would be to pay,' if they were found out,--would it be felony, or
compounding of felony, or what?"
"Why!" exclaimed Bergan, "the will was a forgery, then!"
"I cannot say as to that. The man who _didn't_ spout proverbs set the
other's scruples at rest, first, by asserting that there was not the
least danger of detection; and secondly, by declaring that you would
not sustain any injury, because the property was certain to come to
him, soon or late, anyhow. Whereupon the drunken Solomon muttered,
sotto voce, 'Into the mouth of a bad dog, often falls a good bone,' and
appeared to sign his name as required. At least, I heard the
scratching of a pen on paper; and, after that, some money was told out
on the table, as a first instalment of the bribe agreed upon; and
another instalment was to be paid at the same place to-morrow. Do you
get any light on the transaction yet?"
Bergan looked very grave. He remembered old Rue's assertion that
Doctor Remy had wedded Carice simply to get possession of the Hall
estates, through his uncle's will in her favor. "Was the first voice
that of an educated man?" he asked.
"Thoroughly so; an exceedingly distinct, even intonation, and the
language was well chosen, too. It would have been a very pleasant
voice to the ear, except that it seemed to lack heart, emotion; it was
just clear and cold, like ice. Are you beginning to see your way
through the affair?"
"Very dimly, if at all. But I think that I know the parties."
"Is there anything to be done about it? Can I help you in any way?"
Bergan shook his head. He remembered that Doctor Remy was the husband
of Carice. He sat silent, his heart swelling with unselfish pain and
pity for the pure, delicate nature thus linked to the dark and vile
one; he hoped that the latter had not lost the art of concealing
somewhat of its hideousness.
Mr. Unwick rose. "I will not detain you any longer. I am glad--or
sorry, whichever is proper--that my story proves to be of so little
importance."
"Thank you, nevertheless, for taking the trouble to come and tell it to
me. By the way, did you get the child you went after?"
"Not yet; the grandmother declared that it was not in the house, though
I did not believe her. Bad woman as she is, I think she really loves
it, and would like to keep it. But I was authorized to offer her a
considerable sum of money to get it quietly out of her hands; and she
knows that the law gives the father the right to dispose of its future.
I am going, to-morrow afternoon, to get a final answer from her, after
she has consulted with her husband, who was out when I was there."
"Will you let me go with you? I should like to see if I recognize any
old acquaintance around the place; and if I do, to give him a friendly
warning to take care not to be seen there again. I happen to know that
the premises are now under constant surveillance, as a suspected
depository of stolen goods, and that the police are meditating a
descent upon them in a day or two."
"I shall be only too happy to have your company," replied Unwick,
courteously.
"And I will go along, too, if you don't object," remarked Hubert. "If
the place is of the character you mention, the more the safer, as well
as merrier, I should say."
"Then, I will call for you to-morrow, at three o'clock," said Unwick,
"if that suits your convenience."
The "Rat-Hole" wore an appearance of exceeding quietness, in the sunny
autumn afternoon. A half tipsy vagabond or two lounged about the
stoop, but the greater part of its frequenters were of the owl species,
careful not to show their heads in the daytime.
Having signified to the bar-keeper that his business was with the
mistress of the house, Unwick was shortly summoned to her presence,
leaving the brothers waiting in the bar-room. After a considerable
time he reappeared, and beckoned to Bergan.
"I have persuaded Mrs. Smilt to allow of a witness to our transaction,"
said he. And he added, in a low tone, "The pair that I spoke of, are
on the other side of the partition again; you can hear their voices,
and satisfy yourself whether you know them or not."
Mrs. Smilt was a hard, ill-favored woman, of about fifty; she had a
child on her lap, and there were tears in her eyes.
"Mr. Unwick wants a witness to our business," she remarked, grimly, to
Bergan. "Well, here's the child, and there's the money that he's to
pay me for't. It's a fair bargain, and I don't mean to shirk it;
though I'd rather keep the child, a good deal, myself. But my husband
'ud rather have the money; and he's captain."
Bergan bowed. He would not speak lest his voice should be heard and
recognized in the adjoining apartment. He drew near the partition, but
there was only a sound of footsteps on the other side, and the closing
of a door; he was too late to get any satisfaction from this quarter.
He stood waiting impatiently for Unwick to bring his business to an
end, and half inclined to excuse himself, and make his escape, when he
heard a pistol-shot, and a brief struggle, ended by a heavy fall, in
the direction of the bar-room. He opened the door, and ran thither,
closely followed by Unwick and Mrs. Smilt.
A singular scene was presented to his eyes. Prostrate on the floor lay
Doctor Remy, with an exceedingly black and discomfited face; while
Hubert was standing over him like a young gladiator. On one side,
stood Dick Causton pouring forth a volley of utterly incoherent
proverbs and entreaties, addressed to his "dear young friend Mr.
Bergan;" and, on the other, stood the barkeeper, so bewildered,
apparently, by this sudden and unaccountable fracas, as to be undecided
which side or what tone to take. At sight of Bergan, Dick reeled
backward, and looked completely confounded; Doctor Remy set his teeth
hard, and his face grew blacker than ever.
Bergan looked at Hubert. "What does this mean?" he asked.
"Upon my soul, I wish I knew!" responded Hubert.
"This--gentleman"--there was a deeply sarcastic emphasis on the
word--"did me the honor to point a pistol at me. I knocked it up, and
him down; that is all I know about the matter."
Bergan motioned him to stand aside, and helped Doctor Remy to his feet.
"Thank God--if you ever do such a thing"--said he solemnly, "that you
have been saved from the commission of another crime. Go, now; and,
for your own sake, as well as for the sake of those connected with you,
take care to be seen here no more. I assure you that it is a dangerous
place for persons without legitimate business and fair credentials."
Doctor Remy had recovered his composure, in part. He drew himself up
haughtily. "Keep your advice for those who need it," he rejoined; "I
am here simply as a physician, in attendance upon a sick man. What
your business may be, is none of mine: good evening." And he strode
out of the door.
Hubert stood looking on, the picture of astonishment. "Was there ever
such a riddle!" said he. "First, an unknown man attempts my life; and
next, you bid him go in peace, or something very like it!"
"He took you for me," said Bergan, quietly.
"I appreciate the compliment. But are you in the habit of serving for
a target?"
"Hush! It was Doctor Remy."
Hubert looked more amazed than ever, for a moment; then his brow
flushed, and his eyes lit up. "Lucky for him that you did not tell me
that before," said he. "He should never have gotten out of my hands,
except into those of a policeman. Why, Bergan, what are you thinking
of, to let him escape us thus?"
"I will explain all to you, when we get home," answered Bergan,
wearily. "Mrs. Smilt, I beg your pardon for having been the
unintentional cause of such a commotion in your house; I think I can
assure you that no harm has been done. Mr. Unwick, are you ready to
go?"
At the door, Bergan stopped and looked around for Dick Causton; but he
had taken advantage of the discussion between the brothers to sneak
out. The fact was a suggestive one to Bergan, taken in connection with
Unwick's story of the preceding day. Never before, in spite of his bad
habits and fallen estate, had Dick Causton been known to flee from
before any man's face.
X.
LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.
Bergan could not help wasting a little wonder on Doctor Remy's choice
of the "Rat-Hole" as a place for transacting business, of whatever
character. Yet the explanation was simple. The doctor was there, as
he had stated, professionally. One of the _habitués_ of the place had
been severely wounded in an encounter with a policeman, some weeks
before; and although he had succeeded in escaping unrecognized, the
affair had made so much stir that his friends had not deemed it prudent
to put him into the hands of any of the city physicians, for treatment.
Doctor Remy had therefore been summoned from Berganton, and had not
only conducted the case with his usual skill, but, foreseeing a
possibility of turning the circumstance to future account, had won the
ruffian's warmest gratitude by keeping his secret and declining any
fee. Having thus gotten the run of the place, and the good will of its
inmates, he had chosen it for the scene of his interviews with Dick
Causton, because he had his own excellent reasons for not wishing these
interviews to be seen or suspected by anybody in Berganton. And Dick
made no objections, inasmuch as various small errands, which he
dignified with the title of "business," had taken him to Savalla, for
two or three consecutive days; and the "Rat-Hole" was a convenient
stopping-place, and, moreover, furnished liquor which had the two-fold
merit of being of a better quality than any to be had at the "Gregg
Tavern," and of being quaffed at Doctor Remy's expense. Dick was not
likely to trouble his head much about the character of any house
possessing these strong recommendations.
In regard to the signing of the fraudulent will, he had shown himself a
little more scrupulous; his habit of intoxication had not yet
accomplished its evil work of obliterating all sense of right, and
every consideration of honor. At the first broaching of the subject,
he had indignantly refused to listen to it for a moment. Later
on--having apparently gotten some new lights on the question in the
meantime--he had quietly suffered his objections to give way, one after
another, to the doctor's arguments and bribes; to the great
satisfaction of the latter, who found his task, on the whole, easier
than he had expected.
Yet he might have felt some misgivings, if he had followed Dick out of
the house, immediately after the signing of the will, and heard the
low, satisfied chuckle with which he tumbled into his superannuated
chaise, and started his horse on a jog-trot toward Berganton. The
potent draught just swallowed had as yet taken effect only in
quickening his sense of the humorous, and putting him on excellent
terms with his own self-conceit. His eyes twinkled with amusement, too
intense to be denied the occasional vent of a loud burst of laughter,
or an appropriate string of proverbs.
"_Wer dem Spide zusicht, kann's am besten_, my dear Doctor Remy," he
muttered; "or, in other words, the looker-on sees more of the game than
the player. What would you give to know what I know, I wonder! Just
wait till the right time comes; then you'll find out that 'He is worst
cheated, who cheats himself.'"
A mile further on, his potations beginning to make themselves felt, he
suddenly broke out, with a tipsy laugh and leer;--"'_Man kan ei drage
haardt med brudet Reb_,' mine excellent doctor,--you cannot haul hard
with a broken rope! Ha! ha!"
And, although his shamefaced flight from Bergan's presence, on the
second day, may seem to indicate that he was not quite certain of the
uprightness of all his acts and motives, no sooner was he fairly on the
road to Berganton than he began to chuckle again.
Bergan, meanwhile, was questioning within himself whether he ought not
to make known Unwick's story to Major Bergan. He hesitated only
because he foresaw that the information might possibly be set down to
his self-interest, rather than his desire to serve his uncle.
Nevertheless, it did not take him long to decide that he must do what
he knew to be the right thing, regardless of consequences. Nor was it
certain that his uncle would misconstrue his motives:--not long since,
he had received an intimation from Rue that he was sure to meet with a
cordial reception whenever he could make it convenient to visit
Berganton; the Major's anger having so completely wasted away under the
double attrition of time and favorable report,--not to mention her own
steady influence in his behalf,--that he had lately expressed a wish to
see him. There was really no good reason, therefore, why he should
hesitate to present himself at the Hall, except that the whole
neighborhood was certain to bristle with unpleasant recollections.
However, he must face them some time, and as well now as ever.
Still, as nightfall was at hand, and he knew of no reason for hurry, he
thought it expedient to postpone the visit till the morrow. He would
ride over to the Hall, he thought, betimes in the morning. Having made
his arrangements accordingly, and committed his office to Hubert's
care, he retired early, and soon forgot the fatigues and excitements of
the day in a profound sleep.
He had not slept long, however, before he woke from a dream--wherein
Doctor Remy figured as an iconoclast, overthrowing and demolishing the
ancient gods of Bergan Hall--to the consciousness that some one was
knocking loudly at his door.
"Who is there?" he called.
"It's me, Massa Harry," responded a voice, with the unmistakable negro
intonation; but, nevertheless, a voice too much disconnected with the
present to meet with immediate recognition from his but half-awakened
faculties.
"Who is 'me'?" he demanded again.
"You's own boy Brick, Massa Harry," was the reply.
With an instant intuition of evil, Bergan sprang out of bed, and opened
the door. "What is the matter?" he asked.
"Oh, Massa Harry! ole massa's dyin'," replied Brick; "an' gramma Rue,
she sent me for you to come right off'; she say,--'Tell him to ride
fast, dere's not a minit to lose.' An' I'se brought Vic 'long for you;
an' while you's a-dressin', I'll jes' go an' give her a drink, an' rub
her down a lilly bit, so she'll be right smart and fresh when you's
ready to start."
It was one o'clock in the morning when Bergan saw the great dusky pile
of the Hall, and the dark masses of the live oaks, rise before him, in
the pale light of the waning moon. He knew that its master lay within.
Brick had narrated how Rue had ordered and superintended his removal
thither, in one of his moments of comparative quiet and
exhaustion;--the old woman being of the opinion that it was not fitting
for him to die otherwhere than under the ancestral roof, in the same
room where one after another of his forefathers had likewise laid down
the burden of the flesh, and begun the new life of the spirit. To this
room, Bergan was easily guided by his groans and cries.
Never before had he seen a man in the terrible grasp of delirium
tremens; and now, after a brief look, he was glad to turn away his eyes.
Major Bergan was on the bed, but he was only held there by the main
strength of two stout negroes. A frightful spasm contorted his face
and twisted his limbs. Great drops of perspiration stood on his brow;
and from his mouth flowed a mingled stream of oaths, curses, shrieks of
horror, threats of defiance, and groans of agony. His bodily anguish
was only less than his mental torture. His eyes started from his head
at the phantom-creations of his delirious imagination. The furniture
was alive, watching him with fiery eyes, and threatening him with
envenomed teeth and claws; the shadows took mocking shapes and gibed
and jeered at him; and the pictures were demons setting them all on.
The very hairs of his head turned to slimy snakes, and the bed-clothes
were now damp winding-sheets, and now devouring flames.
"Have you had a doctor?" asked Bergan of Rue, who had met him at the
door.
"Yes; Doctor Remy has been here twice; he left not much more than half
an hour ago. He said he had a critical case on hand, that must be seen
to; and there was nothing to be done here, except what we could do as
well as he."
"What are you doing?"
"Giving him soup to keep up his strength, and opium to quiet him. A
few minutes ago, too, in a lucid moment, he called for some powders
that he has been in the habit of taking, which, he said, always did him
more good than anything else. There were only two left; we gave him
one, as he was so bent on having it; I thought if it did no good, it
couldn't do any harm."
"Did Doctor Remy say that he would call again?"
"He did, but, Master Bergan, a blind woman's ears are quick at catching
meanings as well as words, and he did not mean to come very soon,--not,
I reckon, till all is over."
Bergan meditated. Though he had long known that his uncle's habits
would be likely to bring him, sooner or later, to a drunkard's most
miserable end, he could not but think it somewhat suspicious that the
seizure should have followed so closely upon the completion of the
fraudulent will.
"When was my uncle taken?" he asked.
"Early this evening. He had been drinking a good deal for two or three
days past; he said he did not feel well, and he would keep at the
brandy bottle, in spite of all that I could say to him. About ten
o'clock this morning, Doctor Remy came in to see him, and I suspect,
told him something that made him angry,--for I heard him swearing
furiously to himself, after the doctor had gone. And then, probably,
he fell to drinking worse than ever; but it was not until about four
o'clock that I heard him groaning and crying out, and he has kept it up
a good part of the time ever since. But now, I think, he seems to be
getting a little easier."
Bergan turned to the bed. The spasm was over, and the Major lay
exhausted, with his eyes closed. Opening them, they immediately
brightened with a look of recognition.
"Is that you, Harry?" he asked, feebly.
"Yes, uncle," replied Bergan, taking his hand; "Rue sent for me, and I
came at once. I am sorry to see you so ill."
"I think you are, my boy, I think you are," responded Major Bergan;
"you look like it, and besides, a Bergan never lies. And I'm sorry,
too,--all the more, because I suspect that it's my own fault. If ever
you learn to drink--and I don't feel quite so sure that it's necessary
as I did once--don't drink too hard, Harry, don't drink too hard! If
ever I get over this bout, I swear I'll think twice, hereafter, before
I drink once. And if I don't, I'm glad you're here, Harry, boy; it's
well for the new master to be on before the old one is off."
"I hope that you will live to carry your good resolutions into effect,"
said Bergan earnestly.
"Do you? Well, so do I."
He lay quiet for a moment, busy with his own thoughts. All at once he
started up, exclaiming;--
"Fire and fury! what's that?"
The negroes caught hold of him, expecting a fresh convulsion of the
same nature as the preceding ones; but, though his face was frightfully
distorted, and his form writhed with pain, there was no accompaniment
of phantasmal horrors.
"Brandy!" he finally gasped, through his set teeth.
Rue motioned to one of the women in waiting to bring some. Bergan put
his hand on her arm. "Surely you will not give it to him _now_," said
he, impressively.
"The doctor said he must have a little, now and then," she answered.
But before the glass could be put to his lips, he groaned, shuddered
from head to foot, and fell back on the pillow, with his eyes rolled up
in his head, his hands clenched, and a dark froth issuing from, between
his shut teeth. He was dead.
XI.
AFTER MANY DAYS.
There was a sudden silence--the shadow of God's hand. In it the lately
agonized, writhing body lay at peace, the anxious spectators stood awed
and motionless. Yet this silence was more voiceful than any
sound,--full of solemn questionings and more solemn answers, subtle
suggestions, grave warnings, and momentous intimations. Of the value
and the valuelessness of life, of the night and the morning of death,
of the character and the import of the Hereafter,--on all these topics
it discoursed more eloquently than the most silvery of oratorical
tongues.
It had also its more commonplace and definite purport to the
simple-minded dependents gathered in the gloom of the broad gallery and
the black oaken staircase; which was no sooner fully apprehended, than
the sound of weeping was heard among them,--though not noisily
demonstrative, according to the African wont, for their awe of their
late master had been greater than their affection, and was in nowise
diminished by the knowledge of the dread change that had come upon him.
It was genuine sorrow, nevertheless, for, though he had been a hard
master, of late, most of them remembered when he had been kinder; and,
at the worst, he had not been without gleams of good humor and
leniency, upon which their minds now dwelt willingly and tenderly.
Some few gray heads, too, there were among them, who recollected the
grace and promise of his youth, and how proud they had been of their
gay, handsome, generous, high-spirited master; and these, striving to
forget that the promise had not been kept, or to set down its failure
to adverse fate rather than wilful shortcoming, crowded the doorway, or
stole in pairs to the foot of the bed, and looked through tears at the
dead face, and whispered to each other that something of its youth had
come back to it;--the soul, as it took its departure, had stamped the
features with their original nobility and grace. And then they stole
out, to prompt each other's memories with anecdotes of that vanished
youth, and to dilate the eyes of their juniors with descriptions of the
ancient splendors and hospitalities of the desolate old Hall;--the
banquets that had been served in the dusky dining-room, the gay
measures that had been trodden in the long parlor, the wedding-trains
and the funeral processions that had passed through the great door;
and, finally, of the ghosts that still walk the empty rooms, and may be
expected to be seen stalking through the long passages to-night, or
holding solemn conclave around the deserted tabernacle of the latest
comer among them.
Hark! is not that the sound of footsteps, falling airily, yet heavily,
too, in some distant chamber? And there, in the upper gallery, is
certainly the rustle of the supernaturally stiff silk robe of the first
Lady Bergan, who was found dead in her bed, so many years ago! And now
creaks the door at the end of the wing, through which old Sir Harry is
wont to march majestically forth, sword in hand, to take vengeance on
any degenerate scion of the house that he encounters in his path! This
last apparition is too much for their nerves. They shrink together,
and flee noiselessly to their cabins, hearing the footsteps of the
angry knight following them all the way, and leaving the old house
untenanted save by the-ghosts, and the few faithful watchers in the
death-chamber.
Rue is kneeling by the corpse. She has closed the eyes--sightless as
her own;--she has smoothed back the disordered hair; she has pressed
the lips together over the set teeth; now she is passing her withered
hand gently over the blind features, thinking more of the baby that she
nursed, the child that she petted and spoiled, and the youth that she
admired and loved, than of the middle-aged man that she had served with
her best strength, or the elderly one that she had stood by so
faithfully, striving in vain to hold him back from his evil ways.
Finally, she touches the cold lips with her own.
"I kissed him when he was born," she murmurs, half apologetically, to
Bergan, "and there will be no kiss on his dead lips, unless I leave it
there."
Bergan looks at her wonderingly. Her face is calm--there are no tears
in her eyes; she has the satisfied and relieved expression of one who,
after long and patient waiting, beholds the expected rest or gladness
close at hand, and is already half content.
"One little trust more to be fulfilled," she says softly to herself,
"and then my work is done, my long service of the family is over. My
God, have I served Thee as well?"