MR. DOMBRAIN SHOWS HIS TEETH.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth--
That, as I take it, is Bible-truth.
You have robbed me of my good name;
I will bring you to want and shame.
Both are wicked, so both shall fall--
God in His Heaven shall judge of it all.
Mrs. Belswin brought it all on herself. She would play with fire, and
although a life-long experience had taught her how dangerous was that
pastime, she nevertheless indulged in it, even at the risk of burning
her fingers. Indeed, so many times had she rushed into danger in her
fierce, impulsive way, and so many times had she emerged scatheless by
sheer good luck, that she became reckless in her daring, and at last
the inevitable happened--she went too far.
Everything was now progressing smoothly, both with herself and with
those she loved. Kaituna had received an unexpected access of fortune,
so that the difficulties of her marriage with Archie Maxwell were now
removed by the power of gold; and Mrs. Belswin herself, living
constantly with her darling, had now nothing left to wish for.
Yes! there was one thing she desired, and that was to see Silas Oates,
in order to taunt him with the news of her good fortune. It was sheer
devilry made her do this, as she cared nothing for her old lover; but
some fiend having whispered in her ear that good fortune to her would
be gall and wormwood to the American, she one day went straight to the
Langham Hotel, in order to enjoy her triumph. Luckily for himself,
Oates was absent in Paris at the time, where he had gone on a matter
of business; but on his return he found Mrs. Belswin's card, and
naturally enough being ignorant of her real object in paying him a
visit, thought she had called for the sole purpose of getting more
money out of him.
Silas Oates, in a most unjust fashion, did not blame his quondam
lady-love for her persistency, knowing her real nature too well to
expect anything from her; but he blamed Mr. Dombrain for not keeping
his promise, and making Mrs. Belswin stop her pecuniary importunities.
The lady herself had entirely forgotten Mr. Dombrain and his threats,
or if she did remember them it was with a contemptuous sneer, as she
thought in her own heart that he could do nothing to harm her. But if
Mrs. Belswin thus proved forgetful of the solicitor, Silas Oates did
not. Mr. Oates was genuinely angry at the way Dombrain permitted Mrs.
Belswin to annoy him, so, as the unfortunate lawyer had omitted to
fulfil his promise of acting as watch-dog, the American determined to
punish him as he had threatened for his negligence.
Silas went about the affair in a way peculiarly his own, and in a very
few days Mr. Dombrain received a letter demanding an explanation of
certain allegations concerning his past made against him by an
American gentleman. The unfortunate man was quite stunned at the
suddenness of his calamity; nor was he comforted when a spiteful note
arrived from Silas, which stated that he had revealed everything about
the convict Damberton to the Law Society, as a punishment for the
negligence of the lawyer Dombrain. Of course the poor wretch could not
defend himself, although he made a feeble attempt to do so; and the
consequence of Mrs. Belswin's folly and Mr. Oates's letter was, that
Alfred Dombrain of London, Solicitor, was struck off the rolls, as not
fit to have his name inscribed thereon.
It was truly a terrible thing to happen to this man, who, not having
saved much money, now found himself reduced from an honourable
profession, which gained him a competence, to a disgraceful position
and absolute beggary. The loss of his money troubled him but little,
the loss of his name a great deal, for having once more regained the
esteem of his fellow-men by years of exemplary life, he felt keenly
the bitterness of being reduced to the same ignoble position he had
occupied years before. He tried every means in his power to escape the
disgrace, but the Law Society were relentless, and Dombrain, lawyer,
once more became that phantom of the past--Damberton, outcast.
Neither lawyer nor outcast, however, were satisfied to accept this
crushing blow without making some return thereto; and when Mr.
Dombrain found that all his ideas of respectability were at an end, he
turned round venomously to punish Mrs. Belswin, whom he considered to
be the main cause of his unmerited disgrace. He did not write to her,
he did not see her, he did not even mention her name to a soul, but he
went straight to the nearest police magistrate, told his story of what
had taken place at Thornstream on that fatal night, and, as a result,
obtained a warrant of arrest against Mrs. Belswin for the murder of
Sir Rupert Pethram. This being done, he departed, in company with two
detectives, to feast his eyes on the disgrace of this woman, who had
cost him his hardly earned position; and for the first time for many
days he laughed--not a pleasant laugh, but a nasty, sardonic, sneering
laugh, which boded ill to the liberty and peace of mind of Jezebel
Manners, alias Lady Pethram, alias Mrs. Belswin. In spite of the
tragic force of the whole matter, there was something positively
grotesque in the situation; for Silas Oates wronged by Mrs. Belswin,
had revenged himself upon Mr. Dombrain; and Mr. Dombrain wronged by
Silas Oates, had revenged himself upon Mrs. Belswin. It was a
three-cornered duel, to speak paradoxically, in which every one shot
at every one else, but the only person of the three principals who
came off scot-free was the American, and he appreciated the grim irony
of the situation.
Meanwhile Mrs. Belswin, quite unaware how dearly her attempt to see
Oates had cost her, was seated in company with Kaituna and Archie
Maxwell at afternoon tea, and the trio were talking about the Pole
Star shares, the expected arrival of Toby Clendon, and, of course,
about the approaching marriages.
"And you will be perfectly happy, Kaituna," said Mrs. Belswin, looking
wistfully at her daughter--the daughter whom she dare not acknowledge.
Kaituna caught hold of Archie's hand, with a quick flush and a look of
delight in her large black eyes.
"Yes, perfectly happy," she replied, smiling. "We are going to be the
Darby and Joan of romance, are we not, Archie?"
"I trust so, dear; but Darby and Joan! Oh, what a prosaic comparison.
No! Kaituna we will be--let me think--we will be like Lord Lovel and
Lady Nancy Bell in the old ballad."
"Fie, that is a worse comparison than mine! They were unhappy, and if
a red rose and a briar did grow out of their respective graves, I
don't know that such a miracle proves your case."
"Well, you certainly ought to be happy," said Mrs. Belswin, with a
quick sigh, as she realised how soon she was to lose the girl she
loved. "Health, wealth, and love--what a trinity of perfections."
"All of which are to be found in Kaituna. But you, Mrs. Belswin, what
about Signor Ferrari?"
"Oh, I have not made up my mind yet to marry him, Mr. Maxwell;
besides, I have another offer."
"Another offer?" cried Kaituna, gaily. "Oh, fortunate woman; and from
whom?"
"Mr. Samson Belk."
"Oh!" said Maxwell, smiling, "he is the other Romeo in the field.
Well, he is certainly very handsome----"
"And is very fond of me," interrupted Mrs. Belswin, quickly. "But all
the same I am not for him."
"Nor for Signor Ferrari either?" laughed Kaituna, going over to her
chaperon and putting her arms round her neck. "Ah, there is a third
person."
"I think you can pretty well guess whom that third person is," said
Mrs. Belswin, kissing the girl; "but Mr. Maxwell is going to rob me of
my third person."
"I cannot deny the soft impeachment," replied Archie, with a gay nod.
"As soon as Toby comes home we will be married."
The talk was certainly frivolous; but then, after all the trials these
three people had undergone, it was a great relief to chatter idly in a
desultory manner, especially when all three beheld the brightness of
the future. For them the storms and trials of life had passed--so they
fondly thought; and the elder woman, looking back at the dismal past,
thanked God in her heart for the peaceful present, while the lovers
saw before them nothing but a shining path, strewn with roses, leading
to the paradise of perfect felicity.
At this moment a knock came at the door, and the servant entered with
a frightened look on her face.
"Oh, mum," she said, going quickly to Mrs. Belswin, "there are three
gentleman to see you."
"Who are they?" asked Mrs. Belswin, in some surprise, never thinking
for a moment of the coming storm.
"Mr. Dombrain, mum, and----"
"Mr. Dombrain," repeated Mrs. Belswin, with a chill of fear at her
heart; "what does he want?"
"I want you, Jezebel Manners," said Dombrain, making his appearance at
the door, with a malignant grin on his coarse red face.
The moment she heard the name Mrs. Belswin knew it was all over, and
with a cry of agony held out her imploring hands to the lawyer.
"Oh, not before her! not before her!" she moaned piteously.
Kaituna, overcome with astonishment at this strange scene, went up to
Mrs. Belswin as if to protect her, but the woman shrank from her with
a moan of pain, and hid her face in her hands.
"What does this mean?" demanded Maxwell, as soon as he recovered his
breath.
"You will soon know," retorted Dombrain, savagely. "Jezebel Manners,
Pethram, Belswin, or whatever name you like to call yourself, I warned
you the last time we met what I would do if you played me false. You
have done so, to my ruin, my shame, my disgrace, and I have come to
drag you down to where you have hurled me. This is the woman,
officers."
One of the detectives advanced and touched Mrs. Belswin on the
shoulder.
"In the Queen's name, I arrest you----"
"Arrest her?" interrupted Kaituna, her face flaming with indignation;
"but for what--for what?"
"For the murder of Rupert Pethram."
Kaituna gave a shriek of horror, and seized Maxwell by the arm, while
he, scarcely less thunderstruck, stared at the detective with a look
of amazement on his face.
"It is false! it is false!" shrieked Mrs. Belswin, throwing herself on
her knees before Kaituna, "I swear to you it is false. I did not kill
your father."
"You did," said Dombrain, in a deep voice, "I saw you do it!"
"Liar!"
Mrs. Belswin sprang to her feet and made a bound forward, with a
fierce light flashing in her eyes, and it would have been a bad thing
for Mr. Dombrain had she succeeded in reaching him. The detective,
however, was on the watch, and throwing himself on the wretched woman,
had the handcuffs on her wrists in a moment.
"I cannot believe it! I cannot believe it!" moaned Kaituna, hiding her
face on Maxwell's breast.--"Mrs. Belswin, my kind good friend----"
"Your friend," scoffed Dombrain, with an ugly glitter in his
ferret-like eyes. "Yes, you don't know who your friend is!"
"For God's sake, silence!" shrieked Mrs. Belswin, pale to the lips.
"No, I will not keep silence, you fiend, who have ruined me. I will
tell all. Miss Pethram, do you see that wretched woman with the
handcuffs on--that guilty wretch who murdered your father, that----"
"I see Mrs. Belswin," cried Kaituna, with sudden fire; "I see the
woman who saved me from starvation, and I do not believe this base
charge you make."
With noble indignation she walked across to Mrs. Belswin, and threw
her arm round the poor woman's neck, while Archie, who respected and
liked the companion, mutely approved of the girl's generous action.
"Ah, you put your arm on her neck now," said Dombrain, with a sneer,
"but you will take it away when you know----"
"Dombrain!" cried the wretched woman, for the last time, "spare
me--spare me!"
"I will spare you as you have spared me."
"Be silent, with your cowardly threats, sir," said Kaituna, looking
proudly at him, "and do your worst. Who is Mrs. Belswin?"
"Your mother!"
Kaituna gave a cry, and recoiled from her companion.
"My mother!" she said, hoarsely. "It cannot be! my mother is dead."
Dombrain played his trump card.
"Your mother is alive! She stands there, and you can now know her for
what she is--a guilty wife--a divorced woman--and the murderer of her
husband."
Kaituna gazed at this gibing devil with a terrified stare in her
dilated eyes, then turned slowly and looked at her miserable mother.
The unhappy woman, with a grey worn face, haggard and scarred with
myriad wrinkles, made a step forward, as if to embrace her child, but
the girl, with a look of terror, shrank back, and fell in a faint on
the floor at the feet of Maxwell, while Mrs. Belswin sank on her knees
with a piteous cry, wringing her manacled hands over the unconscious
form of the daughter she had found--and lost.