On the evening of the fourth day after the parting between Paula and De
Stancy at Amiens, when it was quite dark in the Markton highway,
except in so far as the shades were broken by the faint lights from the
adjacent town, a young man knocked softly at the door of Myrtle Villa,
and asked if Captain De Stancy had arrived from abroad. He was answered
in the affirmative, and in a few moments the captain himself came from
an adjoining room.
Seeing that his visitor was Dare, from whom, as will be remembered, he
had parted at Carlsruhe in no very satisfied mood, De Stancy did not ask
him into the house, but putting on his hat went out with the youth into
the public road. Here they conversed as they walked up and down, Dare
beginning by alluding to the death of Sir William, the suddenness of
which he feared would delay Captain De Stancy’s overtures for the hand
of Miss Power.
‘No,’ said De Stancy moodily. ‘On the contrary, it has precipitated
matters.’
‘She has accepted you, captain?’
‘We are engaged to be married.’
‘Well done. I congratulate you.’ The speaker was about to proceed to
further triumphant notes on the intelligence, when casting his eye upon
the upper windows of the neighbouring villa, he appeared to reflect on
what was within them, and checking himself, ‘When is the funeral to be?’
‘To-morrow,’ De Stancy replied. ‘It would be advisable for you not to
come near me during the day.’
‘I will not. I will be a mere spectator. The old vault of our ancestors
will be opened, I presume, captain?’
‘It is opened.’
‘I must see it--and ruminate on what we once were: it is a thing I like
doing. The ghosts of our dead--Ah, what was that?’
‘I heard nothing.’
‘I thought I heard a footstep behind us.’
They stood still; but the road appeared to be quite deserted, and likely
to continue so for the remainder of that evening. They walked on again,
speaking in somewhat lower tones than before.
‘Will the late Sir William’s death delay the wedding much?’ asked the
younger man curiously.
De Stancy languidly answered that he did not see why it should do
so. Some little time would of course intervene, but, since there
were several reasons for despatch, he should urge Miss Power and her
relatives to consent to a virtually private wedding which might take
place at a very early date; and he thought there would be a general
consent on that point.
‘There are indeed reasons for despatch. Your title, Sir William, is a
new safeguard over her heart, certainly; but there is many a slip, and
you must not lose her now.’
‘I don’t mean to lose her!’ said De Stancy. ‘She is too good to be lost.
And yet--since she gave her promise I have felt more than once that
I would not engage in such a struggle again. It was not a thing of my
beginning, though I was easily enough inflamed to follow. But I will not
lose her now.--For God’s sake, keep that secret you have so foolishly
pricked on your breast. It fills me with remorse to think what she with
her scrupulous notions will feel, should she ever know of you and your
history, and your relation to me!’
Dare made no reply till after a silence, when he said, ‘Of course mum’s
the word till the wedding is over.’
‘And afterwards--promise that for her sake?’
‘And probably afterwards.’
Sir William De Stancy drew a dejected breath at the tone of the answer.
They conversed but a little while longer, the captain hinting to Dare
that it was time for them to part; not, however, before he had uttered
a hope that the young man would turn over a new leaf and engage in some
regular pursuit. Promising to call upon him at his lodgings De Stancy
went indoors, and Dare briskly retraced his steps to Markton.
When his footfall had died away, and the door of the house opposite had
been closed, another man appeared upon the scene. He came gently out of
the hedge opposite Myrtle Villa, which he paused to regard for a moment.
But instead of going townward, he turned his back upon the distant
sprinkle of lights, and did not check his walk till he reached the lodge
of Stancy Castle.
Here he pulled the wooden acorn beside the arch, and when the porter
appeared his light revealed the pedestrian’s countenance to be scathed,
as by lightning.
‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Power,’ said the porter with sudden deference
as he opened the wicket. ‘But we wasn’t expecting anybody to-night, as
there is nobody at home, and the servants on board wages; and that’s why
I was so long a-coming.’
‘No matter, no matter,’ said Abner Power. ‘I have returned on sudden
business, and have not come to stay longer than to-night. Your mistress
is not with me. I meant to sleep in Markton, but have changed my mind.’
Mr. Power had brought no luggage with him beyond a small hand-bag, and
as soon as a room could be got ready he retired to bed.
The next morning he passed in idly walking about the grounds and
observing the progress which had been made in the works--now temporarily
suspended. But that inspection was less his object in remaining there
than meditation, was abundantly evident. When the bell began to toll
from the neighbouring church to announce the burial of Sir William De
Stancy, he passed through the castle, and went on foot in the direction
indicated by the sound. Reaching the margin of the churchyard he looked
over the wall, his presence being masked by bushes and a group of
idlers from Markton who stood in front. Soon a funeral procession of
simple--almost meagre and threadbare--character arrived, but Power did
not join the people who followed the deceased into the church. De Stancy
was the chief mourner and only relation present, the other followers of
the broken-down old man being an ancient lawyer, a couple of faithful
servants, and a bowed villager who had been page to the late Sir
William’s father--the single living person left in the parish who
remembered the De Stancys as people of wealth and influence, and who
firmly believed that family would come into its rights ere long, and
oust the uncircumcized Philistines who had taken possession of the old
lands.
The funeral was over, and the rusty carriages had gone, together with
many of the spectators; but Power lingered in the churchyard as if he
were looking for some one. At length he entered the church, passing by
the cavernous pitfall with descending steps which stood open outside the
wall of the De Stancy aisle. Arrived within he scanned the few idlers
of antiquarian tastes who had remained after the service to inspect the
monuments; and beside a recumbent effigy--the effigy in alabaster
whose features Paula had wiped with her handkerchief when there with
Somerset--he beheld the man it had been his business to find. Abner
Power went up and touched this person, who was Dare, on the shoulder.
‘Mr. Power--so it is!’ said the youth. ‘I have not seen you since we met
in Carlsruhe.’
‘You shall see all the more of me now to make up for it. Shall we walk
round the church?’
‘With all my heart,’ said Dare.
They walked round; and Abner Power began in a sardonic recitative: ‘I
am a traveller, and it takes a good deal to astonish me. So I neither
swooned nor screamed when I learnt a few hours ago what I had suspected
for a week, that you are of the house and lineage of Jacob.’ He flung a
nod towards the canopied tombs as he spoke.--‘In other words, that you
are of the same breed as the De Stancys.’
Dare cursorily glanced round. Nobody was near enough to hear their
words, the nearest persons being two workmen just outside, who were
bringing their tools up from the vault preparatively to closing it.
Having observed this Dare replied, ‘I, too, am a traveller; and neither
do I swoon nor scream at what you say. But I assure you that if you
busy yourself about me, you may truly be said to busy yourself about
nothing.’
‘Well, that’s a matter of opinion. Now, there’s no scarlet left in my
face to blush for men’s follies; but as an alliance is afoot between my
niece and the present Sir William, this must be looked into.’
Dare reflectively said ‘O,’ as he observed through the window one of
the workmen bring up a candle from the vault and extinguish it with his
fingers.
‘The marriage is desirable, and your relationship in itself is of no
consequence,’ continued the elder, ‘but just look at this. You have
forced on the marriage by unscrupulous means, your object being only too
clearly to live out of the proceeds of that marriage.’
‘Mr. Power, you mock me, because I labour under the misfortune of having
an illegitimate father to provide for. I really deserve commiseration.’
‘You might deserve it if that were all. But it looks bad for my
niece’s happiness as Lady De Stancy, that she and her husband are to be
perpetually haunted by a young chevalier d’industrie, who can forge a
telegram on occasion, and libel an innocent man by an ingenious device
in photography. It looks so bad, in short, that, advantageous as a title
and old family name would be to her and her children, I won’t let my
brother’s daughter run the risk of having them at the expense of being
in the grip of a man like you. There are other suitors in the world, and
other titles: and she is a beautiful woman, who can well afford to be
fastidious. I shall let her know at once of these things, and break off
the business--unless you do ONE THING.’
A workman brought up another candle from the vault, and prepared to let
down the slab. ‘Well, Mr. Power, and what is that one thing?’
‘Go to Peru as my agent in a business I have just undertaken there.’
‘And settle there?’
‘Of course. I am soon going over myself, and will bring you anything you
require.’
‘How long will you give me to consider?’ said Dare.
Power looked at his watch. ‘One, two, three, four hours,’ he said. ‘I
leave Markton by the seven o’clock train this evening.’
‘And if I meet your proposal with a negative?’
‘I shall go at once to my niece and tell her the whole
circumstances--tell her that, by marrying Sir William, she allies
herself with an unhappy gentleman in the power of a criminal son who
makes his life a burden to him by perpetual demands upon his purse; who
will increase those demands with his accession to wealth, threaten to
degrade her by exposing her husband’s antecedents if she opposes his
extortions, and who will make her miserable by letting her know that her
old lover was shamefully victimized by a youth she is bound to screen
out of respect to her husband’s feelings. Now a man does not care to let
his own flesh and blood incur the danger of such anguish as that, and
I shall do what I say to prevent it. Knowing what a lukewarm sentiment
hers is for Sir William at best, I shall not have much difficulty.’
‘Well, I don’t feel inclined to go to Peru.’
‘Neither do I want to break off the match, though I am ready to do it.
But you care about your personal freedom, and you might be made to wear
the broad arrow for your tricks on Somerset.’
‘Mr. Power, I see you are a hard man.’
‘I am a hard man. You will find me one. Well, will you go to Peru? Or
I don’t mind Australia or California as alternatives. As long as you
choose to remain in either of those wealth-producing places, so long
will Cunningham Haze go uninformed.’
‘Mr. Power, I am overcome. Will you allow me to sit down? Suppose we go
into the vestry. It is more comfortable.’
They entered the vestry, and seated themselves in two chairs, one at
each end of the table.
‘In the meantime,’ continued Dare, ‘to lend a little romance to stern
realities, I’ll tell you a singular dream I had just before you returned
to England.’ Power looked contemptuous, but Dare went on: ‘I dreamt
that once upon a time there were two brothers, born of a Nonconformist
family, one of whom became a railway-contractor, and the other a
mechanical engineer.’
‘A mechanical engineer--good,’ said Power, beginning to attend.
‘When the first went abroad in his profession, and became engaged on
continental railways, the second, a younger man, looking round for a
start, also betook himself to the continent. But though ingenious and
scientific, he had not the business capacity of the elder, whose
rebukes led to a sharp quarrel between them; and they parted in bitter
estrangement--never to meet again as it turned out, owing to the dogged
obstinacy and self-will of the younger man. He, after this, seemed to
lose his moral ballast altogether, and after some eccentric doings he
was reduced to a state of poverty, and took lodgings in a court in a
back street of a town we will call Geneva, considerably in doubt as to
what steps he should take to keep body and soul together.’
Abner Power was shooting a narrow ray of eyesight at Dare from the
corner of his nearly closed lids. ‘Your dream is so interesting,’ he
said, with a hard smile, ‘that I could listen to it all day.’
‘Excellent!’ said Dare, and went on: ‘Now it so happened that the house
opposite to the one taken by the mechanician was peculiar. It was a tall
narrow building, wholly unornamented, the walls covered with a layer of
white plaster cracked and soiled by time. I seem to see that house now!
Six stone steps led up to the door, with a rusty iron railing on each
side, and under these steps were others which went down to a cellar--in
my dream of course.’
‘Of course--in your dream,’ said Power, nodding comprehensively.
‘Sitting lonely and apathetic without a light, at his own chamber-window
at night time, our mechanician frequently observed dark figures
descending these steps and ultimately discovered that the house was the
meeting-place of a fraternity of political philosophers, whose object
was the extermination of tyrants and despots, and the overthrow of
established religions. The discovery was startling enough, but our hero
was not easily startled. He kept their secret and lived on as before. At
last the mechanician and his affairs became known to the society, as the
affairs of the society had become known to the mechanician, and, instead
of shooting him as one who knew too much for their safety, they were
struck with his faculty for silence, and thought they might be able to
make use of him.’
‘To be sure,’ said Abner Power.
‘Next, like friend Bunyan, I saw in my dream that denunciation was
the breath of life to this society. At an earlier date in its history,
objectionable persons in power had been from time to time murdered, and
curiously enough numbered; that is, upon the body of each was set a mark
or seal, announcing that he was one of a series. But at this time the
question before the society related to the substitution for the dagger,
which was vetoed as obsolete, of some explosive machine that would be
both more effectual and less difficult to manage; and in short, a large
reward was offered to our needy Englishman if he would put their ideas
of such a machine into shape.’
Abner Power nodded again, his complexion being peculiar--which might
partly have been accounted for by the reflection of window-light from
the green-baize table-cloth.
‘He agreed, though no politician whatever himself, to exercise his wits
on their account, and brought his machine to such a pitch of perfection,
that it was the identical one used in the memorable attempt--’ (Dare
whispered the remainder of the sentence in tones so low that not a mouse
in the corner could have heard.) ‘Well, the inventor of that explosive
has naturally been wanted ever since by all the heads of police in
Europe. But the most curious--or perhaps the most natural part of my
story is, that our hero, after the catastrophe, grew disgusted with
himself and his comrades, acquired, in a fit of revulsion, quite a
conservative taste in politics, which was strengthened greatly by the
news he indirectly received of the great wealth and respectability of
his brother, who had had no communion with him for years, and supposed
him dead. He abjured his employers and resolved to abandon them;
but before coming to England he decided to destroy all trace of his
combustible inventions by dropping them into the neighbouring lake at
night from a boat. You feel the room close, Mr. Power?’
‘No, I suffer from attacks of perspiration whenever I sit in a
consecrated edifice--that’s all. Pray go on.’
‘In carrying out this project, an explosion occurred, just as he was
throwing the stock overboard--it blew up into his face, wounding him
severely, and nearly depriving him of sight. The boat was upset, but
he swam ashore in the darkness, and remained hidden till he recovered,
though the scars produced by the burns had been set on him for ever.
This accident, which was such a misfortune to him as a man, was an
advantage to him as a conspirators’ engineer retiring from practice,
and afforded him a disguise both from his own brotherhood and from the
police, which he has considered impenetrable, but which is getting seen
through by one or two keen eyes as time goes on. Instead of coming to
England just then, he went to Peru, connected himself with the guano
trade, I believe, and after his brother’s death revisited England, his
old life obliterated as far as practicable by his new principles. He is
known only as a great traveller to his surviving relatives, though he
seldom says where he has travelled. Unluckily for himself, he is WANTED
by certain European governments as badly as ever.’
Dare raised his eyes as he concluded his narration. As has been
remarked, he was sitting at one end of the vestry-table, Power at the
other, the green cloth stretching between them. On the edge of the table
adjoining Mr. Power a shining nozzle of metal was quietly resting, like
a dog’s nose. It was directed point-blank at the young man.
Dare started. ‘Ah--a revolver?’ he said.
Mr. Power nodded placidly, his hand still grasping the pistol behind
the edge of the table. ‘As a traveller I always carry one of ‘em,’ he
returned; ‘and for the last five minutes I have been closely considering
whether your numerous brains are worth blowing out or no. The vault
yonder has suggested itself as convenient and snug for one of the
same family; but the mental problem that stays my hand is, how am I to
despatch and bury you there without the workmen seeing?’
‘’Tis a strange problem, certainly,’ replied Dare, ‘and one on which I
fear I could not give disinterested advice. Moreover, while you, as a
traveller, always carry a weapon of defence, as a traveller so do I. And
for the last three-quarters of an hour I have been thinking concerning
you, an intensified form of what you have been thinking of me, but
without any concern as to your interment. See here for a proof of it.’
And a second steel nose rested on the edge of the table opposite to the
first, steadied by Dare’s right hand.
They remained for some time motionless, the tick of the tower clock
distinctly audible.
Mr. Power spoke first.
‘Well, ‘twould be a pity to make a mess here under such dubious
circumstances. Mr. Dare, I perceive that a mean vagabond can be as sharp
as a political regenerator. I cry quits, if you care to do the same?’
Dare assented, and the pistols were put away.
‘Then we do nothing at all, either side; but let the course of true love
run on to marriage--that’s the understanding, I think?’ said Dare as he
rose.
‘It is,’ said Power; and turning on his heel, he left the vestry.
Dare retired to the church and thence to the outside, where he idled
away a few minutes in looking at the workmen, who were now lowering
into its place a large stone slab, bearing the words ‘DE STANCY,’ which
covered the entrance to the vault. When the footway of the churchyard
was restored to its normal condition Dare pursued his way to Markton.
Abner Power walked back to the castle at a slow and equal pace, as
though he carried an over-brimming vessel on his head. He silently let
himself in, entered the long gallery, and sat down. The length of
time that he sat there was so remarkable as to raise that interval of
inanition to the rank of a feat.
Power’s eyes glanced through one of the window-casements: from a hole
without he saw the head of a tomtit protruding. He listlessly watched
the bird during the successive epochs of his thought, till night came,
without any perceptible change occurring in him. Such fixity would have
meant nothing else than sudden death in any other man, but in Mr.
Power it merely signified that he was engaged in ruminations which
necessitated a more extensive survey than usual. At last, at half-past
eight, after having sat for five hours with his eyes on the residence of
the tomtits, to whom night had brought cessation of thought, if not to
him who had observed them, he rose amid the shades of the furniture, and
rang the bell. There were only a servant or two in the castle, one of
whom presently came with a light in her hand and a startled look upon
her face, which was not reduced when she recognized him; for in the
opinion of that household there was something ghoul-like in Mr. Power,
which made him no desirable guest.
He ate a late meal, and retired to bed, where he seemed to sleep not
unsoundly. The next morning he received a letter which afforded him
infinite satisfaction and gave his stagnant impulses a new momentum. He
entered the library, and amid objects swathed in brown holland sat down
and wrote a note to his niece at Amiens. Therein he stated that, finding
that the Anglo-South-American house with which he had recently connected
himself required his presence in Peru, it obliged him to leave without
waiting for her return. He felt the less uneasy at going, since he had
learnt that Captain De Stancy would return at once to Amiens to his sick
sister, and see them safely home when she improved. He afterwards left
the castle, disappearing towards a railway station some miles above
Markton, the road to which lay across an unfrequented down.