ON CHRISTMAS NIGHT.
Christmas Day dawned--the day of peace and goodwill, of renewed
friendships and Christian forgiveness. Mrs. Darrow was very careful to
observe the day as behoved a righteous and gentle spirit. Compelled by
the weightiest of reasons to keep silence, she restrained the horrid
words which were on the tip of her tongue, and at breakfast addressed
Miriam with something like a show of kindness. The girl looked terribly
pale and ill; but was, as always, complete mistress of herself. She had
gone straight to bed on her return from the church, and had of course no
idea that Mrs. Darrow had followed her; she did not even know she had
been out. But the change in Mrs. Darrow's demeanour in nowise imposed on
her. She accepted it gravely and quietly for what it was worth, and
welcomed it only as tending to lessen the chances of friction for the
time being.
"I have been thinking over things, Miss Crane, and I have come to the
conclusion that I owe you an apology," said the widow, after having
passed the customary compliments of the season. "I lost my temper the
other day when I spoke of your leaving. But my wretched nerves--mother's
side, you know--must be my excuse. You are too pleasant a companion and
too valuable a teacher to my beloved child for me to lose you. You must
please forget the words I said, and accept my sincere apology for them.
Miss Crane, I ask you, will you stay?"
This was a very neat little speech, and glibly enough expressed, but
Miriam at once detected its falsity. Still, she accepted Mrs. Darrow's
apology, and agreed to remain.
"I'm sure I like you very much," said the widow effusively, "and I think
someone else does too--someone who will be at the Manor House dinner
to-night. Need I say that John is in my mind?"
"Major Dundas and I are very good friends," replied Miriam gravely.
"Yes, indeed; and some day you may be more than friends!"
"I think not, Mrs. Darrow."
"Well, we shall see. At all events, we are all going to enjoy ourselves
to-night. Besides ourselves, Dr. and Mrs. Marsh are to be there, and
Dicky by special desire--fancy the dear boy at a grown-up dinner-party!
Uncle Barton's Christmas dinners are always excellent. I must say he
does it very well. He seems to love to gather us all around him on this
day, dear man," concluded Mrs. Darrow sentimentally.
Miriam had to restrain a smile.
"Really! You surprise me; but of course I have never yet seen Mr. Barton
at Christmas time."
"Oh, believe me, there is much good in Uncle Barton, although he is
rough. He does not understand me, it is true, but there, I am a problem
even to myself--I am one of those complex natures. Dear! how they
suffer! Nor does he like everyone. There is Mrs. Parsley, for instance;
I know he hates _her_, and I'm sure I don't wonder. By the way, you saw
her last night--at least," added the widow pointedly, "you went out to
see her." She looked directly at Miriam, who bore her scrutiny without
flinching.
"Yes; I saw Mrs. Parsley, and remained with her for some time. I suppose
you had gone to bed when I returned. I was careful not to disturb you."
"No; I was half asleep in the drawing-room," lied Mrs. Darrow glibly,
"dozing over a stupid novel. I hope you had a satisfactory interview."
"Very, thank you," replied Miriam, and there the matter dropped.
At six o'clock the Squire sent his carriage, the coachman explaining
that he came thus early, as he had to go on to fetch Dr. and Mrs. Marsh
and their daughter. At this Mrs. Darrow grumbled loudly, for it meant
she had to hurry over her toilet, and Mrs. Darrow's toilet was one of
those things which did not do with hurrying. However, at length it was
achieved, and the good lady, excited and flushed, allowed herself to be
conducted to the carriage.
On arrival at the Manor House they found Major Dundas and Gerald Arkel
in the drawing-room. The Squire was not there to receive them, but
almost immediately after they had entered, a message was brought to
Miriam that he wished to speak to her alone in the library. Mrs. Darrow
was alarmed. Surely the man was not going to chose this opportunity for
betraying her eavesdropping? Then she reflected that even if he did she
had it in her power to make it equally unpleasant for Miriam. Thus
comforted, she fell to chatting with Major Dundas.
In the library the Squire received Miriam. He looked particularly frail
and old, she thought. Bidding her sit by the writing-table, he recounted
to her all that had passed on the previous night between himself and his
niece. But Miriam expressed little surprise.
"I knew she hated me," she said, "and would gladly ruin me if she could.
Why, goodness only knows. I am not aware of ever having done anything to
offend her."
"I know," snapped Barton. "You have committed the greatest offence you
could commit in her eyes--that of being beautiful and young. That is
more than enough to secure the enmity of the perambulating mass of
vanity which we know by the name of Julia Darrow. But let us leave her
for the present. She will keep--unfortunately. What about Jabez? Is
there any truth in what she told me?"
"Yes; it is quite true he came here last night--to get money from me. He
is going to America; indeed, he may have started by this time. I feel
that I shall never see him again."
"That oughtn't to trouble you."
"Perhaps not--but bad and selfish as Jabez has been to me, I can't help
feeling it. What I have done for him I did freely; I expected no
gratitude."
"And you didn't get it. Well, that's the way of the world. But tell me,
Miriam, what is he like, this worthy?"
"You couldn't call him handsome. He is tall and very spare. His eyes are
blue, and he has a freckled complexion. His hair is red."
"No, it doesn't sound attractive. However, he's out of the way now, and
I for one am glad; though I don't suppose he would have tried any tricks
on with me."
"I'm sure he meant no harm to you. Of course, if you had interfered with
him, I can't say what might have happened. He has always had the most
ungovernable temper. But I have never known him do anything right down
wicked in cold blood."
"Well, so much the better. I've enough enemies and to spare as it is. I
shouldn't have interfered with him, even if he hadn't gone. I utilised
him, as you know, merely to control you."
"All that is past and done with now. There is no possibility of my
carrying out your scheme. I want you to let me go back to London, Mr.
Barton."
"And there, what will you do?"
"God knows! Begin all over again, I suppose."
"You are absolutely without means!"
"Yes, that is true. I gave him all I had."
"Like you," growled Barton, going to his desk. "You must take this,
Miriam"--he handed her a bank-note--"for the present. And when you are
in London you must stay at the Pitt Hotel. I have told Mrs. Perks to
look after you, and to leave the rest to me."
"I really am to go, then?"
"It is your own wish, isn't it? I can see there is no hope for my plans
about Gerald. He and Hilda will make their way to the devil together, in
a very short space of time. _Facile est_, etc."
"Then you still intend to leave your money to Gerald?"
"I have done so." He took a legal-looking document from the still open
drawer. "Three days ago I sent for my lawyers in London to come here,
and I executed this will. By it the whole of my property goes to Gerald,
excepting three hundred a year to Julia, and the same amount yearly to
yourself."
"To me!" exclaimed Miriam in surprise. "Mr. Barton, why should you leave
money to me?"
"For one reason, because you are the only decent woman I have ever
met--save one. For another, because in spite of what I told you the
other night you had some pity for me."
"God knows I pity you!" cried Miriam with emotion. "I can imagine how
awful it must have been for you to battle continually against what is
born in you. You have resisted the devil and he has fled."
"I have resisted him these many years," said Barton moodily, "but he has
not fled; he is as strong within me as ever. God, Who created me thus,
alone knows how I have fought against my overwhelming desire--the desire
for the blood of my fellow-men. So far, by His aid, I have succeeded in
my fight, and my daily and hourly prayer is that the end may even now
not be far off."
"You have done well--it is terrible for you. Indeed, you have my pity--I
would do anything to help you, Mr. Barton. But you must not, please,
leave me this money. For one thing, Mrs. Darrow----"
"I have foreseen all that, and have, I think, effectually provided
against any molestation from her. I have seen all along how she has
plotted against you. You need fear nothing from her. While I live,
Miriam, I shall look after you; when I die, you will have money of your
own."
"I had rather a thousand times you did not mention me. There is Major
Dundas--he would make good use of your wealth. But Gerald--poor weak
Gerald----"
"My mind is made up, Miriam. This will supplants the will in favour of
Dundas, which is at my lawyers' in London. As soon as I send them this
in its stead, the old will is to be destroyed. With the new year I
intend publicly to proclaim Gerald my heir. Now come along to
dinner--that is what I wanted to say to you."
She saw that all protestation was useless, supplication futile. Without
a word she took his arm and returned to the drawing-room, there to find
that Dr. and Mrs. Marsh had arrived meanwhile with Hilda, who was
looking her best. Her mother was dressed untidily as ever, but there was
also evident about her an air aggressive as it was unusual of splendour,
significant of a desperate attempt on her part to make herself
presentable. Dr. Marsh, in the immediate expectation of an uncommonly
good dinner, saluted the Squire with positive unction, and an immediate
adjournment to the dining-room met with his most unqualified approval.
To attempt to single out this Christmas dinner in particular from
Christmas dinners in general would be a task as superfluous as
unprofitable. Suffice it to say that Dr. Marsh's anticipations were more
than realised, and that when the ladies left the room he was in a state
of mind bordering upon the transcendental.
Barton, ever the most unconventional if not the most genial of hosts,
took refuge in the seclusion of his library, and remained there for the
rest of the evening. Chatter worried him, and that was the one spot in
the world where he could depend upon enjoying complete immunity from it.
But he had reckoned without his guest, for on this occasion Mrs. Darrow
had decided he should come out of his shell, and was now casting about
in her mind for some method of accomplishing her aim without risk to
herself. It was rather more than she cared to venture upon in person. An
expression came upon her face which seemed to intimate that she had an
inspiration. Dicky!--yes, Dicky should go and ask his uncle to join what
she termed the "circle." So away the boy sped on his errand of
mercilessness, when of a truth he should have been in bed and fast
asleep.
"If anyone can persuade uncle to play a game of forfeits, Dicky can,"
piped Mrs. Darrow, when the door had closed behind the little fellow;
"he is such a dear, nobody can resist him--he has my own nature," this
last in all seriousness.
"And your high spirits, Julia," added the Major.
"Yes, I never seem to lose them, though it's wonderful I don't in the
face of my many trials. Miss Crane, you will sing to us till Mr. Barton
comes, won't you?"
Miriam assented, with the result that song followed song, and the time
flew by unheeded. As the clock struck eleven she rose quickly.
"Whatever has become of Dicky?" she said; "he can't be with Mr. Barton
all this time. I must go and look for him."
She left the room hastily.
"Such a good creature!" exclaimed Mrs. Darrow. "If she only knew her
place she would be quite perfect."
"I think Miss Crane _is_ perfect," retorted the Major with some
asperity.
"So say I," echoed Gerald.
At that moment Miriam appeared at the door, pale, terrified, and
scarcely able to articulate. Mrs. Darrow saw that something was wrong,
and shrieked,
"My child! my child!--my precious Dicky! Is he ill?"
Miriam shook her head, and beckoned to Marsh.
"Come, doctor, quick--Mr. Barton!" she gasped, and everyone made a rush
for the door.
On entering the library they found the window wide open, and poor little
Dicky lying prone upon the floor. In the chair before his desk sat
Barton, with his head embedded in his outstretched arms. With another
shriek Mrs. Darrow fell on her knees beside her son. Dr. Marsh walked
swiftly up to Barton and raised his head. He stepped back a pace in
horror.
"Dead!" he said. "The man is dead!"
Again they raised the lifeless head. A black line was distinctly visible
round the throat.
"Strangled!" exclaimed the doctor. "He has been murdered!"