NEW DISCOVERIES.
At last the opportunity came for which they had waited so long. For
many months Zillah's application to her studies had been incessant,
and the Earl began to notice signs of weariness in her. His
conscience smote him, and his anxiety was aroused. He had recovered
from his gout, and as he felt particularly well he determined to take
Zillah on a long drive, thinking that the change would be beneficial
to her. He began to fear that he had brought too great a pressure to
bear on her, and that she in her new-born zeal for study might carry
her self-devotion too far, and do some injury to her health. Hilda
declined going, and Zillah and the Earl started off for the day.
On that day Gualtier came at his usual hour. On looking round the
room he saw no signs of Zillah, and his eyes brightened as they fell
on Hilda.
"Mrs. Molyneux," said she, after the usual civilities, "has gone out
for a drive. She will not take her lesson to-day."
"Ah, well, shall I wait till your hour arrives, or will you take your
lesson now?"
"Oh, you need not wait," said Hilda; "I will take my lesson now. I
think I will appropriate both hours."
There was a glance of peculiar meaning in Hilda's eyes which Gualtier
noticed, but he cast his eyes meekly upon the floor. He had an idea
that the long looked for revelation was about to be given, but he did
not attempt to hasten it in any way. He was afraid that any
expression of eagerness on his part might repel Hilda, and,
therefore, he would not endanger his position by asking for any
thing, but rather waited to receive what she might voluntarily offer.
Hilda, however, was not at all anxious to be asked. Now that she
could converse with Gualtier, and not compromise herself, she had
made up her mind to give him her confidence. It was safe to talk to
this man in this room. The servants were few. They were far away. No
one would dream of trying to listen. They were sitting close together
near the piano.
"I have something to say to you," said Hilda at last.
Gualtier looked at her with earnest inquiry, but said nothing.
"You remember, of course, what we were talking about the last time we
spoke to one another?"
"Of course, I have never forgotten that."
"It was nearly two years ago," said Hilda, "At one time I did not
expect that such a conversation could ever be renewed. With the
General's death all need for it seemed to be destroyed. But now that
need seems to have arisen again."
"Have you ever deciphered the paper?" asked Gualtier.
"Not more than before," said Hilda. "But I have made a discovery of
the very greatest importance; something which entirely confirms my
former suspicions gathered from the cipher. They are additional
papers which I will show you presently, and then you will see whether
I am right or not. I never expected to find any thing of the kind. I
found them quite by chance, while I was half mechanically carrying
out my old idea. After the General's death I lost all interest in the
matter for some time, for there seemed before me no particular
inducement to go on with it. But this discovery has changed the whole
aspect of the affair."
"What was it that you found?" asked Gualtier, who was full of
curiosity. "Was it the key to the cipher, or was it a full
explanation, or was it something different?"
"They were certain letters and business papers. I will show them to
you presently. But before doing so I want to begin at the beginning.
The whole of that cipher is perfectly familiar to me, all its
difficulties are as insurmountable as ever, and before I show you
these new papers I want to refresh your memory about the old ones.
"You remember, first of all," said she, "the peculiar character of that
cipher writing, and of my interpretation. The part that I
deciphered seemed to be set in the other like a wedge, and while this
was decipherable the other was not."
Gualtier nodded.
"Now I want you to read again the part that I deciphered," said
Hilda, and she handed him a piece of paper on which something was
written. Gualtier took it and read the following, which the reader
has already seen. Each sentence was numbered.
1._ Oh may God have mercy on my wretched soul Amen_
2. _O Pomeroy forged a hundred thousand dollars_
3. _O N Pomeroy eloped with poor Lady Chetwynde_
4. _She acted out of a mad impulse in flying_
5. _She listened to me and ran off with me_
6. _She was piqued at her husband's act_
7. _Fell in with Lady Mary Chetwynd_
8. _Expelled the army for gaming_
9. _N Pomeroy of Pomeroy Berks_
10. _O I am a miserable villain_
Gualtier looked over it and then handed it back.
"Yes," said he, "I remember, of course, for I happen to know every
word of it by heart."
"That is very well," said Hilda, approvingly. "And now I want to
remind you of the difficulties in my interpretation before going on
any further.
"You remember that these were, first, the con fusion in the way of
writing the name, for here there is 'O Pomeroy,' 'O N Pomeroy,' and
'N Pomeroy,' in so short a document.
"Next, there is the mixture of persons, the writer sometimes speaking
in the first person and sometimes in the third, as, for instance,
when he says, '_O N Pomeroy_ eloped with poor Lady Chetwynde;' and
then he says, 'She listened to _me_ and ran off with me.'
"And then there are the incomplete sentences, such as, 'Fell in with
Lady Mary Chetwynd'--'Expelled the army for gaming.'
"Lastly, there are two ways in which the lady's name is spelled,
'Chetwynde,' and 'Chetwynd.'
"You remember we decided that these might be accounted for in one of
two ways. Either, first, the writer, in copying it out, grew confused
in forming his cipher characters; or, secondly, he framed the whole
paper with a deliberate purpose to baffle and perplex."
"I remember all this," said Gualtier, quietly. "I have not forgotten
it."
"The General's death changed the aspect of affairs so completely,"
said Hilda, "and made this so apparently useless, that I thought you
might have forgotten at least these minute particulars. It is
necessary for you to have these things fresh in your mind, so as to
regard the whole subject thoroughly."
"But what good will any discovery be now?" asked Gualtier, with
unfeigned surprise. "The General is dead, and you can do nothing."
"The General is dead," said Hilda; "but the General's daughter
lives."
Nothing could exceed the bitterness of the tone in which she uttered
these words.
"His daughter! Of what possible concern can all this be to her?"
asked Gualtier, who wished to get at the bottom of Hilda's purpose.
"I should never have tried to strike at the General," said Hilda, "if
he had not had a daughter. It was not him that I wished to harm. It
was _her_."
"And now," said Gualtier, after a silence, "she is out of your reach.
She is Mrs. Molyneux. She will be the Countess of Chetwynde. How can
she be harmed?"
As he spoke he looked with a swift interrogative glance at Hilda, and
then turned away his eyes.
"True," said Hilda, cautiously and slowly; "she is beyond my reach.
Besides, you will observe that I was speaking of the past. I was
telling what I wished--not what I wish."
"That is precisely what I understood," said Gualtier. "I only asked
so as to know how your wishes now inclined. I am anxious to serve you
in any way."
"So you have said before, and I take you at your word," said Hilda,
calmly. "I have once before reposed confidence in you, and I intend
to do so again."
Gualtier bowed, and murmured some words of grateful acknowledgment.
"My work now," said Hilda, without seeming to notice him, "is one of
investigation. I merely wish to get to the bottom of a secret. It is
to this that I have concluded to invite your assistance."
"You are assured of that already, Miss Krieff," said Gualtier, in a
tone of deep devotion. "Call it investigation, or call it any thing
you choose, if you deign to ask my assistance I will do any thing and
dare any thing."
Hilda laughed harshly.
"In truth," said she, dryly, "this does not require much daring, but
it may cause trouble--it may also take up valuable time. I do not ask
for any risks, but rather for the employment of the most ordinary
qualities. Patience and perseverance will do all that I wish to have
done."
"I am sorry, Miss Krieff, that there is nothing more than this. I
should prefer to go on some enterprise of danger for your sake."
He laid a strong emphasis on these last words, but Hilda did not seem
to notice it. She continued, in a calm tone:
"All this is talking in the dark. I must explain myself instead of
talking round about the subject. To begin, then. Since our last
interview I could find out nothing whatever that tended to throw any
light on that mysterious cipher writing. Why it was written, or why
it should be so carefully preserved, I could not discover. The
General's death seemed to make it useless, and so for a long time I
ceased to think about it. It was only on my last visit to Pomeroy
Court that it came to my mind. That was six or eight months ago.
"On going there Mrs. Molyneux gave herself up to grief, and scarcely
ever spoke a word. She was much by herself, and brooded over her
sorrows. She spent much time in her father's room, and still more
time in solitary walks about the grounds. I was much by myself. Left
thus alone, I rambled about the house, and one day happened to go to
the General's study. Here every thing remained almost exactly as it
used to be. It was here that I found the cipher writing, and, on
visiting it again, the circumstances of that discovery naturally
suggested themselves to my mind."
Hilda had warmed with her theme, and spoke with something like
recklessness, as though she was prepared at last to throw away every
scruple and make a full confidence. The allusion to the discovery of
the cipher was a reminder to herself and to Gualtier of her former
dishonorable conduct. Having once more touched upon this, it was
easier for her to reveal new treachery upon her part. Nevertheless
she paused for a moment, and looked with earnest scrutiny upon her
companion. He regarded her with a look of silent devotion which
seemed to express any degree of subserviency to her interests, and
disarmed every suspicion. Reassured by this, she continued:
"It happened that I began to examine the General's papers. It was
quite accidental, and arose merely from the fact that I had nothing
else to do. It was almost mechanical on impart. At any rate I opened
the desk, and found it full of documents of all kinds which had been
apparently undisturbed for an indefinite period. Naturally enough I
examined the drawer in which I had found the cipher writing, and was
able to do so quite at my leisure. On first opening it I found only
some business papers. The cipher was no longer there. I searched
among all the other papers to find it, but in vain. I then concluded
that he had destroyed it. For several days I continued to examine
that desk, but with no result. It seemed to fascinate me. At last,
however, I came to the conclusion that nothing more could be
discovered.
"All this time Mrs. Molyneux left me quite to myself, and my search
in the desk and my discouragement were altogether unknown to her.
After about a week I gave up the desk and tore myself away. Still I
could not keep away from it, and at the end of another week I
returned to the search. This time I went with the intention of
examining all the drawers, to see if there was not some additional
place of concealment.
"It is not necessary for me to describe to you minutely the various
trials which I made. It is quite enough for me now to say that I at
last found out that in that very private drawer where I had first
discovered the cipher writing there was a false bottom of very
peculiar construction. It lay close to the real bottom, fitting in
very nicely, and left room only for a few thin papers. The false
bottom and the real bottom were so thin that no one could suspect any
thing of the kind. Something about the position of the drawer led me
to examine it minutely, and the idea of a false bottom came to my
mind. I could not find out the secret of it, and it was only by the
very rude process of prying at it with a knife that I at length made
the discovery."
She paused.
"And did you find any thing?" said Gualtier, eagerly.
"I did."
"Papers?"
"Yes. The old cipher writing was there--shut up--concealed carefully,
jealously--doubly concealed, in fact. Was not this enough to show
that it had importance in the eyes of the man who had thus concealed
it? It must be so. Nothing but a belief in its immense importance
could possibly have led to such extraordinary pains in the
concealment of it. This I felt, and this conviction only intensified
my desire to get at the bottom of the mystery which it incloses. And
this much I saw plainly--that the deciphering which I have made
carries in itself so dread a confession, that the man who made it
would willingly conceal it both in cipher writing and in secret
drawers."
[Illustration: The Old Cipher Writing Was There.]
"But of course," said Gualtier, taking advantage of a pause, "you
found something else besides the cipher. With that you were already
familiar."
"Yes, and it is this that I am going to tell you about. There were
some papers which had evidently been there for a long time, kept
there in the same place with the cipher writing. When I first found
them I merely looked hastily over them, and then folded them all up
together, and took them away so as to examine them in my own room at
leisure. On looking over them I found the names which I expected
occurring frequently. There was the name of O. N. Pomeroy and the
name of Lady Chetwynde. In addition to these there was another name,
and a very singular one. The name is Obed Chute, and seems to me to
be an American name. At any rate the owner of it lived in America."
"Obed Chute," repeated Gualtier, with the air of one who is trying to
fasten something on his memory.
"Yes; and he seems to have lived in New York."
"What was the nature of the connection which he had with the others?"
"I should conjecture that he was a kind of guide, philosopher, and
friend, with a little of the agent and commission-merchant," replied
Hilda. "But it is impossible to find out anything in particular about
him from the meagre letters which I obtained. I found nothing else
except these papers, though I searched diligently. Every thing is
contained here. I have them, and I intend to show them to you without
any further delay."
Saying this Hilda drew some papers from her pocket, and handed them
to Gualtier.
On opening them Gualtier found first a paper covered with cipher
writing. It was the same which Hilda had copied, and the characters
were familiar to him from his former attempt to decipher them. The
paper was thick and coarse, but Hilda had copied the characters very
faithfully.
The next paper was a receipt written out on a small sheet which was
yellow with age, while the ink had faded into a pale brown:
"$100,000. NEW YORK, May 10, 1840.
"Received from O. N. Pomeroy the sum of one hundred thousand dollars
in payment for my claim.
"OBED CHUTE."
It was a singular document in every respect; but the mention of the
sum of money seemed to confirm the statement gathered from the cipher
writing.
The next document was a letter:
"NEW YORK, August 23, 1840.
"DEAR SIR,--I take great pleasure in informing you that L. C. has
experienced a change, and is now slowly recovering. I assure you that
no pains shall be spared to hasten her cure. The best that New York
can afford is at her service. I hope soon to acquaint you with her
entire recovery. Until then, believe me,
"Yours truly, OBED CHUTE.
"Capt. O. N. POMEROY."
The next paper was a letter written in a lady's hand. It was very
short:
"NEW YORK, September 20, 1840.
"Farewell, dearest friend and more than brother. After a long
sickness I have at last recovered through the mercy of God and the
kindness of Mr. Chute. We shall never meet again on earth; but I will
pray for your happiness till my latest breath.
"MARY CHETWYNDE."
There was only one other. It was a letter also, and was as follows:
"NEW YORK, October 10, 1840.
"DEAR SIR,--I have great pleasure in informing you that your friend
L. C. has at length entirely recovered. She is very much broken down,
however; her hair is quite gray, and she looks twenty years older.
She is deeply penitent and profoundly sad. She is to leave me
to-morrow, and will join the Sisters of Charity. You will feel with
me that this is best for herself and for all. I remain yours, very
truly,
"OBED CHUTE.
"Capt. O. N. POMEROY."
Gualtier read these letters several times in deep and thoughtful
silence. Then he sat in profound thought for some time.
"Well," said Hilda at length, with some impatience, "what do you
think of these?"
"What do _you_ think?" asked Gualtier.
"I?" returned Hilda. "I will tell you what I think; and as I have
brooded over these for eight months now, I can only say that I am
more confirmed than ever in my first impressions. To me, then, these
papers seem to point out two great facts--the first being that of the
forgery; and the second that of the elopement. Beyond this I see
something else. The forgery has been arranged by the payment of the
amount. The elopement also has come to a miserable termination. Lady
Chetwynde seems to have been deserted by her lover, who left her
perhaps in New York. She fell ill, very ill, and suffered so that on
her recovery she had grown in appearance twenty years older.
Broken-hearted, she did not dare to go back to her friends, but
joined the Sisters of Charity. She is no doubt dead long ago. As to
this Chute, he seems to me perhaps to have been a kind of tool of the
lover, who employed him probably to settle his forgery business, and
also to take care of the unhappy woman whom he had ruined and
deserted. He wrote these few letters to keep the recreant lover
informed about her fate. In the midst of these there is the last
despairing farewell of the unhappy creature herself. All these the
conscience-stricken lover has carefully preserved. In addition to
these, no doubt for the sake of easing his conscience, he wrote out a
confession of his sin. But he was too great a coward to write it out
plainly, and therefore wrote it in cipher. I believe that he would
have destroyed them all if he had found time; but his accident came
too quickly for this, and he has left these papers as a legacy to the
discoverer."
As Hilda spoke Gualtier gazed at her with unfeigned admiration.
"You are right," said he. "Every word that you speak is as true as
fate. You have penetrated to the very bottom of this secret. I
believe that this is the true solution. Your genius has solved the
mystery."
"The mystery," repeated Hilda, who showed no emotion whatever at the
fervent admiration of Gualtier--"the mystery is as far from solution
as ever."
"Have you not solved it?"
"Certainly not. Mine, after all, are merely conjectures. Much more
remains to be done. In the first place, I must find out something
about Lady Chetwynde. For months I have tried, but in vain. I have
ventured as far as I dared to question the people about here. Once I
hinted to Mrs. Hart something about the elopement, and she turned
upon me with that in her eyes which would have turned an ordinary
mortal into stone. Fortunately for me, I bore it, and survived. But
since that unfortunate question she shuns me more than ever. The
other servants know nothing, or else they will reveal nothing.
Nothing, in fact, can be discovered here. The mystery is yet to be
explained, and the explanation must be sought elsewhere."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"Have you thought of any thing? You must have, or you would not have
communicated with me. There is some work which you wish me to do. You
have thought about it, and have determined it. What is it? Is it to
go to America? Shall I hunt up Obed Chute? Shall I search through the
convents till I find that Sister who once was Lady Chetwynde? Tell
me. If you say so I will go."
Hilda mused; then she spoke, as though rather to herself than to her
companion.
"I don't know. I have no plans--no definite aim, beyond a desire to
find out what it all means, and what there is in it. What can I do?
What could I do if I found out all? I really do not know. If General
Pomeroy were alive, it might be possible to extort from him a
confession of his crimes, and make them known to the world."
"If General Pomeroy were alive," interrupted Gualtier, "and were to
confess all his crimes, what good would that do?"
"What good?" cried Hilda, in a tone of far greater vehemence and
passion than any which had yet escaped her. "What good? Humiliation,
sorrow, shame, anguish, for his daughter! It is not on his head that
I wish these to descend, but on hers. You look surprised. You wonder
why? I will not tell you--not now, at least. It is not because she is
passionate and disagreeable; that is a trifle, and besides she has
changed from that; it is not because she ever injured me--she never
injured me; she loves me; but"--and Hilda's brow grew dark, and her
eyes flashed as she spoke--"there are other reasons, deeper than all
this--reasons which I will not divulge even to you, but which yet are
sufficient to make me long and yearn and crave for some opportunity
to bring down her proud head into the very dust."
"And that opportunity shall be yours," cried Gualtier, vehemently.
"To do this it is only necessary to find out the whole truth. I will
find it out. I will search over all England and all America till I
discover all that you want to know. General Pomeroy is dead. What
matter? He is nothing to you. But she lives, and is a mark for your
vengeance."
"I have said more than I intended to," said Hilda, suddenly resuming
her coolness. "At any rate, I take you at your word. If you want
money, I can supply it."
"Money?" said Gualtier, with a light laugh. "No, no. It is something
far more than that which I want. When I have succeeded in my search I
will tell you. To tell it now would be premature. But when shall I
start? Now?"
"Oh no," said Hilda, who showed no emotion one way or the other at
the hint which he had thrown out. "Oh no, do nothing suddenly. Wait
until your quarter is up. When will it be out?"
"In six weeks. Shall I wait?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, in six weeks I will go."
"Very well."
"And if I don't succeed I shall never come back."
Hilda was silent.
"Is it arranged, then?" said Gualtier, after a time.
"Yes; and now I will take my music lesson."
And Hilda walked over to the piano.
After this interview no further opportunity occurred. Gualtier came
every day as before. In a fortnight he gave notice to the Earl that
pressing private engagements would require his departure. He begged
leave to recommend a friend of his, Mr. Hilaire. The Earl had an
interview with Gualtier, and courteously expressed his regret at his
departure, asking him at the same time to write to Mr. Hilaire and
get him to come. This Gualtier promised to do.
Shortly before the time of Gualtier's departure Mr. Hilaire arrived.
Gualtier took him to the Castle, and he was recognized as the new
teacher.
In a few days Gualtier took his departure.