Marion arose from her chair, and with a curling lip, swept out of the

room. I darted forward to open the door for her, but she passed me in

disdain, without a glance. Mr. Sefton Dagmar laughed loud and long. But

I was mad with him, and malice prompted me to cut his laughter short.

"Sir," said I, "have you seen Sir William this morning?"

"No!" he cried, "have you?"

"Yes--he has rounded the corner. He is sensible again, and Sir Charles

Venner declares that he is on the high road to recovery!"

"Hell and curses!" gasped Mr. Dagmar. "Is that true?"

"Too true!" I heaved a sigh, but in truth his despairing rage had

thoroughly delighted me. He had insulted Marion.

"What in blazes am I to do?" he muttered, pushing his plate aside with

savage gesture. His appetite had incontinently vanished.

"If I were you, sir," I ventured gently, "I should return at once to

Newhaven. If your uncle knew you were here, who knows what he might

say?"

"Be damned if I do!" he snapped. "It may be only a flash in the pan.

Curse me, if I don't go up and have a look at the old boy myself."

I began to protest at once, but he hurled an oath at my head and rushed

out. Desperation had lent him a rat's courage. I followed quickly, but

he was already in the sick-room before I reached the door. There I

paused and silently surveyed the scene. Marion, as though conscious

that her patient would dislike to see his visitor, had swiftly

interposed herself between Mr. Sefton and the bed, and by signs she now

forbade the young man to advance.

Sir William was asleep.

"Kindly stand aside," muttered Mr. Sefton Dagmar; "I intend to see my

uncle, and you won't prevent me!"

"Another time," whispered Marion, whose eyes were simply ablaze. "You

cannot see him now; he is asleep!"

What wild fancy possessed the young man I do not know. Perhaps the fool

imagined that his uncle was dead, and that for some base, esoteric

purpose Marion wished to hide his death. At all events, he suddenly

stepped forward and thrust her brutally aside.

The noise of that scuffle, slight as it was, awakened the sick man. His

eyes opened and he looked up to gaze upon his nephew's rage-distorted

visage. "You here!" he gasped.

Mr. Sefton Dagmar turned grey. "I--I--I--hope--I hope you're feeling

better, sir!" he stammered.

"Why are--you--in London?" whispered Sir William.

"I--I--your illness, sir."

"When did you come up?"

"Last night, sir," lied the nephew.

The uncle closed his eyes, and appeared to reflect. A moment passed and

then very silently he opened them again. "Marion!" he said.

She stepped to his side. She still seemed greatly agitated.

"Make him go!" whispered the sick man very faintly. "Make him leave my

house at once. Tell Brown!"

The words died in a sigh. He closed his eyes once more and to all

appearances he slept.

Marion turned to Mr. Sefton Dagmar with the imperial manner of a queen.

"You heard, sir!" she said coldly.

The young man for a moment made no reply; then he broke into a snarling

stream of words.

"I see how it is," he hissed. "You are using your infernal prettiness

to cheat me out of my inheritance. I've heard of your sort before.

'Marion' he called you--'Marion!' Perhaps you've wormed a will out of

him already. Perhaps you want to marry him on his death bed! Oh! I know

your sort. Of course, you'd like to turn me out of the place neck and

crop; I might interfere with your precious scheming, hey? But I'm not

going to let you fleece me. Not much. Here I am, and here I stay! Do

your damndest----"

What further insults the vulgar ruffian might have heaped upon the

beautiful woman he confronted I cannot guess. But at that juncture

Marion threw me a glance of passionate entreaty, and my heart leaped to

answer her appeal.

In another second I had him by the throat, and in still another I had

hurled him sheer across the room and through the door. Before he could

arise I was at his throat again. No man was ever nearer death than he,

for I am physically strong, and at that while I was fairly lunatic with

passion.

It was Sir Charles Venner that saved his life. The surgeon, who, it

seems, had possessed himself some time since of my master's latch-key,

entered silently in the midst of the fracas, and he pulled me from my

already black-faced prey.

I got to my feet, shaking like a leaf, and hardly conscious where I

was. My master's door was shut, and Marion stood against it, her two

great eyes burning out of her sheet-white face. She too was trembling

violently.

"What is all this?" demanded Sir Charles, stirring the insensible

Sefton Dagmar with his foot.

"Brown is not to blame," muttered the girl. "Sir William ordered him to

make Mr. Dagmar leave the house. He--he had forced his way into the

sick-room!" She gave me once more an appealing glance, as though asking

me to substantiate her story. "That--that is all!" she concluded with a

sob.

"Mr. Dagmar resisted me," I added quickly. "He made a dreadful scene in

the sick room. Upon my soul, sir, I believe he wished to kill his

uncle!"

Sir Charles nodded. "Not unlikely," he remarked indifferently enough.

"Carry the blackguard downstairs, Brown. Now, Marion, by your leave

I'll see my patient."

They disappeared, and I, stooping, lifted young Dagmar in my arms and

carried him below. When he recovered he gave me a look of murderous

malignity, got silently to his feet, and staggered to his room. Ten

minutes later he departed from the house without sparing a word to me

or any other there. I was glad to see his back, for although I bore him

no ill-will, I had no longer any manner of use for him.

Sir Charles Venner soon afterwards was good enough to pay a visit to my

pantry.

"Was that Mr. Dagmar who went out a while ago?" he demanded.

"Yes, Sir Charles."

"Did he take his traps?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't admit him again, Brown. He has upset your master very much. By

the way, I am pleased with you Brown; you acted very properly. You need

not repay me the money that I lent you, my man. I wish you to keep it

as a little present--from me."

"Oh, sir!" I cried, "I could not think of doing that. I shall always be

indebted to you by the memory of your kindness and glad to be, Sir

Charles. But you must let me pay you back the money."

"Well, well; I'm not sure but what I like you the better for that

spirit, Brown. Yet I think you are a fool."

"It is the way I was made, sir," I murmured apologetically. "Thank you

kindly all the same."

He nodded and left. His suspicions were dead, that was evident. I

thought it very funny, but I was less pleased than I might have been.

My unwavering run of success, God knows why, was beginning to give me a

Dead Sea flavour in the mouth. Perhaps Marion had something to do with

it. Indeed, I could not drive her from my thoughts, except to con my

own rascality. Whereon this wonder speedily arose: what would she think

of me if she could know?

At about eleven o'clock she appeared in the door armed with her

inevitable bowl. "I must make another poultice!" she announced.

I begged her to take a seat and direct me. She was so weary that it was

easy to persuade her. And thus I entered upon her service and became a

nurse.

She spoke never a word of that which had happened over stairs, but I

thought I detected in her bearing a growing, if melancholy, tolerance,

and perhaps some small faint trace of interest in myself. At any rate,

she watched me at her work, and that was something benedictive to my

mind. Silent was her mood, however, and silence suited her. It ever

seemed a pity that speech should be allowed to mar the perfect calm of

her reposeful countenance--until she spoke--when instantly one lost

regret in wonder at the new and unexpected graces so called into

existence.

During the next few days the world dealt kindly with our household. Sir

William's strength very gradually improved; Marion relaxed a little of

her habitual sadness, and as for me, I had never been so happy in my

life. I only left the house on one occasion, in order to convey my

valuables from Bruton Street to the bank. After that was done, I felt

minded never to quit Curzon Street again so long as our then manner of

living might continue. I spent my time between the sick room and the

pantry; relieving Marion of every trouble that I could, and waiting on

her with the noiseless patience of a shadow. In this I was wise,

without other intention than to please her. My silence began to appeal

to her imagination even more than my ceaseless studied courtesies. And

in this behalf I would remark my faith that no woman lives, howso

preoccupied with grief or other interests, who can long remain

impervious to persistently considerate devotion. I often caught her

watching me with grave, inquiring eyes. On such occasions it was I, not

she, who exhibited confusion. I could not act to her. Sometimes feeling

her power I grew quite terrified. Did she study me? I wondered, and

what was her opinion? I was soon to know.

One evening Sir William dropped into a deep slumber far sooner than his

wont. The room adjoining his I had converted from a dressing-chamber

into a boudoir for Marion's convenience; and there she had become

accustomed to retire, when circumstances permitted, to rest and dream

perhaps, within his call. There it was I found her, replying to the

summons of her bell.

"You rang, madam?" I asked in a low voice. She was reclining in a

lounge. She had discarded her nurse's costume for a wrapper, and she

looked the better for it; more softly lovely and more human, too, I

think.

She pointed to a chair. "Will you not talk to me a while?" she asked.

"I feel lonely to-night."

I felt my face burn as I bowed and sat down--upon her bidding. I could

hardly credit my good fortune, and I lacked breath to reply.

"You have been very good to me," she murmured. "Why was it, Brown?"

Still I could not reply. I dared not even look at her.

She did not, however, appear to notice my confusion, or else my eyes

played false. Her voice was just as even as it wandered on at the

impulse of her rambling fancy, as I thought.

"I have been thinking, Brown, that you were not born a servant," she

said quietly. "Will you tell me if I guessed aright?"

No prescience warned me of a snare. Had any other woman asked me such a

question I should have smiled and lied, knowing well that woman's

deepest policy is to persuade with flatteries. But Marion questioned,

and I answered from my heart.

"My father was a gentleman by birth, madam."

"Ah!" she sighed. "He met with some unhappiness, no doubt?"

"He lies in a pauper's grave. He was a great musician."

"And have you inherited his talent?"

"I play the flute and violin indifferently well, madam."

"And you are educated too, for I have marked your speech?"

"My father did his best for me, madam, though I was slow, I fear, to

learn. He was the wisest man, and yet the most unfortunate, whom I have

ever known."

"Some day I may ask you to give me his history."

She sighed again, and for a time was silent, but at length she fixed

her eyes upon my face and said: "You have a foreign 'air,' monsieur; I,

who am French, as you certainly must have guessed, have marked it. Is

it possible that your father was my countryman?"

"He had not that honour, mademoiselle."

She gave a little frown. "And yet your name, Hume--I think you said it

might be French?"

"No, mademoiselle; but my mother was a Parisienne. That will account to

you perhaps for the foreign 'air' you have marked in me."

She nodded her head, and half closing her eyes she began in a low voice

of melting sweetness to hum to the tune of a famous little chansonette,

whose refrain is inexpressibly mournful and pathetic, Maeterlinck's

exquisite little poem, "Et s'il revenait un jour!"

Knowing well the sadness in her which the sadness of her song

expressed, I felt my heart ache and my eyes grew strangely blurred.

Of a sudden she stopped and, leaning forward, gave me a look which

seemed to reveal a longing to be comforted.

"Ah, sir!" she said in French. "I see you have a heart that might

vibrate to woman's tears. And yet you cannot know how sad I am, how

very, very miserable!"

And as she gazed at me her eyes overflowed with two such tears as she

had spoken of.

There are times when a passion of insensate anger seizes me to look

back upon my folly. Ah! woman's wiles, woman's wiles! The greatest and

the least of us have been their victims. And who am I to rave of my

undoing, when a Sampson, a Nelson, and even a Napoleon, that man of

iron, shared my fate.

But I was blind, blind! Pierced by the sight of those tears to the very

fibres of my being, I sprang up, then falling on my knee before her, I

seized and passionately kissed her hand.

"Mademoiselle, you spoke justly," I cried in French. "Here is a heart

that only beats to serve you, without seeking, ay, even without

desiring a reward, except that which you must give me of your pleasure

or without, when I shall see upon your face some promise of your

happiness repaired!"

The glance of involuntary horror that she gave me, and the swift

withdrawal of her hand from my embrace, should have warned me of my

fatuous self-betrayal. But there is no limit to the errors of a truly

clever mind astray in seeking to retrieve itself. I thought that I had

angered her in venturing to hint that her disease of sorrow might be

cured.

"Pardon me," I pleaded earnestly, "I have offended you with words. If

any part of me could so offend, that member I would straightaway

destroy."

She looked at me more kindly, and even now I believe that she was

touched by the sincerity and singleness of my devotion.

"Rise, monsieur!" she murmured with an effort. "I thank you for your

sympathy, but it is not seemly that you kneel to me."

I obeyed, and at her nod resumed my chair. She closed her eyes, and for

a long period was deathly still. Her lovely face was extraordinarily

pallid and she scarcely seemed to breathe. Then I thought her in the

throes of reawakened grief for Cavanagh's death, and my pain to watch

her was intense. Now I know that in her silence she was struggling with

herself. Or rather that pity in her, a woman's unfailing pity for a

loving being, however wretchedly unworthy of compassion, was striving

to silence her ideas of duty.

At last her eyes opened and she looked at me. Her regard was

mysteriously wistful, cold, and it seemed to me a little self-ashamed.

Indeed, she faintly blushed.

"Sir William Dagmar does not know that you can speak French!" she

murmured. "You have deceived him, monsieur! That is wrong. I think that

you should go away."

Thrice triple fool I was. Her pity had cajoled her conscience and she

was offering me a chance to escape. I, in my infatuation, only thought

that she chided me for my deceit.

"Ah! mademoiselle," I muttered. "It is true that I deceived him, but

when I did so I was penniless and starving. I pray you from my soul

that you will not bid me leave you nor inform Sir William Dagmar of my

sin."

"You do not wish to go?"

"Mademoiselle!" I cried, "not though it were to Paradise assured!"

She blushed deeply, nevertheless her eyes hardened and she frowned. She

was doubtless thinking--

"He has had his opportunity. His fate henceforth must be upon his own

head! I wash my hands of it!"

I dreamed she was offended at my too ardent gaze. I lowered my eyes at

once in sad humility.

"Stay then!" she said, and her voice assumed a tone of witching

tenderness.

I looked up in quick delight to meet a dazzling smile. With such a

smile Judith lured Holofernes to destruction. But it needed not that

with me; I was destroyed already.

"My friend," she said, and she extended me her hand. "I thank you for

your company, but, alas! the hours speed, and I have much to do. Good

night!"

I tried to reply, but I could not. She permitted me to kiss her hand,

however, and even smiled again. I left the room in a delirium of

happiness, poor fool, and not one of my enraptured dreams that night

disclosed to me the precipice upon whose brink I stood.

The days that followed were over full of strange, untried experiences

for me to properly describe them. Marion was by my side whenever chance

allowed. But every hour she showed to me a different mood, a varied and

elusive distortion of her inmost self; so that I came to wonder more

and more whether I knew truly aught of her except that she was

beautiful in all her moods, and that I loved her irretrievably. One

moment she was sad and steeped in cold unbending gloom. The next she

was a gay companion, chattering of this and that as lightly and as

brightly as a bird on sunlit bough. Again she was both grave and

friendly at a time, and we conversed together of men, and books, and

serious philosophies like two grey-haired, sober-minded savants.

Sometimes, yet more infrequently, she forced upon me quarrels in

caprice, to give her opportunity to scorch me with her scorn. And yet,

again, more rarely still, she led me on with shy, alluring glances, or

even bolder looks, provocative of passion, to woo her as I could;

whereon, her will too readily achieved, she swiftly changed from

melting fire to ice, and I was left in agonized confusion, swung like

Mahommed's coffin between despair and hope.

So another week elapsed, and a third began. My master's life no longer

stood in any danger, and his health and strength slowly but steadily

improved. Sir Charles Venner still paid him daily visits, but they were

more to satisfy the claims of friendship than of need. The great

surgeon had always a smile and kindly word for me. It seemed that his

suspicions had long ago been utterly eradicated, and that a liking had

usurped their place. Sometimes I wondered if his penetrating insight

had remarked my love for Marion. But he was far too profound an enigma

for me to solve; and in any case Marion engrossed my life and mind so

utterly that I had neither room nor inclination for any other problem.

A sort of madness had come over me. Apart from her I dreamed; standing,

sitting, or reclining as the case might be, idle and immovable as

stone. I awoke to look upon her face, or listen to her voice, on

instant a creature of pulsating passion; yet her humble and devoted

slave, responding to her slightest will, as swiftly and obediently as a

needle to the pole. And slowly but surely hope grew stronger in my

breast. A thin wild hope it was at first, the veritable offspring of

despair. But fostered by my passion and her wayward moods, it developed

force and form, and I could at last no more deny it place in my

imaginings. I hoped to win her. Yes; I hoped to win her! There were

times when I forgot the gulf dug between us by her purity and my too

criminal unworthiness, and I remembered only that she was a woman and I

a man. The law of sex is hard to supersede. It recognizes neither

morals nor conventions. It despises ethical distinctions, and it laughs

with love at every human effort to confine its boundaries. At its

command I began not only to hope, but to aspire. One morning Marion

came to me and said: "Monsieur, Sir Charles Venner, who has just

departed, has ordered me to take a holiday to-morrow. He says that I am

looking pale, and that I need a little open air and sunshine. I think

that he is wise, and I shall comply with his command!"

"But," I stammered, for the thought of losing her even for a day was a

torture hardly to be borne, "what of Sir William Dagmar? How will he

get on without you?"

"Sir Charles has promised to send another nurse this evening, who will

take my place."

"I trust, mademoiselle, that you--that you will enjoy yourself," I

muttered in a trembling voice. "The house will be dull without you,

though--for me."

She gave me a swift, shy glance, then cast down her eyes, folding and

unfolding her hands before her.

"How could I enjoy myself--do you think--alone?" she whispered. "It

will be a sad day also for me."

"Let me go with you," I blurted out. "I am not needed here. Ah! I am

mad to dream that you would condescend so far. Forgive me of your pity,

and forget the insolence of my presumption!"

But she clapped her hands and laughed as blithely as a child. "Will you

come?" she cried. "But that will be magnificent. Ah! let us see!" She

darted across the room and perched herself upon the dresser. "Come

here, monsieur, quite close to me. Nay, not too close. So! Now we shall

plan our day. At sunrise we shall wake and dress, and we shall have an

early breakfast here, so as not to waste a single moment of our day,

our day!"

I gazed at her as a Peri might at Paradise, and she rippled on.

"Afterwards we shall drive to the station, and take a train to

somewhere in the country, where we may wander through green fields and

flower-scattered meadows, hand in hand like children. Shall we not,

monsieur?"

I nodded, lost in a perfect dreamland of delight.

"But, no!" she cried quite suddenly. "It is beautiful, that picture,

yet not so beautiful as this. Listen, monsieur--but you can row a boat,

of course."

I nodded again.

"Then, listen! We shall go by train to Hampton, and there we shall take

boat. The river is most lovely thereabouts, and you shall slowly row me

up the stream towards Staines and Windsor through the hottest hours;

slowly, slowly past the green-lawned banks and pretty houses, and among

the darling little osier islets. And as you row I'll sing. And we'll

forget our cares and open wide our hearts to the sunshine and to

happiness without an afterthought. And when the noon comes we shall eat

our lunch upon an island; a merry interlude between two golden dreams.

For afterwards we'll float upon our way again. And when the day is done

and twilight falls we shall land at the loveliest place of all. I know

it well. It is an old, old park garden, thick planted with many great

solemn trees. A private park, but lonely, for the house is haunted, so

they say. And there I shall lead you by the hand into a little marble,

many pillared temple, open to the stars, wherein a tiny spring is born

within a pool, a wishing well. And you shall look therein and I, and we

shall see fresh mirrored on its surface--the faces of our loves. Shall

we do all this, monsieur?"

I could but bend my head, for her siren voice had woven round my

faculties a spell of charmed silence, and not one of Circe's victims

was ever more powerless than I was then. When I looked up she had gone.

How I lived through that day and night I scarcely know. I can in fact

remember nothing clearly of the hours that followed until the moment

came when I saw her seated before me in the boat, the rudder lines

slipping slowly through her folded hands. It was early in the morning

of an absolutely perfect day. Of the river, the witching scenery, I

knew but noted little, for I looked only upon her face. She was simply

and yet elegantly clad in some rich clinging stuff of purest white; her

loveliness it is beyond me to portray. But this I know--she seemed to

love me, and her mood was yielding and submissive to the point of

tenderness. Very generously did she fulfil her promise. As I rowed, she

sang to me the sweetest songs of France, and Italy, and love songs all.

It was indeed a rapturous, golden dream. When at times she ceased to

sing we neither of us spoke, but gazed silently into each other's eyes,

until the music in her woke to song again.

We came at noon to the pretty little island she foretold; and I made

her sit upon a rug while I prepared our lunch. It was strange indeed

how truly all her prophesies came true. The lunch was a very merry

interlude. We both ate heartily, and we pledged each other often in

champagne. Afterwards we started on our way again, and only when we

came upon a lock did I remember that there was a world of living people

near us. So slow and idle was our journeying that twilight had already

fallen as we passed by Staines. About that time I noticed that Marion

maintained a longer silence than her wont, and a little later I felt a

sudden thrill to see her shivering. She was looking over the side of

the boat, gazing sadly on the rippled surface of the stream.

"Are you cold, dear one?" I asked, and I paused to watch her, leaning

on the sculls.

She shook her head.

"Then you shivered at a thought," I ventured. "Please to tell me what

it was?"

"I thought of death," she said, and turning, looked into my eyes. Her

own were alight with a rich sombre glow.

"Of death! and why of death--to-day?"

"Death, Agar, my friend," she answered--she had named me so since

morning,--"is never long a stranger from my thoughts."

"What! and you so young, so beautiful," I cried.

"It is because I fear death, Agar. I have seen him in a thousand forms,

and each form was more dreadful than the last. There are some who grow

familiar with his face and finish by despising him. I, on the contrary,

fear him more and more. But you, my friend, how do you regard him?"

"I have never asked myself the question."

"Then ask it now!"

"A morbid fancy, Marion!"

"Yet humour me, my friend; I wish to know."

To me her eyes seemed passionately curious, and I marvelled at her

mood. But I answered gravely.

"I neither despise nor fear him, Marion. When in the press of time he

calls for me, I shall bow to the inevitable with what dignity I can."

"I think you are a brave man, Agar," she replied. "You must be indeed,

yet it is a thing that puzzles me."

"Why?" I questioned with a smile.

"Because a brave man should be honest too, and you are not."

"You are remembering the deceit I practised on Sir William Dagmar?"

"Yes; and other happenings."

"What else?"

"I am remembering the night my lover died!" She bent a little forward

as she spoke, and her eyes burned into mine. I caught my breath, and I

felt my hand gripped as with a hand.

"You bore me from the room of death," she proceeded in a tense

passionate whisper, "and you laid me down upon my bed, and then you

kissed my brow. I did not know you at the time, for you were very

cunningly disguised--but now I know."

It never occurred to me to deny, or even to demand the origin of her

discovery. Indeed, incredible as it may appear, I experienced some sort

of delight to learn that she was thoroughly acquainted with my

villainy. Quick as a flash I said to myself: "She knows, and yet she

has not turned from me. It must be that she loves!"

"I believed that you were utterly insensible," I gasped.

She sighed and leaned back in her seat. A long silence fell between us.

My thoughts were in a tangled whirl. I could not grasp the skein of

them, and I seemed to be plucking helplessly after a dozen elusive

phantom-like ideas.

At last I heard her say: "It was for me he died, Agar!" She was

alluding to the dead man, George Cavanagh, and her tones were full of

bitterness.

I waited with my eyes upon her averted face. "He died in vain," she

went on presently. "Ah, but doubtless you already know."

"Nothing!" I muttered. "Nothing."

"He was ruined," she said sadly, "and he wished his death to profit

me--with money. Money! As if money could atone!"

"Then he was dishonest too, as well as I," I muttered, trying hard to

smoothe all triumph from my tones.

She uttered a low moan of pain, and wrung her hands together. "No, no,"

she wailed. "He wished to be perhaps, but I gave the money back to

them."

"I am glad of that," I cried.

She threw at me a look of fiery scorn. "You!" she hissed; "you! Get to

your work and row."

In mournful humility I immediately obeyed, and we glided on our way

again. For a long while I dared not look at her, and when I dared I

could not see for the dark. But I knew that she was weeping, and though

I longed to comfort her, I set my teeth and kept resolutely to my work,

rowing hard in an effort to forget. It was she who interrupted me. I

saw her white figure start suddenly erect.

"Stop!" she cried; "we have passed the place. Go back!"

I put the boat about, and slowly we returned. Soon at her word I

shipped the sculls and allowed the craft to drift. The silence

afterwards was full of brooding melancholy. The long, dark shadows on

the river were interspersed with flecks of shapeless mist, which fancy

shaped to spirit forms, and ghostly arms outstretched to beckon or to

wave forbiddingly. How Marion fared I cannot guess, but I was wretched

and sunk deep in gloom. It was a miserable ending to so glorious a day,

and my heart ached strangely as I thought of it, although I did not

reckon all my pain until I found relief at last in her command to seek

the shore. We landed upon a long green sloping bank, fringed heavily

with willows, to one of which I moored the boat. She left me at that

occupation, and slowly climbed the bank. But her white dress shone out

through the shadows of the grove, and soon I stood before her. She laid

her hand upon my lips and drew me then into a very gloomy little dell

entirely girt with trees. I wondered vaguely at her action and her

cautious silence, yet as always I obeyed her wish, and waited on her

mood.

For a moment she kept very still, and then she put her hands upon my

breast.

"You love me," she said simply.

I clasped my hands on hers and answered, "Yes."

"How much?" she whispered--very low.

"More, Marion, than life."

"And you respect me?"

"More reverently than death."

"What do you wish of me?"

"Your love!"

"What will you give for it?"

"All that I can."

"And will you suffer for it? What?"

"All that you ask."

"Then kiss me, Agar."

I bent my head and pressed my lips to hers. Her lips were very cold.

But the contact set my blood on fire and I caught her in my arms, and

strained her to my breast. She shivered in my clasp and deeply sighed,

but I rained hot kisses on her cheeks, and eyes, and lips passionately,

striving to warm her with my passion, for I knew that she was cold, and

unresponsive too, in spite of her surrender.

But of a sudden she tore herself from my embrace and fled. I caught her

on a stretch of lawn and held her close again. To my dismayed

astonishment she was weeping wildly. I kissed the tears away and

frantically implored her for their reason. And yet she would do nought

but sob, and gaze around her like one distraught and terrified. "Oh, my

God!" she cried at last; "I cannot, I cannot! I was mad to undertake

this thing--mad--mad!"

"What thing, my sweetheart?" I demanded in amazement.

For answer she threw herself into my arms and kissed me with all the

passion of her soul, once, twice. Then drawing back, she caught my hand

in one of hers, and with the other pointed towards the river, trembling

violently the while. "Ask me nothing now," she panted; "but let us

go--quickly, quickly. This place is haunted! See, I am half sick with

terror."

I passed my arm about her waist and would have led her to the boat, but

at that moment a short shrill whistle sounded from the willows, and was

answered by two others from the wood. The first, however, had hardly

pierced the air, when Marion uttered a frightful scream, and sank

swooning at my feet.

I understood then that the woman I loved had in some fashion betrayed

me. For one desperate second I stood listening for sounds and thinking

of escape. Then anguish overwhelmed me. The transition from my paradise

of beliefs to the hell of certainties was too rapid, for hope to spring

readily therefrom, and I thought to myself--

"Let even death come, for what is there good in life when love is

wrecked and ruined!"

Uttering a groan, I fell on my knee beside her, not knowing what I did,

not caring what might happen.

Next instant I dimly heard a rush of feet upon the grass, a cry of rage

from right to left. A sharp pain quivered through my brain. I saw a

blaze of light that faded quickly into unalleviated blackness. I felt

the world swing with a sickening revolution round, and then came sweet

encompassing oblivion.

VIII

TORTURE

I dreamed that my nostrils were being tickled with a straw. After

awhile the sensation became intolerable. I knew that I was dreaming,

yet I wished to wake up. Sleep, however, pressed with a heavy hand upon

my eyelids, and I contended long and desperately without at all

persuading him to go.

At last a voice said, "That will do, Jussieu, he is coming round."

I opened my eyes at once, with extraordinary ease, considering my long

struggle, and I looked up into the impassive countenance of Sir Charles

Venner. I was seated upright in a high-backed chair, strapped securely

in position, strapped in such a way indeed that I could move only my

fingers and my toes. The negro surgeon, Jussieu, whom I had last seen

at the Kingsmere Hospital for Consumptives, was standing to the right

of Sir Charles, and three of us were grouped about the centre of a

small uncarpeted brick-floored room scarce twelve feet square, that was

furnished only with the chair I occupied and a bracket oil lamp whose

wick was smoking. There was one other person in the room. The negro,

Beudant, stood near the closed door, wiping upon a cloth a

blood-smeared lancet. I noticed that my left sleeve had been ripped

open, and that my arm was bandaged just above the elbow. Evidently they

had bled me. But why? And where was Marion? Of a sudden I remembered

all. Marion had lured me to this river park and betrayed me with a

Judas kiss into the hands of my enemies. Too late she had repented of

her treachery and tried to save me. She had swooned; I had knelt beside

her body, and someone had stunned me with a club. It was all very

simple. I had been a contemptible fool, and now I must pay the price of

my folly. What price would they exact? I wondered. But I most wondered

at my indifference. They can only kill me, I reflected, and the thought

scarcely disturbed me. Yet I was curious. There were many things I

wished to know.

"Where am I?" I asked, looking at Sir Charles.

"You are in the cellar of my private house at Staines," he answered

civilly enough. "I may inform you that I keep no servants except these

men you see, and the house is set in the middle of a small park some

hundred and fifty yards distant from the river and at least a quarter

mile from any other building. You may therefore spare yourself the

useless trouble of shouting for help, should you have been so minded."

"Thank you!" said I.

"Question me further, if you wish, Mr. Hume. It will be my turn soon to

play inquisitor, when you are stronger."

"Where is Marion Le Mar?"

"She returned to London, this morning. You have been four and twenty

hours insensible."

"A clever woman that," I muttered coolly. "You may congratulate

yourself, Sir Charles, on her assistance. But for her I would long ago

have been in France."

He smiled ironically. "You praise her too much!" he replied. "She has

served me well, it is true; but for the last fortnight you have been

practically my prisoner."

"What do you mean?" I demanded.

"What I say. Do you remember Miss Le Mar calling you to her room one

certain evening and asking you questions of your race and parentage?"

"Yes."

"Had you left the house that evening, even the very second she

dismissed you, and indeed at any moment since, you would have been

arrested on the instant."

"By whom?"

"By my detectives!"

"What, did you commit yourself with the police?"

He smiled again. "Oh, no! Nevertheless, you would have been arrested,

Mr. Hume, and you would have thought--by the police!"

"I--see; but--but--how could you have known, I mean, how could you have

been sure that I was I--until you had communicated with--with her?"

For a third time he smiled, and when he spoke it was in a tone of

genuine admiration. "You are an able man, Mr. Hume!" said he, "but no

chain is stronger than its weakest link, and your weakest link was

revealed to me that very morning!"

"Ah! what was it?"

"An advertisement in the personal column of the _Daily Mail_."

"You deal in mysteries!" I cried impatiently, "I never inserted such an

advertisement in my life."

"It ran like this"--replied Sir Charles. "If the gentleman who left a

plain, oak coffin in the front room of number 904 Old Kent Road on the

morning of the ---- day of ----, does not claim it within fourteen days

from date, it will be sold to pay expenses. Sarah Rosenbaum!"

"The idiot!" I gasped. "I gave it to her!"

Sir Charles burst out laughing. "Did you?" he cried--"did you indeed?

Well luckily for me she could not have understood you!"

"Do you mean to say, sir, it was only that advertisement which put you

on my track?"

"That, and only that. I suspected you before, but I confess that you

were adroit enough to allay my suspicions and hoodwink me completely!"

"Oh! Lord," I groaned. "To think that a frowsy, oily haired Jewess

should be the cause of my undoing. Why in the name of goodness was she

not satisfied to take the coffin for a gift!"

"Perhaps she was afraid to sell it, or perhaps she tried to sell it and

could not show a title to its would-be purchaser. You should not

condemn her, Hume, upon _ex parte_ evidence. Pardon me for saying it,

but the fault was yours. You should not have given her the coffin at

all. You should have got rid of it by other means!"

"Too true!" I groaned. "But I only wanted a day's grace then, or I'd

not have been so careless!"

"You had seven!" he exclaimed. "The advertisement

did not appear for a week!"

I felt my cheeks crimson. "After all," I muttered, "you owe everything

to Marion."

"Were you really such a fool," he cried.

I nodded. "Give me to drink!" I said. "I'm feeling weak and sick."

He made a sign, and one of the negroes hurried out. I was very near

swooning, when I felt my chair tipped back, and something was forced

between my teeth. I drank and was revived. Then one of the negroes fed

me with a bowl of soup and soon my strength was perfectly restored. Sir

Charles Venner waited all the time before me, occasionally feeling my

pulse. He seemed satisfied at last that my condition warranted his

promised inquisition, and he proceeded straight away to business.

"Where are the jewels?" he demanded. "The jewels you purchased with the

ten thousand pounds that you extorted from me?"

"In a safe place." I replied.

"But you must tell me where, Mr. Hume," he said, in a pleasant but

determined voice.

"Ah, but you must first tell me what you intend to do with me, Sir

Charles."

He shrugged his shoulders. "What can I do but kill you?" he replied. "I

dare not let you go, and you are too infernally adroit to keep a

prisoner! Come, Hume, I'll make a bargain with you. Give me the jewels,

and I'll promise you your choice of deaths."

"Done with you!" I cried. "I choose old age!"

"Senility is not for you, my friend; I spoke of sudden deaths."

"Then we can't trade, Sir Charles!"

"Let me remind you that I am a surgeon, Hume. Some deaths are

extraordinarily painful. You, who are no anatomist, I think, would be

surprised to learn how tenaciously the soul may cling to its clay

casket, and how deep are the wells of agony that it will often plumb

before it can be prevailed upon to seek another sphere of usefulness.

Now I am not a cruel man, and I should not like to see you suffer too

protractedly. Let me persuade you not to force my hand."

"Give me a night to think it over," I replied.

"Why delay? No, Hume, I cannot grant your wish in any case. I have to

perform a difficult operation to-morrow, and if my mind were occupied

with doubts, I might not do my patient justice. If I left you here

alive I should be uneasy, my knife might slip--a thousand accidents

might happen. Improbable as it seems, you might escape."

"You have determined then to murder me tonight?" I gasped.

"Yes."

"But, you fool!" I cried, seeing one gleam of hope. "How then can you

be sure of getting the jewels. I have only to tell you a lie in order

to rob you of them for ever!"

The man positively started; nor did he attempt to conceal his mind.

"Hum!" he muttered. "That is a point I had overlooked." Of a sudden,

however, his lips parted in a smile and his eyes gleamed.

"Well, well," he said. "Since there's no help, I needs must let you

live a day or two. But in order to save time, Hume, be good enough to

tell me your first lie at once?"

"You mean?"

"I'll be quite frank with you, my man. This is my meaning. You will

presently mention a place where the jewels may be but are not. I shall

prove during to-morrow that you have lied. And to-morrow night we'll

speak again--and you will then tell me the truth. You understand?"

"You mean, that to-morrow night you will torture me?"

"Just so."

"And if I refuse to speak to-night?"

"You will sleep poorly, I'm afraid, my friend. But come, be reasonable.

You pleaded for a night's reflection. I offer it to you."

"But with a sure prospect of torture on the morrow."

"Unless you speak the truth to-night."

"Then I shall!" I cried with a shudder. "Better death than torture!"

"Well?"

"The jewels are in Sir William Dagmar's house. You will----"

"You lie," he interjected sharply. "I drugged and searched you the

night that you returned from robbing me."

"I know that, sir; but the very next day I went out and brought them to

the house, I couldn't bear to have them any longer out of my reach."

"Ah!" His looks pierced me, but I did not flick an eyelash as I

steadily returned his stare.

"Go on!" he said at length. "Where are they hidden, then?"

"Marion Le Mar has them, Sir Charles. I gave them to her when we left

the house last morning?"

"What?" he shouted. "What?"

"It is true," I answered glibly. "I gave them to her wrapped up in a

small sealed parcel, which I asked her to keep for me in her box until

we had returned. I acted so for this reason. It occurred to me that you

or someone might take a notion to search my room while I was away, but

I felt pretty sure you'd never dream of searching Marion's box."

It were as well for me perhaps to explain straight away the monstrous

falsehood last recorded. An instinct taught me that Sir Charles Venner

entertained but small respect for women. I saw that he wanted the

jewels very badly, and I fancied that if I could make him believe the

story I had so readily invented, I might still live for many days. His

natural course would be at once to demand from Marion the packet which

I declared that I had given her. As I had given her nothing, she would

truthfully repudiate his claim. But Sir Charles Venner's want of

respect for women would immediately induce him to doubt the honesty of

Marion's denial. He would think, "she has opened the packet, and the

jewels--treasures so dear to women's eyes--have stolen her honour."

I would act thereafter so as subtly to foster his suspicions, and I

hoped that at last, in order to satisfy himself whether Marion or I

spoke true, he would confront me with the beautiful woman, for love of

whom I had to die. I felt that I would be content to perish, given in

exchange one opportunity to hurl at her my hate. As deep and tender as

had been my love, so bitter and so ardent was my hate!

Sir Charles eyed me for a moment in thoughtful silence. Then very

slowly he nodded his head.

"Did you tell her what it was you gave her?" he demanded.

"No."

"Why do you tell me now? It will cost you a day of life if you spoke

the truth."

I permitted myself a show of passion.

"A life of which I am weary, weary! Have you ever loved, you man of

ice? Have you ever been betrayed by the creature you adored?" I cried.

"I would to God that you had killed me as I knelt beside her body in

the park. I had then hardly realized her treachery!" I closed my eyes

and shuddered, straining my muscles as though in a paroxysm of mental

agony, the while.

"Hume!" said Sir Charles, "if you are not acting, you are desperate,

and you have not lied to me. Take my advice and die while you are

desperate! A pin prick and all will be over. I can promise you no pain."

The fact is I had acted far too well. It was necessary then to surpass

my former effort in order to save my life, and at the same time make

him continue to believe in me.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, at first with a vacant stare.

"She sold me with a Judas kiss!" I muttered, "a cursed traitress--with

a Judas kiss. You've promised me my choice of deaths. You'll keep your

word, Sir Charles, or by the God above us--you'll die a fouler death

than I."

I gave him a look of such concentrated rage as I concluded, that, bound

though I was, he started back a step and bit his lip.

"Well, well!" he exclaimed, "I'll keep my word, you need not fear."

"Then bring me a cross, and nail me to it--in my senses while I live,

and while I bleed to death--you'll drag her here to see me--so that I

may curse her as I die!"

"The man is mad!" he gasped, "mad as a March hare!"

"Keep your word!" furiously I hissed. "I bind you to your word!"

Sir Charles exchanged fearful glances with the negroes. I watched him,

frowning like a thunder-cloud.

"Come, come!" he said at last. "You must sleep over this, Hume! You

must not set me a task beyond my power--I----"

But I broke in upon him with a curse. "What!" I shrieked. "You bragged

and bleated of the torture you had in store for me--and when I bid you

kill me as I wish to die, you shrink and blanch and mouth your feminine

humanity. But you've given me your promise--and you'll keep it or by--"

I finished with a storm of maledictions so blasphemously horrible, and

which I delivered with such wild and awful force, that even the stolid

negroes staggered back and rolled their eyes. As for Sir Charles, he

turned sheet white before I was half through, and with a look of

something marvellously resembling terror, he turned and simply rushed

out of the room.

I screamed my curses after him, straining and tugging at my bonds like

one possessed. But at length, thoroughly outworn with the exertion, I

stopped and feigned to swoon.

Next moment the cellar was in darkness, and I heard the negroes stumble

out and bolt the door behind them.

I'll not relate the anguish I endured that night, more than to say it

made an old man of me--in mind, if not in body. I did not sleep. I

could not if I would, for I was companied with memories sharp enough to

sting a soul from torpor deep as death. And I would not, if I could,

because I feared that those were by me who might take advantage of my

slumber to extend my sleep beyond mortality.

But none came near me, and through the dragging hours I heard no sound.

Morning came without the black dark lessening one whit, until the

negro, Beudant, brought a candle with some breakfast. He was plainly

afraid of me at first, and without doubt I was not a pleasant thing to

gaze upon. But his fears faded as he fed me and saw me grateful for the

food.

"You are in a gentler mood, monsieur, than overnight," he presently

remarked. "It is better so, believe me. If I were you, I would not die

upon a cross."

"Just so," I answered quickly. "I do not wish to die at all, would you

like to make yourself a rich man, M. Beudant?"

"Why, yes, monsieur."

"Then help me to escape, and I shall fill your hands with gold."

"But in that case I should incur my patron's enmity."

"And in the other you will run a very certain risk of being hanged."

"Even so, monsieur."

"You fear your patron more keenly than the law!" I cried. "Believe me,

you are wrong."

"Pardon!" he interrupted, "you mistake, monsieur. I fear no man. Sir

Charles Venner is my patron and my teacher. But he is also my friend. I

would suffer death for him, if need arose."

I sighed. "Will he really kill me, do you think?" I asked.

The negro pursed out his thick, black lips. "I feel sure of it," he

muttered. "As soon as once the jewels that he seeks are in his hands,

you'll die."

"Then my hours are numbered," I said gloomily, "for that will be

to-day."

"But then, can it be, you told him truly, yesternight, monsieur?"

"I was mad!" I groaned aloud. "Mad. Last night I cared for nothing! I

was torn apart with rage and with despair. But now it is different." I

groaned again. "Ah! M. Beudant, is there no hope for me? You do not

look inhuman! Would you have the murder of a fellow being on your soul.

Help me to live, if only for a little while--a few short hours? One

other day? I am not fit to die, Beudant. Great God, no! I am not fit to

die!"

"What can I do for you, monsieur?"

"Oh! it is not much I ask. Go to your patron and persuade him that I

lied last night."

"Impossible, monsieur! He has already left the house."

"Then follow him, Beudant. I am bound or I would beseech you on my

knees. Beudant for the love of God----"

"Monsieur, monsieur!"

"Kind, sweet Beudant!" I wailed. "Beautiful, excellent Beudant, do this

little thing for me. See it is a dying man entreats you. Sweet Beudant,

pretty Beudant."

The poor negro looked the picture of distress. His eyes rolled in his

head, and he knew not what to do or say.

"I cannot deceive my patron!" he cried at last.

But at that I shrieked aloud and drove him from the room with venomous

blood-curdling curses. In his agitation he forgot to take with him the

candle, which he had set upon the floor, and that circumstance gave me

an occupation for some hours which in some degree alleviated my dark

mood of bitterness. I thought that by dint of great stress and labour I

might work my chair beside the flame and sear through some or other of

my bonds. In four hours of constant effort I had moved a foot perhaps,

but then I gave up in despair, for I had still a yard to go and already

the candle guttered in its socket.

Jussieu was the next to visit me, bearing on a tray my mid-day meal.

After eating heartily, I tested him in much the fashion I had tried on

Beudant. He gave me similar replies, and I rewarded him with similar

maledictions. But instead of flying from my oaths as the other negro

had, to my astonishment, he quelled me with a rolling sermon, delivered

in the finest Lutheran style. Texts quivered from his tongue, like

shafts of lightning in a storm, and the black canting hypocrite, who

was ready at his master's nod to murder me, dared preach to me of

penitence, and summoned me in thunderous tones to prepare my soul for

death.

At first rage and indignation held me speechless; but when the humour

of the situation struck me properly, I yelled with laughter, and

laughed and laughed until my ribs ached and the tears trickled down my

cheeks.

When I had sobered he was gone, and I was glad, despite the dark. I am

too good a hypocrite myself to endure a man whose hypocrisy may be

pierced with a pin. And though I had laughed at him, too much of

Jussieu would have made me sick.

Seven hours later Sir Charles Venner entered my prison cellar with his

ebony attendants, who bore between them a small table spread with

lamps, and one or two strange ugly looking implements.

The surgeon wore a gloomy look, and he made no answer to my courteous

greeting. But bidding Beudant shut the door, he turned to me and said:--

"Hume, after all you lied to me!"

"What!" I cried as if dumbfounded. Then quickly recovering my

countenance, I exclaimed. "Oh, yes, yes. You have discovered it. Yes,

yes, I lied to you. The jewels are really hidden behind the second

volume of Bruton's "Anatomy of Melancholy" in the bookshelf on the

eastern wall of Sir William Dagmar's library."

Sir Charles favoured me with a black frown. "You are such an

accomplished liar!" he said coldly, "that I can no longer rely upon

your unsupported word."

"What would you do?" I cried.

"Persuade you to be honest with a foretaste of damnation!"

At that I felt my blood turn cold within me, and yet strange to say a

hot sweat broke out on my forehead and my face.

"You monster!" I gasped. "You would really torture me?"

"I shall," he retorted. "Jussieu, will you please to operate."

"But certainly, monsieur," replied the brutal preacher, with a grin of

malice which showed me that my laughter had not failed to prick his

vanity.

He seized one of the implements that I had noted and immediately

approached my chair. In another moment my left hand was encased in a

curious steel glove, which held the fingers widely separated in rigid

iron stalls. I tremulously assured myself this was a farce to try my

nerve; and resolving not to watch the leering villain at his work, I

looked up at Sir Charles, who met my eyes as impassively as ever.

"A test?" I sneered.

"Yes, a test," said he.

Next instant I uttered a scream of agony, for a burning pain had

suddenly pierced my thumb. I looked at it and saw that a long needle

had been inserted down the joint between the nail and quick. Jussieu

was already busy at my forefinger. "Mercy mercy," I shouted. "I'll tell

you the truth, the truth!"

"Then speak!"

"She has them, Marion!"

"Once more, Jussieu?" said Sir Charles.

Again that penetrating agony. Again I raved and screamed. Again I swore

I'd tell the truth.

"Speak!" cried Sir Charles.

"They are in Sir William Dagmar's library, where I said before,

behind----"

"Once more, Jussieu!" interrupted the surgeon.

I lost sight of the agonizing periods. I fainted more than once and was

restored to life by pain. Sometimes I lied, more often still I shrieked

aloud the truth, and was not credited. But at last growing wise under

the torture, I perceived what my inquisitor wished me most to say, and

I vowed time after time that Marion possessed the jewels, and Marion

alone. At last Sir Charles decided to believe me, and my mangled hand

was grudgingly released. I was by then well-nigh incapable of feeling,

and they might have murdered me without exciting in my breast one added

solitary pang.

I fell into a heavy sleep before they left the room, and when I awoke I

was benumbed and very listless. I became, however, gradually aware that

much had been done during my unconsciousness which must have lasted

hours. The table remained in the room, and a lamp thereon cast a yellow

glitter round the plastered walls. To the left of my chair there yawned

a deep hole in the floor, something coffin shaped, with bricks and

earth and stones heaped against the wall behind. Two spades were

sticking in the rubble, and a pick. Very patently it was a grave, my

grave! I gazed at it with a sort of solemn wonder, but I thought it

might prove a friend, if it would only save me from such horrors as I

shuddered to remember I had lately undergone. After a time I realized

that I was listening to a faint bubbling sound that seemed to issue

from my grave. Then I noted in the shadowy depths a whitish froth, and

understood! My grave promised me, as well as death, obliteration, nay,

absolute annihilation. It was partly filled with seething quicklime!

Beudant came and made me eat and drink. I was very faint and only asked

him for the time. He told me it was two o'clock upon the fourth day of

my imprisonment.

While wondering at the news, I fell asleep. Beudant awoke me with more

food and drink. Again I fell asleep, and again I awoke to find myself

being softly carried from the cellar of my grave, into an adjoining

room that was also situated underground, for it, too, was plastered

walled and windowless. It contained, however, a long rack furnished

with some dozens of champagne, neck downwards, and most carefully

bestowed.

"A good vintage! I should say," I said to Beudant. Satan himself could

not have made me to speak to Jussieu, except with sneers.

"You shall judge, monsieur!" replied the negro, and when he set me

down, he took a bottle from the rack and proceeded to unfold the cork.

"Why this sudden kindness to an _ame damnee_!" I asked indifferently.

"Has my last hour come?"

"God knows, monsieur; but you are, I think, to have a visitor, and I

have orders! Kindly drink!"

He poured out a full cup of the frothy nectar, and held it to my lips.

I quaffed it slowly, and felt the life blood surge anew along my veins.

Also I felt my lacerated hand begin to pain, and soon I groaned aloud.

Beudant on instant was a kind physician, and I blessed him as he poured

some warm and grateful balsam on the wounds, and bound my injured

fingers in a swathe of silk.

"Beudant." said I, "whichever takes me, Beelzebub or Satan, when I go,

I'll sing your praises to him as a man of heart."

"Peace, blasphemer!" grated Jussieu.

"Peace yourself, you canting hound!" I cried.

For answer he smote me on the mouth. But that was too much even for me,

who till that moment honestly believed that I was destitute of pride. I

discovered at the touch of a blackfellow's paw that, at all events, I

had a pride of race. I filled my lungs with air and shouted like a

Stentor: "Help! Help! Murder! Murder!"

Jussieu shook like a leaf. "You blasted pig!" he muttered--very low.

"God strike you dead!"

Truly his religion, for all his preaching, was not deep.

But Sir Charles Venner's voice answered at once, in very angry tones:

"Beudant, Jussieu, what the devil are you doing?"

Next instant the door opened. I saw the tail end of a flight of brick

steps, and into the room rushed Marion Le Mar, followed less quickly by

the surgeon, who stopped to lock the door behind him. The girl stopped

midway on the floor. But I did not look at her. I was too deeply

agitated, and I wished to gather up my strength for later use.

I heard Sir Charles repeat his question. Jussieu replied--"Master, he

blasphemed, and I struck him on the mouth."

Pride of race is a curious thing. I found I could not argue with the

negro, though he had lied.

The surgeon whipped his servant with a dozen scorching words, then

strode beside my chair.

"For this insult, Hume," he said, "I offer you my sincere apologies.

Such a thing will not occur again!"

"Give me another cup of wine," I cried, "and I'll forgive you."

Within a moment it was held up to my lips, and I drained it at one

draught. I was passionately craving strength to show my hate to Marion.

Heaven! How I hated her!

"More?" asked Sir Charles.

"No," I answered sullenly; my eyes fell upon the floor.

"Mademoiselle Le Mar denies that you gave her any packet, Hume?"

"Does she?"

"Yes, and she is here to confront you?"

"Why?"

"To induce you to confess your falsehood!"

"And if I don't?"

"It will go harder with you than before!"

I ground my teeth. "Bah!" I snarled, "you doubt her word, or you'd not

have brought her here. I see your game, you wish to make her own her

theft by witnessing my torture. But you will fail, you fool. Do you

forget that she betrayed me? She'll laugh to hear my screams!"

Marion spoke for the first time. "Sir Charles," she began, in low

vibrating tones, "this man looks very ill. What have you done with him,

and what is the matter with his hand?"

"He will tell you," said the surgeon curtly.

I looked up at her for the first time. Her eyes were dilated, and full

of passionate questioning.

"You pretty actress!" I sneered, "you know nothing, oh, of course, you

know nothing!"

"Miss Le Mar knows nothing, Hume," said Sir Charles, in tones of ice.

"But it is time she knew. You will tell her, or shall I?"

"You," I muttered. I was a little dazed. Marion had not thought to have

me tortured then. I had to readjust my mind, concerning her.

Sir Charles nodded, and the girl and he gazed into each other's eyes.

"Tell me!" she cried.

"His fingers have been pierced with frozen probes between the nail and

quick!"

It seemed to me that an hour passed before their glances parted. But at

last Marion uttered a little gasping sigh and slowly turned to me. Her

face was very pale. "How you must loathe me!" she muttered.

"Yes!" I answered simply. "But you will better understand how much, if

you will trouble to explore the room I lately occupied!"

"Come!" said Sir Charles, at once, and he strode across the cellar.

They were not absent long, yet when they returned Marion had some

colour in her face. It seemed they had been talking, but I heard the

end of their discourse.

"You should have known it, child," Sir Charles was saying. "I did not

use bald words, because I trusted your intelligence. 'A long voyage'

was the term I used. It bore one application only in my mind. You must

perceive how utterly impossible it is that he should live. Why, if we

kept him prisoner, he might escape--ten, twenty years hence even, and

yet he still could ruin us!"

"But you spoke also of an island?"

"An island of dreams, Marion!" he replied impatiently. "Come, come, we

waste time. You must be sensible!"

She bowed her head before him and appeared to think.

"Come, come," he said again, still more impatiently.

"Wait!" she replied. "I begin to understand."

"Well!"

"Mr. Hume spoke truly, monsieur, you doubted my word, and that is why

you brought me here. You think it possible that I have the jewels. Is

it not so?"

"Yes to all your questions!"

"And unless M. Hume confesses that he lied about the packet, I must

behold his torture and listen to his screams!"

"Unhappily, my child!"

"Why should you doubt my word, monsieur? Have I ever in my life

deceived you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "How can I tell!" he sneered.

"Perhaps, perhaps, m'sieur--if he withstands the torture and persists

to lie, you will then torture me? You do not see, though I see. He has

planned that you should bring me here for his revenge. Therefore, he

will not tell the truth! Will you torture me, m'sieur?"

"My child, you are a fool. It is the truth that I am seeking. I would

give you the jewels, if you needed them. But this I shall not

do--permit that man to triumph over me, in one iota! Why, Marion"--his

voice broke--"he once obliged me to shake hands with him!"

I thrilled to hear him, for I saw he spoke the truth, and I understood

at last how bitterly he had brooked the way that I had used him. I

could write a sermon here on pride and vanity, if I had a mind. Good

heavens! to what heights will they not drive, to what depths will they

not drag their victims! But let another pen than mine essay the task.

It is Homeric and beyond my powers to do it justice.

Marion left the surgeon's side, and came very close to me. "Agar Hume,"

she murmured, "I have used you ill, but how ill I did not dream till

now. As God hears me I would never have betrayed you, if I had known it

could have meant, what it has meant, and means!"

"Go on!" said I, "your voice is very sweet."

"You loved me once," she whispered.

"I did indeed."

"By the memory of that love I implore you now to speak the truth and

forfeit your revenge. I am only a woman, monsieur, surely my punishment

is great enough in knowing that I have brought you to your death!"

"I'm not dead yet, mademoiselle. You reproach yourself too soon."

"But you will die!" she cried.

"When it is written."

She clasped her hands and gazed at me beseechingly. "I want you to look

back into a night, one night," she muttered very low, "I asked what

would you give me for my love, and you replied, 'all that I can!'"

"Too true. I was sincere as well in what I said."

"Then give to me the memory of a man!"

"And you will keep the bargain, how? By worshipping that memory?"

She gave a little moan. "For God's sake," she pleaded, "For God's sake,

M. Hume."

"For man's sake," I retorted, "I shall speak the truth," and looked

beyond her.

"Sir Charles," said I, "I thought myself a liar till I met this

woman--and selfish too beyond comparison. Did you ever hear the maxim I

invented for the ruling of my life? It was this:--'_First person

paramount!_' But look at her! She dwarfs and shadows me so much,

without a maxim but her womanhood, that I can only keep my dignity by

noising my defeat. Here am I, bound, helpless, ill, and threatened with

a painful death, because of her. But she has jewels which she sets

before my agony, and she would spare herself the shame of witnessing

that agony. Wherefore she tries to fool me to the end, not caring what

I suffer, so that her eyes and ears are not offended."

Sir Charles nodded his head, and it is very likely he believed me, for

his eyes gleamed scorn at Marion.

"It is your turn," he said coldly.

"My turn, monsieur," she shuddered and turned crimson, it seemed to me

with passion.

"Your turn," he repeated.

"Very well!" she cried in a voice grown hoarse and desperate. "Torture

him! Torture him! That is all I have to say!"

Sir Charles glanced from her to the negroes. "Light the stove," he said.

The wretches disappeared behind my chair, and I heard one strike a

lucifer.

"What is the bill of fare?" I jauntily inquired.

The surgeon smiled evilly. "I am too good a host to keep you in

suspense!" he said. "For hors d'oeuvre, Jussieu will stroke your soles

with red hot needles. Potage--we'll fill you palms with boiling oil.

The entree----"

"Hold, monsieur!" I cried. "You go too fast. You'll spoil my appetite!"

"Your nerve is excellent!" he grudgingly admitted. "But how long will

it last? Beudant, be good enough to bare our patient's feet."

Beudant obeyed. I have well-shaped feet, with not a blemish upon

either. I was not ashamed to have them publicly exhibited. I could not

see them myself because of my position, but Marion looked at them, and

her glance was quickly riveted. Her lips were moving, and she seemed to

be muttering to herself, although I heard no sound. God in Heaven! how

beautiful she was, and how I hated her!

Within a few minutes, Jussieu re-appeared, bearing an iron plate, upon

which was arrayed a brace of steel awls, set in wooden handles. The

points glimmered blue and red. At a nod from Sir Charles Venner, my

chair was tipped back in order to raise the soles of my feet. My ankles

were strapped securely to the legs of the chair.

Jussieu set his plate upon the floor, and taking one of the awls in his

hand, glanced up at his master.

"One moment!" cried Marion. She darted to the rack and seized the

half-emptied champagne bottle which Beudant had opened for my benefit.

Disdaining the cup, whose rim my lips had touched, she raised the

bottle to her mouth and bending back her head drank deeply.

Sir Charles and I exchanged glances of amusement. A little later Marion

recovered her position, but she continued to hold the bottle. The wine

had produced an instantaneous and curious effect. She was snow white,

and her eyes were dull and turgid. "I am ready!" she declared.

The surgeon stepped to the side of my chair, and presenting his back to

Marion put his fingers on my right wrist.

Jussieu kneeled upon the floor, and passed his accursed awl across my

instep. The pain was so exquisite that, although I fought like a tiger

for control, I writhed and groaned.

The torture seared again, and then I shrieked.

But Marion glided forward, and raising the heavy bottle that she held

on high, she brought it down with a crashing blow upon Sir Charles

Venner's undefended head. The glass shivered into fragments, and the

surgeon fell without groan or cry, unconscious at my feet.

My chair was unexpectedly released. I swung forward, seated erect

again, helpless and suffering intensely, but uplifted to a mental

contempt of pain in a sudden rapture of astonishment. Marion, who had

stepped back almost to the farthest wall, faced the negroes with a

little cocked pistol, which did not waver in her grasp. Her face was

still ashen coloured, but her eyes were simply on fire.

"M. Jussieu!" said she, her voice was like a silver bell, "take up your

master, if you want to live, and carry him into the other cellar!"

The negro did not move. He glared at her from where he kneeled, like a

frozen image.

"In five seconds I shall kill you!" said the girl. "One--two--"

Jussieu uttered a raucous cry, and scrambled to his feet. Stooping

quickly he seized the body of Sir Charles and staggered off.

"Beudant," said Marion, "lock that door quick!"

Beudant sprang to obey. I heard him slam the door and shoot home the

bolts.

"Now," said the girl, "release M. Hume and take care not to hurt him."

In a moment I was free. But I could not move so much as a muscle. I had

been four days in the chair, and I was not only cramped, but ill,

frightfully ill. There was not an organ in my body that did not begin

to give me agony immediately the supporting straps relaxed. Even as I

swayed forward, I shrieked with pain and swooned. When I awoke I was

stretched out at length upon the floor, and Beudant was kneading my

half-naked limbs and body with all the strength and science of a

skilled masseur. Marion, seated at a little distance on the chair, kept

the muzzle of her pistol pointed at the negro's head. From the

adjoining chamber a curious babel of sounds proceeded. Sir Charles

Venner's voice, raised in passionate entreaties and commands, mingled

with the noise of continual digging. Was Jussieu trying to dig a way

out? For a moment I wondered why he did not attack the door with his

pick, but then I remembered it was thick and stout and heavily bound

with iron.

For another hour Beudant continued his massage, and Marion uttered no

word nor made one move. I could not speak, because the pain I suffered

obliged me to lock my teeth to keep from shrieking, and even as it was

I often groaned. Beudant paused at last in sheer fatigue, and Marion

permitted him to rest. Afterwards the negro dressed me, and bound up my

wounded foot. He also gave me more champagne and assisted me to rise. I

found that I could stand, but my muscles were flaccid and unstrung,

while every nerve was raw and quivering. I could not move without

assistance. At Marion's command Beudant took me in his arms. He was

very strong, that negro, and he bore me as easily as I might have done

a child. She opened the door, and we passed out before her, and mounted

a flight of brick steps into a kitchen above. Marion bolted the door

and followed us like a shadow. I was carried thence out into the night,

across a long flagged yard into a stable, Marion always close behind

us, with a lanthorn in her hand. I was deposited upon a truss of straw,

from which vantage post I watched Beudant, under the guidance of the

pistol, harness a quiet-looking horse, and attach it to the shafts of a

small basket phaeton. The negro then lifted me into the body of the

vehicle, and mounting to the box took up the reins. Marion climbed in

and sat beside me. "Drive to London, Beudant," she said quietly, "and

if you value your life keep your eyes before you!"

Heaven preserve me from the horrors of such another drive. At every

jolt and rumble of the phaeton I felt as though I were being torn apart

upon a rack. My moans made such hideous music for the road, that often

we were stopped by travellers with courteous questions of my state.

Marion addressed me several times with the same request: "For God's

sake, monsieur, let me give you an injection of morphia. It will ease

your pain!"

But I loathed her, and distrusted her.

"Better the pain," was my invariable response. "Better the pain!"

"How you hate me," she would cry. "How you hate me!"

Sometimes I felt her shiver, but not often, for I kept as closely to my

corner as I could, and if by chance she touched me, curses trembled to

my lips which I had work to stifle.

We drove so slowly that morning had already dawned before we reached

the outskirts of the city. We stopped then at an inn, where Beudant's

shouts procured a flask of spirits, which I drank to drug my suffering.

Afterwards I did not groan, for though the brandy scarcely eased my

pain, it gave me strength to smother its expression.

Marion put away her pistol soon, for the road was full of vehicles, and

Beudant was no longer to be feared. The girl's face in the early

morning light was pitifully lined and haggard. I watched her, but she

kept her gaze set straight before, as though conscious of my stern

regard. Every now and then too, she caught her breath, and shuddered as

though she were remembering. Our silence lasted until we came to

Notting Hill, when I became aware of a certain chilling curiosity

concerning her.

"Now that you have broken with your friends," I muttered suddenly,

"what will you do?"

She did not move, yet she answered at once in tones of deep humility.

"Whatever you wish, monsieur!"

"Whatever I wish," I sneered. "What has my wish to do with you?"

She turned her head and looked into my eyes. "I have used you very ill,

monsieur! I would make atonement, though, if you will let me!"

"How?"

"In any way you please."

"Would you marry me, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"You conceive then that you owe me extraordinary reparation?"

"The greatest possible," she answered very softly.

I knew then that I loved her still, in spite of better cause for hate

than love; but so deep was my bitterness and sense of injury against

her, that I felt perfectly incapable of magnanimity.

"Your penitence is of sudden growth," I sneered.

"It is none the less sincere, monsieur!"

"And your humility?"

"That too, monsieur."

"I need a wife less than a servant who will nurse me!" I said coldly.

"I will serve you, monsieur."

I looked away and reflected deeply on her words. But though I tried, I

could not understand her, and ignorance intensified distrust. Yet I

foresaw that a period of sickness lay before me, and I could not

believe that she had saved me to again betray me. Some one I must lean

upon--it was imperative. She watched me in most evident anxiety,

scarcely breathing the while.

I turned at last, and said:

"Have you money?"

"None, monsieur."

I felt my lip curl. It was, then, poverty which had inspired her abject

self-surrender--and perhaps, too, fear. No doubt she relied upon my aid

to escape Sir Charles Venner's vengeance.

She read my thought, and murmured very low: "As God hears me, you are

unjust, monsieur!"

"We shall see!" I sneered. "Stop the phaeton!" We had come upon a

cab-stand. Beudant transferred me into a fourwheeler, and Marion

thereupon commanded him to return to Staines. When he had departed, I

gave her my Bruton Street address, and thither, in perfect silence, we

proceeded. My gaolers had disdained to rob me, but my pockets contained

less than four pounds, and it was necessary to provide immediately

against the illness I anticipated.

When we had arrived, I explained to her the situation of my room, and

bade her bring me down my cash-box, in which reposed my cheque-book and

all my bank receipts. The box I knew was locked, but, in order to

ensure its privacy, I obliged her to detach my latch-key from the

others and give me back the bunch. She obeyed me with a sigh, and in

five minutes she placed the cash-box in my hands.

"Where to now, monsieur?" she asked humbly, with downcast eyes.

"To the Colonnade Hotel."

She spoke to the driver and resumed her seat. Upon arriving at our

destination, two porters carried me within, and I engaged two adjoining

rooms on the third floor, to the larger of which I was carefully

transported. To all seeming, I was a wounded man in charge of a nurse,

for Marion wore her uniform, and I explained to the clerk that our

luggage would presently follow us from the station, where we had left

it. We were thus able to circumvent Mother Grundy's spirit of

conventionality without the necessity of answering a single question.

With Marion's assistance I got to bed, where I lay for some time

convulsed with agony. As soon as I could, however, I wrote a cheque for

L100, which I gave to her for our joint use. My last recollection is of

enjoining upon her a course of conduct designed to secure us from the

persecution of our enemies, and directing her to purchase certain

trunks and clothes so that our want of luggage might not be evilly

construed. Before I had finished, however, I had to spur my wits with

brandy, and within an hour I was tossing in a high fever, to all

intents and purposes a helpless raving lunatic.

IX

"THE ANGLO-AMERICAN HOTELS LIMITED"

I was dying, so they said: two physicians and my nurse--Marion Le Mar.

They informed me, very gravely and gently, and the explicit motive of

their confidence was that I might have time to make my peace with

heaven, and settle my affairs with men. It was easy to believe them. I

was so feeble. When the men of medicine had gone, Marion surprised me

by throwing herself down upon her knees beside my bed and bursting into

the most passionate fit of weeping I have ever witnessed. As I could

not calm her, I occupied the time of her abandonment in considering how

I might provide best for her future. I thought of a will, but dismissed

the idea, because of its publicity. Marion could not afford to

advertise her whereabouts to our enemies. I decided at last to withdraw

all my money and the jewels from the bank and give them to her while I

lived. When, therefore, she grew tranquil, I made her write a letter

and a cheque, both of which, with exhausting effort, I contrived to

sign. But she resolutely declined to leave me for a moment, so I was

compelled to send a waiter on the errand. He was, by good chance, an

honest man, and an hour later my bed was strewn with bank-notes and

with flashing gems.

But Marion would not take them. She implored me, for my soul's sake and

her satisfaction, to make full restoration to the man I had

blackmailed, and so vehemently and persistently did she entreat me

that, in very weakness, I at length gave way, only stipulating that she

should retain sufficient money to pay the debts my illness had

incurred, and to keep her for a little while till she should find

employment. While she was packing up the jewels to send to Sir Charles

Venner, I fell asleep, and when I awoke I was once more a pauper.

It was very curious. From that instant I grew better, and hour by hour

my strength increased. On the evening of the fourth day, thereafter, I

arrived, after much reflection, at the conclusion that Marion had

prevailed upon the physicians to pretend that I was dying in order to

rob me of the jewels. I also believed her story that she had restored

them to Sir Charles to be a falsehood, and I entertained no doubt

whatever but that she would presently desert and leave me to my fate.

Naturally, I kept these opinions to myself. It was useless to discuss

them, and I told myself that such a course would only hasten her

departure. I thought her something like a fiend in human form, but she

was very beautiful, and I loved her so madly that all I wished for in

the world was to retain her by my side as long as possible. With that

end in view, I played the hypocrite, and let her think me every simple

kind of fool she wished. I derived a bitter-sweet satisfaction from the

game, for on her part she pretended to be ardently attached to me. We

spent the hours building castles in the air, weaving pretty fancies of

love in a cottage, and a long life shared together. She said she had a

friend, an old kind-hearted gentleman, whom she could depend upon to

find me some employment, as soon as I was perfectly restored to health.

I was then to turn over a new leaf, and live an honest, hard-working

life, and she would be my wife, my comforter, my devoted helpmate, to

the end. It was a very pretty dream, but the strange and bitter feature

of it was that I sighed for it to come true. I was tired of my

rascality. My long illness had made a changed man of me, and if I could

have believed in Marion's avowals, I would have been as happy as a king

to mend my ways for her sweet sake, and never do a shady thing again.

Once or twice I tried my best to induce her to explain to me the

mysteries connected with Sir Charles Venner's secret society of

consumptives which I had been unable to fathom. On that subject,

however, she maintained an adamantine reticence, and when I ventured to

press her in love's name, she entreated me in tears to forbear, saying

that she was bound by an oath which she could not break. Her art was

perfect, for she used to add: "How, dear Agar, could you trust me, if

you proved me capable of breaking a solemn oath, sworn to God?"

I could only have effectually answered her by voicing my convictions of

her baseness, and that would have driven her away. On the contrary, I

praised her constancy, and received my reward from the exquisitely

assumed love-light in her glorious brown eyes. The drama took another

week to play out. By that time I was quite out of danger, and, although

still painfully feeble, my physician assured me that I should soon be

able to leave my bed. Marion's joy at that knew no bounds. She covered

me with kisses, and insisted that she should write forthwith to her old

friend, to inform him of her whereabouts, and the hopes she reposed in

him for our happiness and welfare.

"What is his name, sweetheart?" I asked. I had not troubled to inquire

before.

She gave me a bright smile. "I'll tell you on our wedding-day," she

replied. "It is a little surprise that I am keeping for you, dear."

My thought was: "She is, after all, a poor hand at invention!" I felt

convinced that she was simply paving the way with her letter for her

escape, and when she went out to post it, I cried aloud in my

bitterness of spirit--"To-morrow morning there will come a telegram,

and she will leave me!"

So it happened! She was seated by my bed, reading me the morning

journals, when, of a sudden, a knock sounded on the door, and a waiter

entered with a wire upon a salver. "For Nurse Hampton!" he announced.

Such was the name she had assumed when first we came to the hotel.

Marion started up with a little cry of delight that echoed itself in

anguish in my heart. I knew what that envelope contained as well as

she. Holding my breath, I watched her with critical intentness. But I

had no fault to find. To the very last she maintained her part, playing

it like the unimaginably perfect actress that she was. Tearing it open,

she read its contents with an expression of happy expectation, which

quickly changed before my eyes to fear and passionate concern.

"Mon Dieu!" she gasped, and crushing up the paper in her hand, she

turned to me. "Agar!" she cried, "he is very ill, dying they say, and

he needs me. I must go to him at once!"

I had expected it, expected it for days, and yet, none the less, the

blow was stunning when it fell. Indeed, in my experience, it is always

the long-prevised calamity which causes most dismay. For a while I

could not speak, and turning my head I weakly closed my eyes in an

effort to conceal the tears which sprang unbidden there.

But when she stooped and tried to kiss me, her falseness roused a

sudden madness in my breast. Flinging her aside, I started upright in

the bed, and all my pent-up scorn found vent. Passion lent me strength

to strip her baseness bare, and no whit did I spare her. "Go, you

Jade!" I muttered at the last, for I was failing. "Go! and take with

you my curse! It is years since I have breathed a prayer--but now I

pray to God that never may I see your traitoress face again!"

She stood before me, pale as death, her great eyes blazing in her head.

But not one word did she reply, and when I fell exhausted on the

pillows, she turned with one long glance, and slowly glided from the

room.

Five minutes later, she returned, gowned for the street, but I merely

glanced at her, then closed my eyes in icy scorn. In perfect silence

she approached the bed and placed some parcel lightly on the cover-lid.

I heard her steps retreat, and presently the door was very softly

closed.

Sure that she was gone, I started up in order to investigate her latest

act. The parcel contained an account sheet covered with her writing,

which showed me that my debts to date approached one hundred pounds.

Within the cover were banknotes for two hundred.

It seemed that my vituperations had stung to life in her some lingering

spark of shame. Drearily I congratulated myself, and tried to find

comfort in the thought that, at all events, I should not be obliged to

recommence my battle with the world entirely penniless. But I was sick

at heart, sick and absolutely hopeless.

The next week passed and left me more pronouncedly improved in health,

but desperate in mind; so desperate that I was fit for any villainy.

For still another week I nursed myself, hating to see my little stock

of money dwindle, but not daring to begin the struggle without a

stock-in-trade of strength.

With that at length acquired, I quitted the hotel and went to Bruton

Street, where I resolved to take up my abode until, by dint of luck or

craft, I might repair my scattered fortunes.

My first act was to disguise myself as a professional and somewhat

portly gentleman. For a model I took the physician who had recently

attended me, and as I had closely and frequently remarked his ways, I

was able to reproduce him with nice enough fidelity. Having armed

myself with a revolver, I employed a cab and drove straightway to Sir

Charles Venner's residence in Harley Street, fiercely determined to

settle my account with him at once, for good and all. To my

astonishment, however, I found the place in the hands of another

surgeon, who curtly informed me that Sir Charles Venner, several weeks

ago, had sold his practice, and gone abroad to parts unknown. I drove

thence to Dr. Fulton's house, and a similar story was related there.

Thoroughly enraged, I went to my old master's place in Curzon Street.

The lackey, who opened the door, seemed much astonished at my question.

"Why, sir," said he, "Lady Farmborough lives here now. Sir William

Dagmar sold his lease to her before he went abroad, more than a month

ago!"

I turned away in growing despair, beginning at last to perceive that

the whole of the secret society must have fled from England as soon as

they had heard of my escape from Venner's hands. But I determined to

leave no point of hope untried, and my next visit was to the Kingsmere

Hospital for Consumptives. It was shut up, and the walls were plastered

over with placards--"To Let." I then successively attacked the houses

of the remaining members still unaccounted for, and ere the day was

done, I discovered that Mr. Humphreys had set out upon a tour of Asia,

and that Mr. Nevil Pardoe had died suddenly upon the morning after my

escape from Staines.

My occupation was gone--reft from my hand! As a blackmailer, I might as

well incontinently close my shutters, for there was not a soul left in

Great Britain upon whom I could levy for either money or revenge, and I

had no funds to pursue them on a wild-goose chase abroad.

I felt that the world was going very badly with me when I reached the

end of my discoveries, but my cup was not yet full. While waiting for

my dinner, at a restaurant in Jermyn Street, I picked up, by chance,

the _Daily Chronicle_, to while away the time and rid my mind of its

unwelcome thoughts. It was neatly folded in a small square compass, and

as I smoothed it out to turn the page, a poignantly familiar name that

was planted in the marriage column caught my eye. A second later,

trembling with passion, I read the following announcement:--

"Dagmar--Le Mar. On the -- instant, at the bridegroom's residence,

Cairo, by the Rev. Francois Long, S.J., William Dagmar, of Flag Hill

Park, Newhaven, fourth baronet, to Marion, only daughter of the late

Colonel Comte Hypolite Le Mar, Huitieme Regiment, Chasseurs d'Afrique."

I tore the paper into shreds, and in the act I fatuously thought that I

had torn the image of that false fair woman from my heart. At all

events, I contrived to eat a very hearty dinner, and before I came to

coffee, I had already formed a plan to make myself a millionaire.

I should explain that at the time of which I now write, the historical

American financial invasion of Great Britain was in full blast. The

billionaire Yankee magnate, J. Stelfox Steele, at the head of his

omnivorous trust, had already succeeded in enfolding within his

octopus-like tentacles an alarming number of England's richest

commercial industries. Not content with having secured our railways,

tramways and shipping, his latest achievement had been to form a

"combine" of hotel and brewery proprietaries, with the result that

two-thirds of the breweries, and almost every important and fashionable

hotel within the confines of the kingdom were conducted under his

direction, while the entire liquor traffic was absolutely in his grip.

This prodigious organization Mr. Stelfox Steele had named--"The

Anglo-American Hotels Limited," probably in a spirit of derision, for

although all the property was English, the major portion of the profits

were designed to travel into Yankee pockets. It had scarcely been

registered a company before the British public began to regard it with

both fear and loathing, for its first and immediate work of consequence

had been slightly to raise the price of beer, and at the same time

largely to increase the cost of living in hotels. In palace,

public-house and thoroughfares, it constituted the topic of the hour.

The fact is, it affected everyone, the highest and the lowest in the

land alike, and very seldom could two men foregather for longer than

five minutes without the exciting subject being introduced. As the

"combine" had, to some extent, victimised me during my residence at the

Colonnade Hotel, I shared in the popular indignation, and during my

convalescence I had taken pains to make myself thoroughly acquainted

with its construction, policy and aims, and I had carefully digested

everything that had been published concerning its promoters. Mr.

Stelfox Steele's sudden and brilliant appearance in the financial

firmament, and his consequent magnificent and uninterruptedly

successful career, had, moreover, completely captivated my romantic

fancy, and I was quite anxious to hear as much about him as I could.

For that reason I became speedily interested in the conversation of two

gentlemen who sat at the adjoining table while I dined.

They were of interesting appearance, certainly; portly, conventional,

bald-headed souls, both; typical men of business, in a large

way--perhaps stockbrokers; but the matter of their talk was decidedly

exciting and suggestive to a person like myself.

"What is this Stelfox Steele like to look at, Gregson? You know him,

don't you?" were the first words that attracted my attention, and

thereafter I did not lose a syllable.

"Well!" replied the other, "I know him in a way. That is to say, I have

met him once or twice in business, though I don't suppose he would

recognise me if we passed each other in the street ..."

"Oh! he is that sort, is he?"

"Now, Scott, you go too fast. I did not mean you to infer he is a snob.

But he must meet a lot of people, don't you know, and they say his

memory for faces is not excellent."

"Is he like his photographs?"

"He is their living image."

"Then he is no Adonis, Greg."

"N--no," said Gregson, rather doubtfully. "But I'd not call him an ugly

man, Scott. There is an air of quiet force about the fellow that marks

him from the crowd. And he has some quaint mannerisms, too, that are

not unpleasing."

"For instance?"

"Well, he grips your hand very hard and looks very straight into your

eyes, when he meets you. It quite startles one at first, but, for my

part, I don't dislike it. It seems honest, if it isn't. Then again,

when he talks, he invariably drops his voice and half closes his eyes,

no matter what the subject is, just as though he were making you an

important confidence. In my opinion he owes a good deal of his success

to those two apparent trifles. There's a lot in manner, Scott; more

than most people imagine, and his manner simply provokes trust."

"Good Lord, Gregson, you don't mean to say you like the beast!"

"Like him!" echoed the other, raising his glass. "Why, here's to his

confusion. We'll soon be all his bond-slaves, if he has his way! You've

heard about his latest scheme, to corner wolfram, haven't you?"

"Please the pigs," muttered Scott, "something will break him before he

brings that off. Fancy the villain daring to even dream of interfering

with the working of our arsenals. It's bounce, of course, but what

tremendous bounce!"

"If he succeeds," said Gregson, gloomily, "the whole world might as

well become American citizens at once. Without wolfram we'll not be

able to provide our ships with armour-plate, nor manufacture a single

big gun, except by the gracious favour of J. Stelfox Steele."

"Is it as bad as that?"

"Very nearly. It is impossible to harden steel properly without

wolfram. Professor Bryant told me so to-day!"

"The fellow is a public danger--by Jove!"

"Say, rather a national menace, and you will not overstate the case. I

tell you what, Scott, whoever tripped him up would deserve well of his

country."

"I'd subscribe to a monument for such an one--by gad!"

I felt inclined to cry out at this juncture: "Sirs, look at me, the man

is found!" But I restrained the impulse, despite the fact that I was

thoroughly elated, and perfectly persuaded too that I had a mission to

fulfil in life to save my country.

An hour later, I returned to Bruton Street, burdened with a large

bundle of photographs, which I had purchased on the road. They

represented J. Stelfox Steele, and in every conceivable posture and

attitude which a human being can assume. I set them about my room and

began earnest study. The head was large, and yet rather brainy than

intellectual, and the face argued a mind rather active than reflective.

The eyes were well-shaped and neither prominent nor deep-set. The nose

was straight and shapely, like my own. Several photographs smiled.

These evidenced him to possess a long, white set of teeth. The upper

lip was long and hairless, ergo a tenacious disposition. The lower was

thin and compressed--it helped his square, clean-shaven chin to express

a powerful determination. For the rest he wore a short, thick, grizzled

crop of hair.

A strong, well-balanced countenance upon the whole, and eminently easy

to impersonate. Indeed, fortune favoured me more than her wont, for my

ears and shape of face resembled his in an extraordinary degree. I

spent two hours, however, in careful thought and anxious contemplation

before I allowed my wish to have its way. I even tried to catch his

bent of mind from his counterfeit presentments, so that nothing might

be lacking in my intended effort. At last I arose, and opening a

drawer, examined my collection of false teeth. I soon found the set I

wanted, and in a trice made change with those I wore. I wanted to

surprise myself, so I rigidly refrained from glancing at a mirror. My

next act was to explore my wig-box, and presently my head was clothed.

Closing my eyes, I spurred my will, and twisted suddenly the features

that required such exercise. Finally, I stepped before the glass. J.

Stelfox Steele looked back at me--and that result I had obtained

without having employed either paint, grease-pot, or other artifice

than those I have described. I almost wept with joy, I felt so

gratified, for already, in my dreams, I saw myself a millionaire.

My next week was a very busy one. I procured two suits of clothes, such

as it was notorious that the great magnate always wore. I practised

half-a-dozen hours each day before my mirror, until I had his face by

heart and could imitate it swimmingly. And last, but not least, I

purchased several piles of newspapers that had recorded J. Stelfox

Steele's doings and sayings, manners and habits of life, over which

accounts I pored like an ardent student in my leisure hours.

At the end of that period I was perfectly self-confident and anxious to

commence my task. I was compelled, however, by force of circumstance,

to postpone the battle for awhile, because Mr. Stelfox Steele had

unexpectedly arrived in London. He came, according to the papers--which

were full of him--to instal one of his co-adjutor millionaires, named

Sampson Y. May, as supreme head of the Anglo-American Hotels Limited,

during his temporary absence in South America, whither he proposed to

proceed immediately, in order to purchase some large tracts of

wolfram-bearing territory, whose control he needed for the perfection

of the trust he was then engaged in forming.

I was at first disgusted at the delay, but not for long. Something

caught me by the throat and said to me: "You fool, here is the

opportunity of your life. Contrive to see the man, and then you will be

better able to secure your chances of impersonating him successfully."

To think was to act. It was then early morning. By ten o'clock I would

have passed muster anywhere as a good-looking, languid, idle, elderly

clubman. I wore a grey moustache, and side levers; a slightly darker

wig and a monocle. I was, in fact, Lord Algernon Darnley. A "while you

wait" printer inscribed the name upon some pasteboards, armed with

which, I drove to the office of the Anglo-American Hotels Limited.

My card was deferentially received, but a polite secretary informed me

that it would be impossible for the magnate to see me without a

prearranged appointment.

"I have one," I drawled, unabashed by the rebuff, "Mr. Steele

particularly requested me, through a common acquaintance, to call."

The secretary departed and returned. "Mr. Steele is exceedingly busy,"

he declared. "He will be glad if you will state your business to me."

"It's private," I said calmly. "I won't keep him long. I have a

document to give him, that's all, but it's got to be placed in his

hands."

I was requested to wait five minutes. I waited an hour, and was at last

ushered to the great man's presence.

My first thought was: "How like his photographs!" But he was a taller

man than I by a good two inches. Gregson was quite right. He looked me

in the eyes very straight and keenly, and he gave my hand an energetic

squeeze.

"Are we acquainted?" he demanded, in sharp, incisive tones, and he

immediately sat down, pointing briskly to a chair. "Now, what's your

business?"

His voice was almost free from twang, but peculiar, all the same. I had

to pinch my leg to keep from mimicking it to his face.

"I fibbed," I began coolly, drawling my words to suit my character. "I

could have got an introduction easily, but what's the use when a fib

would do the trick as well, and quicker, probably. I wanted to see you,

don't you know!"

He gave a quick smile, and a quicker, though slighter frown. "Well," he

said, "you are here, what can I do for you? I can only spare you sixty

seconds!" He took out his watch.

"I've a hundred thousand lying idle," I drawled.

"Pounds or dollars?" He half-closed his eyes, and his tones, though

rapid, dropped to a murmur.

"Pounds."

"Well, sir, that is, Lord Darnley?"

"I thought of Anglo-American Hotels?" said I.

"You could not do better," he declared.

"Thanks!" I stood up. "I'm much obliged to you. Good-day!"

A bell tinkled, we shook hands, and I marched off thoroughly delighted.

I had his voice now, and I knew his height;--my two weak points were

remedied.

On the following Sunday evening, at midnight, he set out for New York,

and I was one of the crowd that watched him catch his train at Euston

Station. Next morning I searched the papers through and through, but

all they had to say of Mr. Steele was that he had sailed. After

breakfast I packed my trunk and drove to a little unfrequented hotel in

Lambert Road, where, _in propria persona_, I engaged a bedroom and a

sitting-room upon the first floor, in my own name--Agar Hume. About an

hour later a well-dressed elderly gentleman slipped out of my bedroom,

and, descending the stairs, stepped into the street. This person

ordered a hansom to take him to the City, giving the driver the address

of a substantial firm of stockbrokers--named Ducker and Sims. I had

previously taken care to ascertain that the firm in question had never

been in any way connected with J. Stelfox-Steele.

Upon arrival I begged to be allowed an immediate private interview with

one of the partners, pretending that my business was of the utmost

urgency. My prayer was granted, and I was conducted into a massively

furnished office, where a hawk-faced man, of about forty years of age,

was seated at a desk dictating letters to an ancient shorthand writer.

"Mr. Ducker?" I asked, as he glanced up.

"Mr. Ducker is at present in Chicago. My name is Sims." he replied.

"Kindly take that chair. By the way, have I the honour of your

acquaintance?"

"No, Mr. Sims; my name is Brown."

"Ah! And you wished to see me----"

"On private business, extremely important business, Mr. Sims." I

glanced suggestively at the ancient shorthand writer, who appeared to

be dozing.

"My confidential clerk, Mr. Brown," explained Mr. Sims. "You may speak

before him."

"Excuse me," said I, "I am merely a messenger, and my directions are

particular."

Mr. Sims raised his eyebrows, and curtly commanded his satellite to

leave the room. The ancient awoke with a start, and nervously departed.

"May I lock the door?" I asked.

"Your business must be mighty curious, Mr. Brown," he replied, looking

utterly astonished.

"It is," I answered simply, looking straight into his eyes.

He sprang to his feet, crossed the room, and locked the door.

"Now?" said he, returning.

"Thank you, Mr. Sims."

"Well?"

"It is my province to convince you, sir, that by momentarily

disregarding the ordinary rules of courtesy which hold in your

profession, you may secure a client whose business will yield you

greater profit than that of any dozen others whom you have. Nay, sir, I

speak on hearsay, but advisedly, for my master is well aware of the

substantial undertakings of your firm."

"Your master must be a large operator," he muttered with a gasp.

I smiled. "He is, indeed."

"And his name?"

"I am forbidden to relate it, sir."

He frowned and gazed at me, the most puzzled and astonished man in

London.

"What do you want, then," he demanded.

"My master wishes you to call upon him, Mr. Sims. He is unable to visit

you, for reasons which he will personally explain if you will comply

with his request!"

"This is most unusual!" he replied. "Where is he to be found?"

"I can only tell you, sir, if you consent to give me your word, as a

man of honour, that you will go to see him at three o'clock this

afternoon. I should tell you, Mr. Sims, that if you refuse, your own

will be the only disadvantage."

"I--I--I never heard of such a thing in my life!" he stammered.

"But--but--in any case, I cannot go--at three o'clock. I have a

pressing business engagement."

I got to my feet, smiling contemptuously. "Then I have only to thank

you for your patience, Mr. Sims," I said, with an expressive shoulder

shrug. "Good-morning, sir!"

"I could go at four!" he cried, of a sudden.

I glanced at him, and perceived that the day was mine. Curiosity was

simply eating the man. I smiled and, shook my head. "My master said

Three!"

"With a great effort, I could make it half-past. What do you say, Mr.

Brown; shall we split the difference?"

"I cannot, Mr. Sims. I would be dismissed at once."

"Then, three."

"And your word of honour, sir?"

He nodded. I liked that nod.

"You will find my master at the Golden Grove Hotel, in Lambert Road," I

said. "Kindly ask for Mr. Agar Hume."

His face fell, and he looked absurdly disappointed.

"Agar Hume! Lambert Road!" he muttered in amazed disgust.

"Believe me, sir, it is unwise to judge men by the sounds of names,

which may or not belong to them. Stelfox Steele imparts a strangely

furtive signification to the ear, and yet its owner is about the

richest man and biggest operator on our little globe. I congratulate

you upon your determination. A little later you will congratulate

yourself. But in the meanwhile, let me recommend you to keep our

interview a secret even from your partner. My master will be best

pleased so. Good-morning, Mr. Sims!"

"One second!" he gasped. "Am I to understand--er--that--er--Mr. Stelfox

Steele----"

"Is on his way to America," I interrupted sharply. "Good-morning, sir!"

Whereupon, hastily unfastening the door, I made my escape before he had

time to say another word.

After bolting an apology for a lunch, I drove back to Lambert Road in a

fourwheeler. During the journey, I contrived to become Agar Hume again,

for I did not wish the people in my little inn to see a dozen different

persons using my room as if it belonged to them. The driver stared at

me aghast when I alighted. He had taken up an old man, and he put down

a young one. I detest sharp-eyed cab-drivers, they are a public

nuisance.