LAST THINGS.
The note given by Mr. Ormsby to Wicks was placed by that functionary
on the table in Mrs. Drelincourt's boudoir. Although he had been told
to deliver it at once, he took no notice of the request. His mistress
was probably in her dressing room, and the note might wait till she
came downstairs. He was not going to put himself out of the way to
please Mr. Ormsby, whose imperative mode of addressing him had cut his
superfine feelings to the quick.
On entering the room a little later, Drelincourt failed to perceive
the note. He sank into an easy chair, and supporting an elbow on
either of its arms, he let his chin rest on his interlocked fingers.
He was awaiting the coming of his wife.
The boudoir was lighted by a large oriel window, the upper half of
which contained a representation in stained glass of the coat of arms
and device of the Drelincourts.
After waiting a few minutes, Drelincourt rose in order to ring the
bell. The sands in his hour glass were running quickly away. As he
crossed the room, he caught sight of the letter, and he at once picked
it up. The superscription was in a peculiar, crabbed hand, which, as
he looked at it, seemed to grow familiar under his eyes. Then the
truth flashed across him: the writing was James Ormsby's. He had seen
more than one specimen of it in years gone by, and his memory was a
tenacious one. He could not be mistaken.
"Now, what can Ormsby have to write about to my wife?" he asked
himself. "He owes me a grudge, or fancies he does, and now that, of my
own accord, I have put myself beyond his reach, it would be just like
him to vent the last drops of his spite on Madeline. She must not be
allowed to read what he has written till I have thoroughly satisfied
myself that it is fit for her to see."
Without more ado, he tore open the note. Here is what he read:
Madam:
I consider it my duty to inform you that your husband has just
confessed that he, and he alone, was the murderer of my sister, the
first Mrs. Drelincourt.
James Ormsby.
"The caitiff!--the coward! To aim a final blow at me through
Madeline." He groaned out the words between his teeth. His strong,
lean fingers gripped the note, as they would have gripped Ormsby's
throat had he been there.
A tap at the door recalled him to himself. Next moment Wicks entered,
carrying a letter on a salver.
"Just brought by a mounted messenger, sir. The man is waiting in case
there should be any answer."
Not without surprise, Drelincourt saw that the address was in his
wife's writing. He opened the envelope, extracted the contents, and
read as follows:
Dear Felix:
Do not be more surprised than you can help when I tell you that I am
writing this at the Dun Cow Inn, Overthwaite. The explanation is very
simple.
I was standing on the terrace when Sir John Musgrave and Mr. Ormsby
drove up, but they seemed too much preoccupied to see me. After they
had entered the house, I descended the steps and turned into the
drive, which I find pleasantly shady these hot afternoons. Presently I
saw a dog cart coming along at a rapid pace, the driver of which
pulled up on reaching me, and asked whether I was Mrs. Drelincourt.
When satisfied on the point, he told me that he had been sent by his
master, the landlord of the Dun Cow, to inform us that Mr. Walter
Deane had been thrown by his horse, and was lying with a broken ankle
at the inn in question.
I must tell you that a little while before you reached home this
afternoon Wally set off on the bay mare, in the hope of meeting you on
your road back, and imparting to you the news about Roden Marsh, so
that, if you chose to do so, you could ride direct into Sunbridge
before coming to Fairlawn. How you and he missed each other I cannot
imagine.
Well, when the man had told me his news, I did not wait to go back to
the house in order to break it to you--I had no doubt you were engaged
with your visitors--or to Marian, but climbed into the dog cart beside
him, and was driven here its rapidly as possible. As you know,
Overthwaite is not quite three miles from Fairlawn.
I found poor Walter already in the doctor's hands. The fracture is a
bad one, and, as a matter of course, he will be laid up for some weeks
to come. He will remain overnight where he is, and I shall stay with
him; but I hope, with the doctor's sanction, to have him transferred
to Fairlawn in the course of tomorrow. Perhaps you can make it
convenient to ride over after breakfast and ascertain how we are
getting on.
I leave you to tell Marian as much or as little as you may think best.
Your loving wife,
Madeline.
Wicks was still waiting. Drelincourt, after considering for a few
moments, said to him: "Tell the messenger there is no answer."
"It is well--it is better so," he continued half aloud, when the man
had gone. "We are spared a parting, and I a confession, which would
have racked the hearts of both. This will tell her all after I am gone
that is needful for her to know." As he spoke, he took a sealed packet
from his breast pocket and laid it on the table. It was addressed to
his wife.
"She, at least, will not condemn me," he resumed. "She sees with the
large eyes of love and charity. She will read and understand. My image
will not be deposed in her heart. My memory will be cherished by her
while she has breath to speak my name."
He took a slow turn or two from end to end of the room. Then he spoke
again.
"Not long will she stay after I am gone. The thread of her life is
frail--very frail. She will make haste to follow me."
A tap at the door was followed by the entrance of Marian. She paused
with the open door in her hand.
"I am looking for mamma," said the girl. "I can't find her anywhere.
And Wally, who ought to have been back long ago, has not yet returned.
What can have become of them?"
"Shall I enlighten you? Yes? Well, then, at the present moment the
pair of them may be found at the inn named Dun Cow, in the village of
Overthwaite, a couple of miles away."
"But, good gracious, papa, whatever are they doing there?"
"Ah, that's a question you must not ask me, or, at any rate, one I
must not answer. Perhaps I have divulged too much already. But shall I
tell you what I should do in your place?"
"If you please, papa."
"I should ask Robert to drive me over in the pony chaise to the Dun
Cow, and take the pair of them unawares. By so doing I fancy you will
surprise them quite as much as they are plotting to surprise you."
"That will be very jolly."
"'Won't it?"
"Are you aware, papa, that Mr. Draycot is pacing the entrance hall,
waiting to see you?"
"I shall be ready to see him in the course of a few minutes. By the
way, you may as well give me your good night kiss before you go. I
shall be engaged when you return, and shall not care to be disturbed."
Marian flung her arms round his neck in impulsive fashion, and kissed
him a number of times. Then he pressed her to his heart for a moment,
and it seemed to her that she heard a whispered "Heaven bless you, my
child!" She glanced up into his face with a momentary surprise, for he
was not used to being demonstrative; but she read nothing there. The
eyes that met hers were calm and shining, and on his features was the
stamp of a great serenity.
"You darling daddy!" exclaimed the girl, as she pulled his ear
playfully. "You don't half know how much I love you."
When she was gone and the door shut behind, her, he could hear her
singing as she went. He stood without stirring till the sound had died
away.
Then a deep sigh welled up from his heart. "The last link is severed,"
he said, as he turned away. "Winslow will act a father's part by her
till she marries. In years to come, when she has a husband and
children of her own, all this will seem like a dream of old, unhappy,
far off things. So, now to bid the world a long goodby!"
Taking out of his pocket the vial given him by Roden Marsh some days
before, he held it up to the light. But at this moment there came
another knock. Replacing the vial in his pocket, he went to the door,
opened it and disclosed Draycot.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Drelincourt," said the chief
constable--"more sorry than I can say. But time is running on, and Mr.
Ormsby's instructions were most imperative."
"Five minutes, only five more minutes, Draycot, and then, my good
fellow, you shall do with me as you will."
"All right, Mr. Drelincourt. You'll excuse me, sir, I'm sure, but duty
is duty." With that he shut the door, turned on his heel, and strode
back to his post in the entrance hall.
Drelincourt went back to the easy chair and seated himself on one of
its low, broad arms. His features were tense and drawn, but his
marvelous command over himself was in no wise shaken.
"How the evening sun lights up that window and brings out the motto of
my ancestors: _J'espère toujours. Tojours j'espère!_ Who shall dare to
sound the depths of infinite compassion? Even for such as I there may
be hope. 'Swift and painless' were the Italian doctor's words when he
gave me this." He was gazing at the vial, which lay in the palm of his
hand. "Now to find out whether he spoke the truth!"
With that he stood up and put the unstoppered vial to his lips.