A SUDDEN DETERMINATION.
The inquest was over; the jury had returned a merciful verdict; the
mortal perishing part of poor, weak and lovable Dolly was put gently
out of sight for the daisies to grow over by and by.
Jason had been called, but, not responding, and his presumed evidence
being judged not necessarily material to the inquiry, had escaped the
responsibility of an examination and, as I knew, for the time being at
least, a deadlier risk. Mention of his name left an ugly stain on the
proceedings, and that was all.
Now, night after night, alone with myself and my despair, I sat
brooding over the wreck and ruin of my life. Zyp, so far as this life
was concerned, could never now be mine; and full realization of this
had burst upon me only at the moment when the moral barrier that had
divided me from her was broken down. That wound must forevermore eat
like a cancer within me.
Then, in the worst writhing moments of my anguish, a new savage lust
of sleuth began to prickle and crawl over me like a leprosy. If all
else were taken from me I still had that interest to cheer me through
life--the hounding of my brother’s murderer. This feeling was
curiously intermingled with a revival in my heart of loyalty to
Modred. He had been my friend--at least inextricably kin to me in a
common cause against the world. When I turned to the vile figure of
the brother who survived, the dead boy’s near-forgotten personality
showed up in a light almost lovably humorous and pathetic. My fevered
soul bathed itself in the memory of his whimsicalities, till very
tenderness begot an oath that I would never rest till I had tracked
down his destroyer.
And was Jason that? If it were so, I could afford to stand aside for
the present and leave him to the mercy of a deadlier Nemesis he had
summoned to his own undoing.
Set coldly, at the same time, on a justice that should be passionless,
I bore in mind my brother’s hint of a suspicion that involved some
other person whom he left nameless. This might be--probably was--a
mere ruse to throw me off the scent. In any case I should refuse to
hold him acquitted in the absence of directer evidence.
Still I could not stay a certain speculative wandering of my thoughts.
If not Jason--who then? There were in the house that night but the
usual family circle and Dr. Crackenthorpe. What possible temptation
could induce any one of them to a deed so horrible? Jason alone of
them had the temptation and the interest, and, above all, the nature
to act upon a hideous impulse. On Jason must lie the suspicion till he
could prove himself innocent.
It was not until about the third night of my gloomy pondering that the
sudden resolution was formed in me to leave everything and return to
my father. The fact of Zyp’s reference to the letter he had sent me
had been so completely absorbed in the tense excitement of the last
few days that when in a moment it recurred to me I leaped to my feet
and began pacing the room like a caged animal that scents freedom.
So the old man in his loneliness desired me back again. Why not go?
The accustomed life here seemed impossible to me any longer. The
notoriety attaching to these pitiful proceedings was already making my
regular attendance at the office a sore trial. Duke had sent in his
resignation the very morning of his attack on me before Jason’s house.
All old ties were rent and done with. I was, in a modest way,
financially independent, for Ripley’s generous acknowledgment of my
services, coupled with my own frugal manner of life, had enabled me to
put into certain investments sufficient to produce an interest that
would keep me, at least, from starvation.
And, in addition, how could I prosecute my secret inquiries better
than on the very scene of the deed? I would go. My decision was sudden
and final. I would go.
Then and there I sat down and wrote a brief letter to my father.
“I have only within the last few days,” I said, “learned of the letter
you wrote me three months ago. Jason destroyed it lest I should find
out he was married to Zyp. I now tell you that I am ready to do as you
wish--to return and live with you, if you still desire it. In any
case, I can endure my present life here no longer. Upon receipt of a
word from you I will come.”
As I wrote, the wind, bringing clouds of rain with it, was booming and
thundering against the window. Soft weather had succeeded to the
ice-breathing blasts of a few days back, and I thought of a lonely
grave out there in the night of London, and of how just now the water
must be gushing in veins and runnels over its clayey barrow.
Dolly--Dolly! May it wash clean your poor wounded heart. “After life’s
fitful fever” you sleep well; while we--oh, shamed and fallen child!
Which of us who walks straightly before our fellows would not forego
passion and revenge, and all the hot raptures of this blood-red world,
to lie down with you deep in the cool, sweet earth and rest and
forget?
I went out and posted my letter. The streets were swept clean of their
human refuse. Only a few belated vehicles trundled it out against the
downpour, setting their polished roofs as shields against the
myriad-pointed darts of the storm.
Feeling nervous and upset, I was approaching my own door, when a
figure started from a dark angle of the wall close by and stood before
me.
“Duke!” I cried.
He was drenched with rain and mud--his dark clothes splashed and
saturated from boot to collar. His face in the drowned lamplight was
white as wax, but his eyes burned in rings of shadow. I was shocked
beyond expression at his dreadful appearance.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” I cried. “Duke! Come in, for
pity’s sake, and rest, and let us talk.”
“With you?” he muttered, in a mad, grating voice. “With any Trender? I
came to ask you where he’s in hiding--that’s all.”
“I know no more than you do.”
“You lie! You’re keeping his secret for him. What were her claims
compared to family ties--devil’s ties--such as yours? You know, but
you won’t give him up to me.”
“I don’t know.”
He raised and ground his hands together in exquisite passion.
“They drive me to madness,” he cried, “but in the end--in the end I
shall have him! To hold him down and torture the life out of him inch
by inch, with the terror in his eyes all the time! Why, I could kill
him by that alone--by only looking at him.”
He gloated over the picture called up in his soul. If ever demon’s
eyes looked from a human face, they looked from his that night.
“Duke,” I whispered in horror, “you have terrible cause for hate, I
know; but oh, think of how one grain of forgiveness on your part would
stand you with--with God, Duke.”
He gave a wretched, sickening laugh.
“By and by,” he cried. “But tell me first where he’s hiding!”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Duke----” and I held out a yearning hand to
him.
At that he struck at me savagely and, running crookedly into the
night, was lost in the rainy darkness.