FOR LIFE.
My mother's death marked an epoch in my life, for immediately afterwards
a great change came over my circumstances and position. Of the dreary
days just before and after the funeral I shall here say but little. Their
sadness is for me and me alone.
Until after the ceremony I remained at the monastery, seeking relief from
my thoughts by rambles over the hills, by watches at dead of night before
the spot where, with many candles burning round her open coffin, my
mother lay, and by long conversations with Father Alexander, my
comforter. When the time of the funeral came, Mr. Ravenor stood by my
side, the only other mourner, and I knew that the banks of choice white
flowers, which smothered the coffin and perfumed the winter air, were his
gift.
After it was all over he came to me where I stood, a little apart, and
put his hand upon my shoulder.
"Philip, my boy," he said kindly, "will you come back to the Castle with
me? I am your guardian now, you know."
I drew a long breath.
"Let me go back to the farm for a week by myself," I said; "then I will
come to you. Be ready to go to Dr. Randall's."
"Let it be so, then," he answered. "Perhaps it is best."
I said good-bye to the monks, especially to Father Alexander, with
regret, for they had all been very good to me. Then I accompanied Mr.
Ravenor to his carriage and was driven swiftly homewards.
The week that followed I spent in solitude, and as the days passed by the
bitterness of my grief left me. Not that the memory of my mother grew
less dear--rather the reverse; but I began to recognise that what had
happened was best. Better that she should have died thus, full of
thoughts of holy things and with a conscience at rest, than that she
should still be bearing with aching heart a burden which she had never
deserved.
On the last day of the week I was told that a visitor had arrived and
wished to see me, and before I could ask his name he had entered the
room. It was Mr. Marx.
The man was surely an admirable actor. Instinct told me that he cared not
a jot for either my mother or me; but his few words of sympathy were
excellently chosen and gracefully spoken. Then he at once changed the
subject and talked pleasantly of other things; and as he went on I
suddenly remembered that I had not seen him since the night of our drive
home from Torchester, and that, therefore, he could know nothing of the
adventure which had befallen me after his departure. I took advantage,
therefore, of a pause in the conversation to tell him all about it; and,
impassive though his face was, I could see that it made a great
impression.
"Do you remember what the man was like?" he asked, knitting his brows.
"Can you describe him?"
I did so as well as I could and in the midst of my narration, making some
trivial excuse, he moved his chair out of the light into the shadows of
the room. But if he wished to escape my scrutiny he was a little too
late, for I had already noticed his blanched face and trembling hands.
Evidently there was something more in this midnight attack than I had
thought. Who was the lunatic? I wondered. I felt sure, looking at him
closely, that Mr. Marx knew. No need now for Mr. Ravenor to warn me
against the companionship of this man. Already my passive dislike had
grown into an active aversion.
Instinctively I felt that he was both unscrupulous and untrustworthy. I
felt that he was seeking me for ends of his own, and all the time I was
half afraid of him.
Doubtless my manner showed that he was no welcome visitor, but still he
lingered. At last my housekeeper brought me in my afternoon cup of tea
and I was compelled to ask him to join me. He did so, drank it
thoughtfully, and immediately afterwards rose to go.
"I have been wondering what can have become of this poor lunatic," he
said carelessly. "Scarcely a pleasant person to meet on a dark evening."
I shrugged my shoulders as I walked out into the hall with him.
"It is nearly a fortnight ago," I remarked; "he can hardly have remained
in the neighbourhood and in hiding all this time."
"Still, if he had been captured we should have heard of it," Mr. Marx
objected.
"Probably. And yet I don't see why. I should not, at any rate, as I have
been away at the monastery; and you, I don't know how you would have
heard of it, unless you read the local papers."
"A weakness of which I am not guilty," he answered drily. "Nor have I
been outside the grounds. We have been hard at work."
"Did you walk here?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"I came down in a trap from the Castle, but the man was going to
Mellborough and I told him not to wait for me. You won't walk across the
park with me, I suppose, just to get an appetite for dinner? It's a
splendid evening."
I looked at him furtively, but closely. Yes, Mr. Marx was a coward, in
addition to his other slight demerits.
"No, thanks," I answered shortly. "I've had a long walk already today.
Good evening!"
I turned back into the sitting-room, but before I had reached my
easy-chair I began to think that I was scarcely behaving well. After all,
Mr. Marx was a middle-aged man, and it was possible that his strength
might have been sapped by the brain labour in which he was constantly
engaged and his sedentary life.
Supposing he were to encounter this lunatic and suffer at his hands,
perhaps even lose his life, should I not blame myself? I came to a speedy
decision. I would let him have his fright, but I would follow him at a
little distance and see that he came to no harm.
I took a short, heavy stick from the rack and, crossing the stackyard,
vaulted over the palings into the park, purposely avoiding the gate.
About a hundred yards in front Mr. Marx was walking quickly along, with
both hands in his ulster pockets, and looking frequently around him. Men
had been busy in the park on the previous day cutting the bracken, and
along the side of the road were many stacks of it waiting to be carted
away. I noticed that whenever Mr. Marx drew near one of these he gave it
a wide berth and I smiled to myself at this evidence of his anxiety.
I was walking on the turf, that he might not hear my footsteps, and was
able to keep him easily in sight, for it was a clear, frosty evening, and
the full moon was shining in a cloudless sky. At a sudden bend in the
road he came in sight of a place where stacks of bracken had been left on
either side opposite to each other. I saw him pause as though hesitating
which he should avoid, and at the same moment I distinctly saw some dark
body crouched down behind one of them and swaying slightly backwards and
forwards.
I broke at once into a run, but before the echoes of my warning shout had
died away a figure sprang like a wild cat at Mr. Marx's throat. There was
a flash and a sharp report, but from the direction of the former I could
see that the revolver had been knocked up into the air and exploded
harmlessly.
When at last I reached the assailant and his victim it was a fearful
sight I looked upon. The face of the lunatic was ghastly and his wild
eyes almost started from their sockets in his rage.
White and emaciated as a skeleton's, his face was still capable of
expression--and such an expression. A frenzied desire to kill seemed to
be his sole aim, and his long, skinny fingers clutched Mr. Marx's throat
as in a vice. The latter's eyeballs were protruding from his head and his
breath was coming in short, agonised pants; yet all the while Mr. Marx
was holding the madman in such a fierce grip that I could hear his ribs
snapping like whalebone.
My arrival saved Mr. Marx from a speedy death by strangulation. Though I
lifted the lunatic up in my arms and strained every muscle to pull him
away, his fingers never relaxed till I stopped his breath and rendered
him momentarily unconscious.
I waited for Mr. Marx to come to himself, my foot resting lightly upon
the prostrate body of his assailant. Soon he rose slowly to his feet and
began groping about in the road.
"What do you want?" I asked. "Lost anything?"
"My revolver."
I pointed to where it lay gleaming in the moonlight. He picked it up and
set it to an undischarged barrel. I watched him curiously.
"You won't want that again," I remarked. "What are you going to do with
it?"
"I am going to put that beast out of his misery," he answered. "Stand out
of the way!"
"Nonsense! You will do nothing of the sort!" I cried hotly. "What! kill
an insensible man? He has as much right to live as you. You shall not
commit murder in my presence: and, least of all, shall you kill a poor
insane creature like this. Put that thing up!"
An awful look flashed into his face, and, as he suddenly raised his arm,
I looked into the dark muzzle of his revolver.
With a quick spring I wrenched the revolver from his hand, and, bending
backwards, threw it far away into the bracken.
"I don't know what you were going to do, Mr. Marx," I said, looking at
him steadily, "but it seems to me that you are not a fit person to be
trusted with firearms."
He stood still, speechless with rage. I turned my back upon him and
found, to my surprise, that the man whose life Mr. Marx had so much
desired was lying on his side, looking at me with wide-open eyes.
"Well, have your own way," Mr. Marx said, quietly; "I dare say you are
right. There was no need to be violent, or to throw away my favourite
revolver. What do you propose to do with him?"
Mr. Marx advanced, but at the sight of him the lunatic, who was leaning
heavily upon my arm, and groaning with pain, shrank down upon the ground,
cowering at my feet like a dog. He covered his face with his hands and
broke into one of the most pitiful cries of distress that I have ever
heard from human lips. I motioned Mr. Marx back.
"I can manage him alone, I think; and the sight of you upsets him. Will
you follow us down?"
Mr. Marx advanced a step or two, his eyes flashing with anger. Then
suddenly he turned his back upon us, and, without a word, walked rapidly
away. I raised my prisoner, and half carried, half dragged him back to
the farm.
In a few hours the doctor from Rothland had arrived and speedily set the
broken bones. He seemed much interested in the case and made a careful
examination.
"Do you think he has been a lunatic long?" I asked.
The doctor shook his head.
"On the contrary," he replied, "I should say his madness has come on
quite recently--the effect of some severe shock probably. If he is
treated properly there is no doubt that he will regain his reason."
In a few days the lunatic was pronounced well enough in health to be
moved; and as all inquiries and advertisements about him proved
fruitless, he was consigned to the county asylum at Torchester.