A LOOK INTO THE PAST.
Someone in the drawing-room was playing a valse, "Love's Sorrow," and
in after years Ronald could never hear the melody without recalling
the scene in the smoking-room at Bellfield. The eminently masculine
characteristics of the room, the steady glow of the lamp, the quiet,
cold moonlight outside, and those two figures seated before him. His
friend Foster, with his keen eyes fixed on Carmela,--the woman he
loved, seated in the low chair looking like a statue, with her white
dress and rigid face, and the mockery of that brilliant valse music
sounding fitfully at intervals, while this bitter scene was taking
place.
"I will tell you all I know about Leopold Verschoyle," said Carmela,
in low, steady tones, clasping her hands before her; "though I do not
know I can throw any light upon the subject of his murder, but you can
hear and judge for yourselves.
"When I first met Leopold he was a fascinating man of the world, and I
but a simple girl of nineteen. My sister was four years older, and we
both fell in love with him. He paid his addresses to both of us, and I
think it was then my sister first began to hate me, though heaven
knows she had no cause to do so, for he married her, and left me to
make the best of my--as I thought then--broken heart. I have
recovered, however, and now that the scales have fallen from my eyes,
I see that Leopold Verschoyle was not worthy of being loved, and as
long as he gratified his own selfish passions, cared nothing for the
lives he wrecked.
"When he married my sister, in the first burst of passion, I wrote
that paper"--pointing to the table--"but it was merely an outcome of
girlish anger. I wrote it blindly, and did not mean what I said;
indeed, I had forgotten all about it till Mr. Monteith showed it to me
just now. Why Leopold Verschoyle kept it I don't know, unless to laugh
at my folly and petulance. Well, I went to England after he deceived
me, and stayed with Sir Mark Trevor; but I must tell you that my
sister had another lover, Matteo Vassalla."
"But I thought he loved you!" broke in Ronald, impetuously.
"Now," she replied quietly, "but seven years ago it was my sister, and
he went nearly out of his mind when he found her married. He used to
rave to me that he would kill Verschoyle, but, of course, this was
merely a fit of madness, the same as came over me when I wrote that
letter. He also left Malta, and travelled in the East, and before he
went I gave him the stiletto for a keepsake. We did not see one
another for many years, as I lived quietly in England.
"As for the rest, you know all about my sister's unhappy life; how her
husband separated from her and went with Elsie Macgregor; then she
found out his infidelity and obtained the divorce. He went to
Australia with Elsie Macgregor, whom, I heard, he had made his wife,
and now----"
"She is dead!" said Foster, slowly.
"Unlucky woman!" replied Carmela, calmly; "but then everyone who had
to do with Leopold Verschoyle was unlucky. When my sister obtained her
divorce, she asked me to come and live with her in Valletta, and as I
was alone in the world I agreed to do so. But we did not get on well
together; she hated me, and always said that Leopold Verschoyle loved
me best."
"Did she threaten him in any way?" asked Foster, eagerly.
"Not in any special way; she raved and stormed, but then she was
always doing that; her molehills were mountains. I bore with her as
long as I could, till Vassalla came home and wanted to marry me. My
sister, however, fell in love with him, and longed for that which she
had formerly rejected. I did not like my cousin, and told him so, but
he would not be discouraged, and of course this only made matters
worse.
"When the 'Neptune' arrived, I had already taken my passage, and was
much surprised when Vassalla told me he was leaving Malta also; it was
too late to go in another boat, or I would certainly have done so. My
sister had a quarrel with me on that day when you," to Monteith, "saw
us on the Barraca, and I left her, and walked home to our lodgings. I
never saw her again till we met on board before the boat left."
"Then she was on board?" asked Ronald, quickly.
"Yes, it is no use me denying it, she was on board, and appeared to be
very excited; she said she had seen Leopold in Valletta that day, but
did not tell me he was on board the boat; then she, together with
Vassalla, became separated from me in the crowd, and I never saw her
again. After the boat sailed, I asked Vassalla why she had not said
good-bye, and he informed me that the crowd was so great she could not
find me, and went on shore as the last bell rang."
"Was Vassalla excited when he spoke to you?" asked the barrister,
thoughtfully.
"No; as cool and quiet as he generally is."
"When the murder was discovered, did he say anything--make any
remark?"
"No; except to mention that a passenger, called Mr. Ventin, had been
killed."
"Did he see the body?" said Foster, turning to Ronald.
"I don't think so," replied Ronald doubtfully; "very few saw the body;
but, of course, he must have known that Verschoyle was on board."
"How so?"
"Because Verschoyle was leaning over the side of the ship when the new
passengers were coming up, and he must have recognised him, especially
when Mrs. Verschoyle told him she had seen her former husband; he
would then be on the look-out for him."
"Humph!--yes--no doubt," replied Foster, thoughtfully. "Can you tell
us anything else, Miss Cotoner?"
"Nothing," she answered, rising to her feet, "except that Vassalla
told me my sister had committed the crime, and instructed me to deny
seeing her on board, which I did--I wrote to you," turning to to
Monteith.
"Yes, I understood your letter," he said, gently; and Carmela flashed
a grateful look at him.
"Vassalla said he was the only one who could bring the crime home to
my sister," she went on, "and made me promise to marry him as the
price of his silence."
"But you will not do so?" cried Monteith.
"What can I do?" she said, helplessly. "I cannot see my sister accused
of such a crime, when I know it is in my power to prevent it."
"He won't accuse her," broke in Foster, bluntly.
"Then you think she is innocent?" said Carmela, joyfully.
"I don't know that," answered Foster; "the whole affair seems to lie
between your sister and Vassalla. He knows more about this affair than
we think. Your sister is in England--is she not?"
"Yes."
"You have not seen her?"
"No; I refused, until she cleared herself of this charge."
"Do you know why she came here?"
"No."
"Because the detective we sent out told her that the Marchese wanted
to marry you, and she came to stop the marriage."
"Bah!" said Carmela, scornfully, "she knows I don't care for
Vassalla."
"True enough," answered Foster, quietly; "but she knows Vassalla cares
for you. What will be the consequence? She will try and make Vassalla
break off the marriage. If he refuse----"
"Well?" they both cried, in a breath.
"My dear young people," said Foster, in rather an annoyed tone, "don't
you see what must happen? Mrs. Verschoyle will lose her head, and they
will quarrel, and when thieves fall out, honest men get their due."
"But I don't see----" began Ronald.
"Of course, you don't," said Gerald, with a dry laugh; "but if that
interview has taken place, I'll bet you what you like one of us three
will hear from Mrs. Verschoyle, for if her temper is what you say,
she'll move heaven and earth to stop the marriage."
"I hope so," said Carmela, sadly.
"Of course, she will," replied Foster, cheerfully; "she will throw
away honour, fortune, life itself, to obtain her ends, if she's so
madly in love. When a man starts for the Devil, he generally arrives,
but when a woman begins she runs past the Devil--and goes God knows
where. Now, let us return to the drawing-room."
So, after this serious interview, they all went back to the
drawing-room, where they were questioned by everyone about their past.
"We've been in the smoking-room," said Carmela, with a smile, her
heart now feeling lighter than it had been for many a day.
"Oh!" said Pat, in mock horror; "do Maltese ladies smoke?"
"You ought to know, Pat," retorted Ronald; "you saw enough of the sex
in Valletta."
"It's my kindly heart," retorted Pat, who was never at a loss for an
answer. "Sure, I didn't like to see the poor things castin' such
longing glances, without responding to 'em."
Everyone but Mrs. Pellypop laughed at this, and she snorted
reprovingly.
"With such views, Mr. Ryan," said that good lady, "I hope you will
never marry."
"Why not?" asked Ryan, glancing at Kate; "my natural inclination for
matrimony is strong."
"I hope your wife will be," said Ronald, with a laugh; "or she'll
never be able to keep you in order."
Foster had established himself by Bell, who did not appear to
discourage the advances of the young barrister, though her attention
was somewhat distracted by Bubbles, who sat next to her. Seeing this,
Pat, who had a fellow-feeling for lovers, drew the young man away.
"Bubbles," he said, "was it you that sat for that Pear's soap
picture?"
"Of course," retorted Bubbles; "I was the original infant."
And indeed he did not look unlike the picture, with his beardless face
and curly hair.
"Faith," said Mr. Ryan, "it's a mighty original infant you are,
anyhow."
"Well, we can't all be Irish," said Bubbles, satirically.
"And a great pity it is ye can't," retorted Pat, calmly; "the finest
nation under the sun. Did ye ever hear anything that touched your
heart like Irish music?"
"Sing us some, and then we'll judge," said Sir Mark, suddenly
interposing.
So Pat, nothing loth, went to the piano, and sang Moore's exquisite
song, "She is far from the Land," in such a pathetic manner that he
cast quite a gloom over the company, but restored the joyous tone by
dashing into "Garryowen."
At the conclusion of Pat's ditties, Ronald and Foster arose to go, in
spite of a chorus that it was early. But Mrs. Pellypop, on behalf of
the clerical party, said it was late.
"Begad, the night's young, and the liquor's plentiful," said Pat,
impudently.
"I never touch spirits," said Mrs. Pellypop, majestically.
"More's the pity," retorted Pat; "it 'ud keep the night air out,
anyhow."
Mrs. Pellypop deigned no response to this flippancy, but sailed out of
the room, and shortly afterwards departed with the Bishop, and her
daughter.
Ronald and Foster had a glass of whisky and soda each while their
dog-cart was being brought round, and then went off, Ronald promising
to call next day.
"And you won't forget what I told you," said Carmela, as he went.
"No," replied Ronald, pressing her hand; "and mind you let me know
when Vassalla comes down."
They drove off in the moonlight, in silence for a time, and then
Foster said--
"What a charming girl is Miss Trevor."
"Oh, ho!" from Monteith: "so you've lost your heart?"
"And why not?" retorted Foster; "you are not the only person
privileged to lose your heart."
"Well, I hope your course of true love will run smoother than mine,"
sighed Ronald.
"My dear old boy," said Foster, "yours will be all right. I've got a
presentiment that we shall hear from Mrs. Verschoyle."
"Do you think she is guilty?" asked Ronald.
"I don't know, but whether or no, she'll not let this marriage take
place."
"But she can't stop it."
"Can't she? she knows more, perhaps, than we think. How is it
Vassalla's dagger was found in the dead man's breast?"
"But you don't think"--began Ronald, when Foster interrupted him.
"I think nothing," he retorted, whipping up the horse, "except that
we'll hear from Mrs. Verschoyle."
Events proved him a true prophet, for on arrival at the Crown Hotel
there was a letter waiting for Ronald, which he opened and read, then
passed it to Foster.
"Didn't I tell you?" said the lawyer, when he read it.
"Yes--I believe the end is nearer than we think."
The letter said that Mrs. Verschoyle would call on Mr. Monteith at the
Crown Hotel, Great Marlow, the next day at three o'clock.
So, Foster's presentiment was true after all.