself that he was uttering the truth; but the dreary, hopeless
expression of his stricken face gave his words the lie. It cut deep into
Molyneux's kind heart; he felt more painfully than he had ever done the
difficulty of reconciling his evident duty with the demand of an ancient
friendship; on the whole, a guilty consciousness of treachery
predominated. He was discreet enough to forbear all questions, and it
was not till long afterward that he heard an outline of part of what had
happened in the past night; it was told in a letter from Miss Tresilyan
to his wife. Had he been more inquisitive, his curiosity would scarcely
have been gratified. To do Keene justice, he guarded the secrets of
others more jealously than he kept his own: and he would have despised
himself for revealing one of Cecil's, even to his old comrade, without
her knowledge and leave. If the feeling which prompted such reticence
was not a high and delicate sense of honor, it was at least a very
efficient substitute for a profitable virtue.
"You go to England?" Molyneux went on, after a brief pause. "When do you
start? and what do you mean to do?"
Royston looked up, and saw his own discontent reflected in the
countenance of his faithful subaltern; he knew he had found there the
sympathy that he was too proud to ask of any living man.
"I start to-night," he replied; "so you see I have no time to lose. I
can hardly tell you what I mean to do, Hal. Do you remember what we said
about the best way of spending our resources? Well--I have broken into
my last large note; and I suppose I must get rid somehow of the change."
Harry's answer was not very ready, nor very distinct when it came. "I
wish--I wish, I could help you!"
For one moment, there returned to Keene's disciplined face a good,
natural expression, which had been a stranger there since the days of
his hot youth; when he first went forth to buckle with the world--frank,
and honest, and fearless; his voice, too, had softened almost to
tenderness. "Old friend, the time has come to say good-by. Our roads
have been the same--for longer than I like to think of: but henceforth
they must lie so far apart, that I doubt if they will ever cross again.
You will see me off, I know; but I may not be able to say then a dozen
words that I should be sorry to leave unsaid. I'll do you this
justice--in no one instance have I ever seen you flinch when I wanted
your help; though often you had no object of your own to serve. I
believe no man ever had a cheerier comrade, or a better backer. I don't
like you the worse for standing aloof during the last five weeks. I
never had one unpleasant word from you; but if any of mine have vexed or
offended you--see now--I ask your forgiveness from the bottom of my
heart."
It is no shame to Harry's manhood that he could not answer intelligibly;
but ten sentences of elaborate sentiment would hardly have been so
eloquent as the pressure of his honest hand.
Later in the day, Keene went to take leave of _la mignonne_. He did so
with pain and reluctance. Men, utterly hard and merciless toward their
own species, have been very fond of their pets; even when these last
belonged to an inferior order of creation. Couthon would fondle his
spaniel while he was signing a sheaf of death-warrants; and the Prophet,
who could contemplate placidly a dozen cities in flames, and watch human
hecatombs falling under the sword of Omar or Ali, cut off the sleeve of
his robe rather than disturb a favorite cat in her slumbers.
Nevertheless, when two people agree to ignore carefully the one subject
that is uppermost in the thoughts of both, the result must be an
uncomfortable constraint and reserve. So the adieus, up to a certain
point, were rather formal. But just as he was going, the same impulse
overcame Royston which had affected him in his interview with Harry
Molyneux. Considering that the age of miracles is past, it was
remarkable that twice in one day the Cool Captain should have approached
so near to the verge of sentimentalism.
"I hope that I shall see you again before long," he said, "but nothing
seems certain--not even the meeting of friends. I should like to thank
you now for some pleasant days and evenings. You have brought a good
deal of sunshine into my life, since I knew you first. I like to think
that, neither in deed nor intention, I have ever deliberately done you
or Harry any harm. I hope you will go on taking as much care of him, and
making him as perfectly happy as you have done. Perhaps I have vexed you
both, lately; but all that is over, and I fancy the punishment will be
proportionate to the offense before it is ended. Farewell. Don't forget
me sooner than you can help; and while you do remember me, think of me
as kindly as you can."
He leaned over her as he finished speaking, and his lips just brushed
her smooth forehead. When Charles the martyr embraced his children an
hour before his death, they received no purer or more sinless kiss. A
sob choked Fanny's voice when she would have replied; and the beautiful
brown eyes were so dim with rushing tears, that they never saw him go.
Keene's last visit in Dorade was to the Vicomte de Châteaumesnil. The
latter manifested no surprise at the sudden departure, and expressed his
regrets with a perfectly calm courtesy. But, at the moment of
leave-taking, he detained the other's hand for a second or so and said,
looking wistfully in his face, "Ainsi, vous partez seul? je ne l'aurais
pas cru; et, je l'avoue franchement, ça me contrarie. N'importe; je
connois votre jeu; et je ne vous tiens pas pour battu, quand c'est
manche à. Ce serait une bêtise, de dire--'au revoir.' Adieu; amusez vous
bien."
Royston shook his head impatiently; he was too proud to save his credit
by dissembling a defeat; and his reply was quick and decisive.
"Vous me flattez, M. le Vicomte. Quand on perd, on doit, au moins
l'avouer loyalement, et payer l'en jeu. Cette fois j'ai tant perdu, que
je ne prendrai pas la revanche."
Not another word was exchanged between them; but Armand had accepted
repulses in his time with more equanimity than he could muster when
ruminating afterward on the discomfiture of Royston Keene.
Some days later the subject was discussed at the Cercle, and one of the
_habitués_ hazarded several cunning conjectures, and more than cynical
surmises. (Did you ever hear a thoroughly profligate Frenchman sneer a
woman's character away? It is almost worth while overcoming your disgust
to listen to the diabolical ingenuity of his innuendoes. The scandal of
our bitterest dowagers sounds charitable by comparison.) The savage
outbreak of the Algerian's temper, that every one had long been
expecting, came at last with a vengeance.
"Tu mens, canaille! C'est le meilleur éloge de M. Keene, que les marans
comme toi, ne puissent le comprendre. Quand à Mademoiselle--elle vaut
mille fois tes soeurs, et ta mère. Si tu as le coeur de pousser
l'affaire, je te donnerai raison sur mes béquilles. Pour le pistolet, ma
main n'est pas encore percluse." He held it out, as steady and strong as
it was in the old days when it could sway the sabre from dawn to
twilight and never know weariness.
If the other persuaded himself that consideration for the invalid's
infirmities made him patient under the insult, his friends were less
romantically credulous: the stigma of that night cleaves to him still.
Brazen it out as he may, the hang-dog look remains, telling us that the
barriers have been at least once broken down which separate the man from
the serf. There would be, perhaps, less mischief abroad if slander were
always so promptly and amply avenged.