THE DENUNCIATION.
One November morning--my suffering had endured all these months--my
father and Dr. Crackenthorpe stood before the sitting-room fire,
talking, while I sat with a book at the table, vainly trying to
concentrate my attention on the printed lines.
Since my recovery I had seen the doctor frequently, but he had taken
little apparent notice of me. Now, I had racked my puzzled mind many a
time for recollection of the conversation I had been witness of on the
night preceding my seizure, but still the details of it had eluded me,
though its gist remained in a certain impression of uneasiness that
troubled me when I thought of it. Suddenly, on this morning, a few
words of the doctor’s brought the whole matter vividly before me
again.
“By the bye, Trender,” he said, drawlingly, and sat down and began to
poke the fire--“by the bye, have you ever found that thing you accused
me of losing for you on a certain night--you know when?”
“No,” said my father, curtly.
“Was it of any value, now?”
“Maybe--maybe not,” said my father.
“That don’t seem much of answer. Perhaps, now, it came from the same
place those others did.”
“That’s nothing to you, Dr. Crackenthorpe.”
“Well, you say it’s lost, anyhow. Supposing I found it, would you
agree to my keeping it? Treasure-trove, you know”--and he looked up
with a grin, balancing the poker perpendicularly in his hand.
“Treasure-trove, my friend,” he repeated, with emphasis, and gave the
other a keen look.
Something in the tone of his speech woke light in my brain, and I
remembered at a flash. I stole an anxious glance at my father. His
face was pale and set with anger, but there was an expression in his
eyes that looked like fear.
“You don’t mean to tell me you have found it?” he said in a forced
voice.
“Oh, by no means,” answered the doctor. “We haven’t all your good
luck. Only you are so full of the unexpected in producing valuables
from secret places, like a conjurer, that I thought perhaps you
wouldn’t mind my keeping this particular one if I should chance to
pick it up.”
“Keep it, certainly, if you can find it,” said my father, I could have
thought almost with a faint groan.
“Thanks for the permission, my friend; I’ll make a point of keeping my
eyes open.”
When did he not? They were pretty observant now on Zyp and Jason, who,
as he spoke, walked into the room.
“Hullo!” said my brother. “Good-morning to you, doctor, and a sixpence
to toss for your next threppenny fee.”
“Hold your tongue,” cried my father, angrily.
“I would give a guinea to get half for attending on your inquest,”
said the doctor, sourly. “Keep your wit for your wench, my good lad,
and see then that she don’t go begging.”
“I could give you better,” muttered Jason, cowed by my father’s
presence, “but it shall keep and mature.” Then he turned boisterously
on me.
“Why don’t you go out, Renny, instead of moping at home all day?”
His manner was aggressive, his tone calculated to exasperate.
Moved by discretion I rose from my chair and made for the door; but he
barred my way.
“Can’t you answer me?” he said, with an ugly scowl.
“No--I don’t want to. Let me pass.”
My father had turned his back upon us and was staring gloomily down at
the fire.
I heard Zyp give a little scornful laugh and she breathed the word
“coward” at me.
I stopped as if I had struck against a wall. All my blood surged back
on my heart and seemed to leave my veins filled with a tingling ichor
in its place.
“Perhaps I have been,” I said, in a low voice, “but here’s an end of
it.”
Jason tittered.
“We’re mighty stiltish this morning,” he said, with a sneer. “What a
pity it’s November, so that we can’t have a plunge for the sake of
coolness--except that they say the pool’s haunted now.”
I looked at him with blazing eyes, then made another effort to get
past him, but he repelled me violently.
“You don’t know your place,” he said, and gave an insolent laugh.
“Stand back till I choose to let you go.”
I heard the doctor snigger and Zyp gave a second little cluck. My
father was still absorbed--lost in his own dark reflections.
The loaded reel of endurance was spinning to its end.
“You might have given all your morning to one of your Susans yonder,”
said my brother, mockingly. “Now she’s gone, I expect, with her apron
to her eyes. She’ll enjoy her pease pudding none the less, I dare say,
and perhaps look out for a more accommodating clown. It won’t be the
first time you’ve had to take second place.”
I struck him full between the eyes and he went down like a polled ox.
All the pent-up agony of months was in my blow. As I stepped back in
the recoil, madly straining even then to beat under the more furious
devil that yelled in me for release, I was conscious of a hurried
breath at my ear--a swift whisper: “Kill him! Stamp on his mouth!
Don’t let him get up again!” and knew that it was Zyp who spoke.
I put her back fiercely. Jason had sprung to his feet--half-blinded,
half-stunned. His face was inhuman with passion and was working like a
madman’s. But before he could gather himself for a rush, my father had
him in his powerful arms. It all happened in a moment.
“What’s all this?” roared my father. “Knock under, you whelp, or I’ll
strangle you in your collar!”
“Let me go!” cried my brother. “Look at him--look what he did!”
He was choking and struggling to that degree that he could hardly
articulate. I think foam was on his lips, and in his eyes the ravenous
thirst for blood.
“He struck me!” he panted--“do you hear? Let me go--let me kill him as
he killed Modred!”
There was a moment’s silence. Dr. Crackenthorpe, who had sat passively
back in his chair during the fray, with his lips set in an acrid
smile, made as if to rise, leaning forward with quick attention. Then
my father shook Jason till he reeled and clutched at him.
“Have a mind what you say, you mad cur!” he cried in a terrible voice.
“It’s true! Let me go! He confessed it all to me--to me, I say!”
I stood up among them alone, stricken, and I was not afraid. I was a
better man than my accuser; a better brother, despite my sin. And his
dagger, plunged in to destroy, had only released the long-accumulating
agony of my poor inflamed and swollen heart.
“Father,” I said, “let him alone. It is true, what he says.”
He flung Jason from him with violence.
“Move a step,” he thundered, daring him, “and I’ll send you after
Modred!”
He came to me and took me gently by the shoulder.
“Renalt, my lad,” he said, “I am waiting to hear.”
I did not falter, or condone my offense, or make any appeal to them
whatsoever. The kind touch on my arm moved me so that I could have
broken into tears. But my task was before me and I could afford no
atom of self-indulgence, did I wish to get through it bravely.
As I had told my story to Jason, I told it now; and when I had
finished I waited, in a dead silence, the verdict. I could hear my
brother breathing thickly--expectantly. His fury had passed in the
triumph of his own abasement.
Suddenly my father put the hand he had held on my shoulder before his
face and a great sob coming from him broke down the stone walls of my
pride.
“Dad--dad!” I cried in agony.
He recovered himself in a moment and moved away; then faced round and
addressed me, but his eyes looked down and would not meet mine.
“Before God,” he said, “I think you are forgiven for a single impulse
we all might suffer and not all of us recoil from the instant after,
but I think that this can be no place for you any longer.”
Then he turned upon Dr. Crackenthorpe.
“You!” he cried; “you, man, who have heard it all, thanks to that
dirty reptile yonder! Do you intend to peach?”
The doctor pinched his wiry chin between finger and thumb, with his
cheeks lifted in a contemplative fashion.
“The boy,” he said, “is safe from any one’s malice. No jury would
convict on such evidence. Still, I agree with you, it’s best for him
to go.”
“You hear, Renalt?” said my father. “I’ll not drive you in any way, or
deny you harbor here if you think you can face it out. You shall judge
for yourself.”
“I have judged,” I answered; “I will go.”
I walked past them all, with head erect, and up to my room, where I
sat down for a brief space to collect my thoughts and face the future.
Hardly had I got hold of the first end of the tangle when there came a
knock at the door. I opened it and Zyp was outside.
“You fool!” she whispered; “you should have done as I told you. It’s
too late now. Here, take this. Dad told me to give it you”--and she
thrust a canvas bag of money into my hand, looking up at me with her
unfathomable eyes.
As I took it, suddenly she flung her arms about my neck and kissed me
passionately, once, twice, thrice, on the lips, and so pushed me from
her and was gone. And as I stood there came to my ears a faint wail
from above, and I said to myself doggedly: “It is a gull flying over
the house.”
Taking nothing with me but cap, stick and the simple suit of clothes I
had on, I descended the stairs with a firm tread and passed the open
door of the sitting-room. There was silence there, and in silence I
walked by it without a glance in its direction. It held but bitter
memories for me now and was scarce less haunted in its way than the
other. And so to me would it always be--haunted by the beautiful wild
memory of a changeling, whose coming had wrought the great evil of my
life, to whom I, going, attributed no blame, but loved her then as I
had loved her from the first.
The booming of the wheel shook, like a voice of mockery, at me as I
passed the room of silence. Its paddles, I thought, seemed reeling
with wicked merriment, and its creaking thunder to spin monotonously
the burden of one chant.
“I let you go, but not to escape--I let you go, but not to escape.”
The fancy haunted my mind for weeks to come.
In the darkness of the passage a hand seized mine and wrung it
fiercely.
“You don’t mean to let the grass grow on your resolve, then, Renalt?”
said my father’s voice, rough and subdued.
“No, dad; I can do no good by delaying.”
“I’m sore to let you go, my boy. But it’s for the best--it’s for the
best. Don’t think hardly of me; and be a fine lad and strike out a
path for yourself.”
“God bless you, dad,” I said, and so left him.
As I stepped into the frosty air the cathedral bells rung out like
iron on an anvil. The city roofs and towers sparkled with white; the
sun looked through a shining mist, giving earnest of gracious hours to
come.
It was a happy omen.
I turned my back on the old decaying past and set my face toward
London.