him--Mr. Bergan recounted to his nephew, in a long conversation held in
the parlor, after Carice had been soothed by her father's promise that
she should be compelled to do nothing but what was right and agreeable
in her own eyes, and left to the care of her mother and Rosa. Now,
too, the loss of Bergan's letters to his uncle and Carice was
discovered; the false or distorted statements in those of Doctor Remy
to himself were brought to light and discussed; finally, Mr. Bergan was
glad to listen to a succinct recital of Doctor Trubie's reasons for
believing Felix Remy to be identical with Edmund Roath.
In the course of the conversation, all reserve between the uncle and
nephew insensibly melted away, and the last topic was discussed upon
terms of the most cordial confidence and sympathy. Bergan's high
reputation in Savalla had not failed to reach his uncle's ears, and
sometimes to make him doubt if all his old prejudice was well founded;
and now, there was so much dignity and gentleness in his bearing, his
words were so full of unselfish consideration for others, he showed
himself so ready still, as heretofore, to sacrifice every merely
personal feeling to Carice's welfare, that Mr. Bergan's heart, softened
and humbled as it had been by adversity, was irresistibly won. He was
glad to feel that he had so dispassionate a judgment, so wise a
counsellor, and so kind a friend, to lean upon, in this moment of
perplexity.
The talk was broken in upon by a message from Mrs. Bergan. Carice,
after her manifold questions in regard to the circumstances in which
she found herself had been answered or evaded, had sunk into a deep,
but apparently natural sleep. Still, her mother could not but be
extremely anxious about her; and she suggested that Doctor Remy, or
some one else, should be immediately sent for, to provide against the
contingency of her waking.
Mr. Bergan looked anxiously at his nephew. "After what you have told
me," said he, "I do not feel that I can allow that man to enter
Carice's room again, even when she is sleeping. Yet, be he what or
whom he may, his professional skill is undeniable, and her life or
reason may turn on those waking moments. What is to be done?"
"Do you know where he is to be found?" asked Bergan.
"No. He merely told me that he had a critical case on hand, which
would keep him out all night, and perhaps we should not see him before
noon to-day. I suppose he can be heard of at his office."
Bergan reflected for a moment. "By this time," said he, "Doctor
Gerrish must be on his way to the Hall. From what I have known and
heard of him, I believe him to be both a promising physician and an
honorable man. Send Bruno to intercept him, on the plea that the dead
can wait for his services better than the living. Then tell him, in
strict confidence, enough of Carice's condition to make him understand
the case; but you need say nothing of Doctor Remy, except that he is
not at hand, and you feared to wait. Finally, ask, as a special favor,
that he will not mention his visit to Doctor Remy, lest the latter be
annoyed. He will think you weak and overscrupulous, but he will
promise."
This advice was acted upon. Doctor Gerrish, after listening to Mr.
Bergan's statement and examining Carice as she lay asleep, decided that
the recent wound, which was in the neighborhood of the former one, had,
in some mysterious way, relieved the inflammation, or counteracted the
injury, caused by that--in short, had done precisely what Doctor Remy
proposed to do by means of an operation. He furthermore believed that
Nature was making her final effort at restoration through the deep
sleep which held Carice in bonds so gentle and so firm; and he gave
strict orders that nothing should be suffered to break it. It would
doubtless last some hours, perhaps the whole day; or if she woke, it
would be merely to swallow a little nourishment, which should be given
her, and then to fall asleep again.
Bergan had waited to hear this decision, and he now requested Doctor
Gerrish to ride on to the Hall, where he would join him almost
immediately, by the shorter way of the foot-bridge. His uncle detained
him longer than he expected, however, for a final consultation about
several important matters; and he was conscious that Doctor Gerrish
must have been kept waiting for a considerable time, when he finally
quitted the house. Hurrying to the foot-bridge, he saw two
rough-looking men crossing it from the direction of the Hall. At sight
of him, they interchanged a few words, and then came to meet him.
"Mr. Arling, I believe," said one, touching his hat. "We have been
asking at the Hall for you, and a doctor that we saw there told us that
you were coming this way, and asked us to say, if we met you, that he
begged you would hurry."
"Thank you," said Bergan. "That is what I am doing."
"Not so fast," interrupted the other, who was a tall, muscular fellow
with a sinister countenance. "You are that Lawyer Arling, I reckon,
who got my brother sentenced to state prison last month for burglary."
"I did my duty as prosecuting attorney for the State, if that is what
you mean," replied Bergan, coolly.
"You did, did you? Well, I'm going to do mine, which is to knock you
down for it."
With these words, the man raised his powerful fist. Bergan
instinctively threw himself into the attitude of defence; but the
ruffian's companion, who had edged behind him, caught hold of both his
arms; and the unparried blow felled him senseless to the ground.
II.
SWIFT FEET.
However cold a man's temperament may be by nature, however complete the
subjection of his passions to his reason and his will, he is nearly
certain, in the sudden excitement and confusion of detected guilt, to
be betrayed into some act instantly condemned by his better judgment.
Such had been the case with Doctor Remy, in his encounter with Hubert
Arling at the "Rat-Hole." Mistaking Hubert for Bergan, and believing
him to be there only to spy out his actions and thwart his designs, it
had been his first impulse to draw the pistol, which he habitually
carried, according to the custom of the times and locality, and free
himself at once and forever from interference that he conceived to be
so dangerous. His chagrin at finding that he had mistaken one brother
for the other, was only equalled by his surprise at his calm dismissal
and friendly warning, at Bergan's hands. It did not take him long to
fix upon the hidden motive of this conduct,--to decide, with a bitter
smile, that he had been spared for the sake of Carice.
Yet he had no idea of the extent of Bergan's forbearance toward him on
this head. It must be remembered that he never received the slightest
intimation of Doctor Trubie's suspicions, or of Bergan's visit to
Oakstead, on the night of the wedding. Godfrey Bergan had omitted any
mention of either; first, because he had been prevented from doing so
by the overwhelming distress and anxiety that had come upon him so
suddenly; and afterward, because it had seemed wiser, on the whole, to
say nothing. Doctor Remy, therefore, had no suspicion of the mine over
which he had been standing, on that night, nor how its explosion had
been averted. From his point of view, Bergan's sudden removal to
Savalla, in consideration of the prospect there opened to him, was the
most natural thing in the world. Nor did he know any reason why
himself and his former friend should not meet on the old terms, upon
occasion, except that the gain of the one had been the loss of the
other, in respect to Carice. Even here, however, he held himself to be
ostensibly blameless, inasmuch as womankind was proverbially fickle,
and Bergan had no reason to suppose that he was aware of any relation
between him and Carice other than the outward one. He deeply
regretted, therefore, that in a moment of surprise and confusion, he
should have put himself in a false position. It would have been far
better to have met Bergan with the careless ease of a conscience void
of offence. But, since he had not done so, it was well that Carice was
his sufficient safeguard against retaliation.
Yet one word had fallen from Bergan's lips, which had startled him at
the moment, and haunted him on his way homeward. The young man had
seriously bidden him be thankful that he was saved from "_another_
crime." Was the phrase accidental, or did it imply some knowledge of
the affair of the will? In the latter case, was it likely that Bergan
would submit to the loss of what he had been encouraged, at one time,
to consider his lawful inheritance, without a most rigid scrutiny and
investigation of the document by which, while the property was
apparently given to Carice, it was done in such a way as to place it
absolutely in her husband's control. Would Bergan's forbearance toward
her and hers be likely to extend as far as this? Judging by himself,
and his experience of men in general, and especially of heirs, he did
not hesitate to affirm that it would not. For, though Bergan had
seemed to be possessed of some unusually Quixotic notions of honor,
independence, and disinterestedness, during the period of their
intimate association, he had doubtless seen enough of life since then,
to grow more sensible. What, then, had he not to dread from his
natural acuteness and legal skill, when both of these, sharpened by
interest, should be brought to bear on the false will?
Absorbed in these reflections, he had allowed his horse to choose his
own pace, which had gradually slackened, from a gallop to a trot, and
then into a walk, until, at last, he was easily overtaken by Dick
Causton, in whose eyes there still shone a humorous twinkle.
"Those Arlings seem to be pretty much of a piece," said he; "they both
give better than they take, when it comes to blows. However, the
Italians say, _Tutto s'accommoda, eccetto l'osso del collo_,--that
means, Everything can be mended except the neck-bone. Yours has come
safe out of this fray, but there's no telling how long 'twill stay so,
if you're so ready with your pistol."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Doctor Remy, angrily. "I am in no mood for jesting.
Do you suppose that Arling got any clue to our business in that den?"
"How should he?--'A man doesn't look behind the door unless he has been
there himself.' Besides, Mr. Arling minds his own business,--which I
wish I did!--then I shouldn't have run from him like a dog caught
stealing. By the way, Doctor, if the Major makes another will, which
cuts the throat of this one of ours, I suppose the forgery goes for
nothing?"
Doctor Remy looked at him darkly. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Is
he thinking of making another?"
"Not that I know of," replied Dick. "But, 'At the game's end, see who
wins.' There is time for him to make a dozen before he dies."
"We will see about that!" muttered the doctor.
"And if he does," persisted Dick, "our will goes for naught, of
course,--won't even be looked at, I suppose. They'll 'trust to the
label of the bag,' seeing there's no necessity for opening it!"
Doctor Remy stopped short, and eyed his companion suspiciously, "See
here, Dick," said he, in a low, determined tone, "you had better not
venture to try any double dealing with me. I will have you to know
that I can put you in prison, any day; and I will do it, too, even
though I have to go along with you, if you falter one step in the
course I have marked out for you. Having begun with me in this
business, you will find it for your interest, in more senses than one,
to help me through with it."
"That is to say," muttered Dick, ruefully, "_Die met den duivel
ingescheept is, moet met hem overvaren_,--Having embarked with the
Devil, you have got to sail with him."
The sound of that word "prison" was by no means agreeable in his ears.
He had all a vagabond's love for open air and sunshine, and liberty to
go and come at his own fitful will. He sickened at the bare idea of
prison walls between him and the sky, prison bars between him and the
fresh, roving air, prison restraints upon his freedom of action.
Doctor Remy saw the impression that he had made, and
proceeded:--"Wherefore, if you hear, or have heard, the Major express
any intention of making a new will, I need not suggest the propriety of
your giving me immediate warning." The form of the sentence was that
of an assertion, but the tone was interrogative.
"_Dictum sapienti sat est_," answered Dick, sulkily, denying himself
the pleasure of translating, and immediately closing his lips tight, as
if he dared not trust himself to say another word.
In this mood, Doctor Remy thought it better not to press him further.
He had been made to see that he was in his power, and had even yielded
a reluctant assent to his will; this was gain enough for the present.
So, having reached the point where the roads diverged, he bade Dick a
smiling "Good-day," turned off toward the Hall; which, it occurred to
him, it might be worth while to visit, for the chance of securing
useful shreds of information, or of substituting the false will for the
true one.
Dick Causton looked after him with a moody, discontented brow. "I am
like a leek, a gray head, and all the rest green," he groaned to
himself. "I thought I had made a mighty sharp bargain, but it turns
out that I've only sold myself to the Devil, to fetch and carry at his
bidding. I really gave myself credit for more sense; but, _Do entra
beber, sale saber_, When the drink's in, the wit's out."
With the last words, Dick heaved a deep sigh. It was nothing new to
find that his darling sin was an inclined plane, down which he
continually slid into the grasp of divers other sins, less to his
taste; but never before had it done him so unkind a trick as to fling
him into the hands of a man quick to see, and unscrupulous to use, the
chance of turning him to account. Yet so completely had all courage
and energy of will died out of him, and so thoroughly was he scared at
the idea of a prison as a possible termination of his career, that he
dared propose to himself only a feeble and covert resistance to Doctor
Remy's stern domination. There was present safety in outward
submission; and as for the future!--he smiled in spite of his
discomfiture.
At the Hall, Doctor Remy was a little startled to find Major Bergan in
the clutch of so severe an attack of delirium tremens that death was
likely to be the speedy result. It did not suit his plans that the
Major's decease should follow so quickly upon the completion of the
forged will; he wanted a little more time to mark out and make smooth
his future course, and obliterate his more recent track. He therefore
set to work, with right good will, and science considerably in advance
of the times, to strengthen and quiet his patient, and so prolong his
life; certain that, whenever the strong hand of medical authority was
withdrawn, he would immediately drink himself into a relapse, which
could be allowed to prove fatal. His efforts were not without a
measure of success; in three hours, he had so far reduced the fever and
excitement that he ventured to leave Rue in charge, while he paid a
brief visit to another patient, who had sent for him four or five times
during the evening. This desertion of his post was fatal to him. In
spite of Rue's best endeavors, Major Bergan succeeded in getting
possession of the brandy bottle, and draining it to the last drop.
When Doctor Remy returned, it was to find him once more a raving
maniac, and to learn to his consternation, that Bergan had been sent
for. The Major would die, there was no help for that; but something
must be done to prevent the arrival of his nephew until after the true
will--and all other wills--had been found and destroyed, and the false
one put in its place;--even, if possible, until after the funeral was
over, the will read, and the property put into his own hands. Once in
possession, he had reason to believe that he could not, or would not,
be disturbed.
His stay at the Major's bedside was short, and principally spent in
profound meditation; which was set down by the lookers-on to the
account of his deep solicitude for the patient. His course was soon
decided upon. In less than two hours he was back at the Rat-Hole, in
deep conversation with the convalescent, who was known as "Big Ben."
Its purport may be gathered from the closing remarks.
"You hit pretty hard, I suppose," said the doctor.
"Looks like it, don't it?" returned Big Ben, holding up his great fist
for inspection, with a satisfied smile. "Make yourself easy; yonder
lawyer won't trouble you with any cross-questions for a month to come,
I'll promise you that. He won't know his head from a bread-and-milk
poultice to-morrow morning, if he ever does."
"Take care!" replied the doctor, warningly; "you know I don't want him
killed,--only laid up for two or three weeks, and indisposed to meddle
with other people's affairs."
Big Ben smiled grimly. "I'll take care not to do more than stun him,
on your account, doctor," he answered; "but I don't say what I shall
do, on my brother's. A fellow don't always weight his blows exactly to
suit the skull they hit; and if I should happen to put an end to him,
without meaning it, you wouldn't take it much to heart, would ye?"
Doctor Remy did not move a muscle of his face, but his eyes sparkled,
in spite of himself. Ben laughed, and nodded his head.
"Don't trouble yerself to answer," said he; "I understand you well
enough without."
"But, Ben--" began the doctor, in a tone of remonstrance.
"Enough said," interrupted the ruffian, impatiently. "If it's me
you're afeard for, I'll jest let you know that I've got everything
fixed to leave these parts, to-morrow morning--I've heard of a better
opening for my talents--so I shall be off before this affair leaks out.
As for you, who knows that you've got anything to do with it? It's
jest our own private squarin' of accounts; that's all. You saved my
life; I squelch this lawyer for you. At the same time I settle up with
him, for my brother. If I swing for't, I'm not such a scoundrel as to
bring you in. Now, I'm off; there's scant time to fix things, and get
to the Hall by day-break. It's too late, you think, to stop him on the
way?"
"Most certainly; he must have started before this."
"And his room is on the south-east corner, you say?"
"Yes, with windows opening on the second piazza."
However,--thanks to Carice,--the room was empty when Big Ben and his
companion looked into it. Determined not to be baffled thus, he
prowled around the house, until he was detected by Rue's quick ears in
the hall, and asked what was his business; when he truthfully replied
that he was seeking for Mr. Arling. Hearing this, Doctor Gerrish came
forward, stated where Bergan could probably be found, and entrusted Ben
with the message, which, as we have seen, was scrupulously delivered.
Bergan was then knocked down; and the inanimate body was dragged by the
two ruffians to what seemed to be a remote point of the Oakstead
grounds, where it would not be likely to be discovered for some hours,
perhaps days. There, Ben debated within himself, for a minute, whether
he would leave it its small remaining chance of life; but he remembered
that Bergan had seen both himself and his comrade face to face, and
would be able to identify them, on occasion. He drew his knife,
muttered, "Dead men tell no tales," and sheathed it in the young man's
breast.
As he stood upright, his ear caught the faint jar of a closing door,
followed by the sound of slow footsteps, and a cracked voice humming a
song. Apparently, the spot which he had chosen, lonely as it seemed,
was not far from some human dwelling. He and his companion exchanged
startled glances, plunged into the underbrush, and fled silently and
swiftly.
III.
FATALITY OR TEMPTATION?
Doctor Remy, meanwhile, had made all possible speed from the Rat-Hole
to the bedside of a third patient; in order that his time, on that
night, might seem to be sufficiently accounted for by his professional
visits. His horse was swift, and he had not spared it in his recent
expedition; it would seem impossible that he should have been at points
so wide apart, within so short a time. By this means he expected to
secure himself from Justice, in her human shape; of her divine form, he
had no thought nor fear. Yet, all the way, a voice from the Past,
which sounded curiously like his own, kept echoing in his ears, with a
dull, dead intonation,--"Crime is a mistake."
Well, suppose that it was, he had committed no crime. He had merely
placed a particular powder, among many others, where a drunken old man,
whose life was of no moment to anybody, could take it or not, at
pleasure; he had altered a will in such manner as to give him absolute,
instead of partial, control of a certain property, which he intended to
use for the advance of science and the benefit of the race; and he had
provided for the temporary elimination from affairs of a person likely
to obstruct their proper sequence. That was all. What was there in it
to cause such a chill depression of spirits,--such an unreasoning dread
of--he knew not what?
Nothing, we may be sure, that was patent to the doctor's science.
Regarding right merely as another term for custom, policy, expediency,
and conscience as a softer name for cowardice, he was not likely to
discern clearly, nor explain correctly, phenomena by which even a lost
soul now and then asserts itself as of another nature than its
tabernacle of dust, subject to other laws, responsive to other
influences, thrilled with other pangs, fears, and longings.
Nevertheless, he sought for an answer to his question, and found a
plausible one in the fact that he was physically weary, and therefore
mentally ill at ease. The night, too, was cool for the season, no
wonder that some of its chill had gotten into his mind as well as his
bones! He buttoned his overcoat more closely around him, and spurred
on his flagging horse.
Yet he did not shut out the shiver, nor distance the uneasiness. Some
importunate Cassandra of the depths still insisted upon its clearness
of vision, in respect to impending calamity. Troubled in spite of
himself, he passed his recent operations in careful review, to see if
he had left any loophole open to invite detection or impediment. None.
On the contrary, all seemed safe and propitious. The Major was dying,
or dead, in consequence of his own self-will and folly. Bergan Arling
would shortly be disabled, or killed,--but by another man's hand, and
ostensibly--really, even, in part--to gratify another man's thirst for
revenge. The Major's will had been found and destroyed; and
another--its exact counterpart, except for the omission of a few absurd
conditions and restrictions--had been put in its place. A few days
more, and the vast and valuable Bergan estate would be his own, and
available to his ends. If his road to its possession had not been what
men accounted straight and clean, whose fault was it? Had he not, in
virtue of his marked talents and abilities, a better right to wealth
and fame than most men?--and was he to blame for the fatality which
always placed some other life or heart between them and him? Had he
not done his best to escape from it? Had he not tried more legitimate
means to gain them, and failed?
If the doctor had been less intent upon special pleading, he might have
reminded himself that the records of crime show that a man seldom stops
with the commission of a single theft, forgery, murder, or other
offence. The first one being the necessary sequence of an evil habit
of living or thinking, a second and a third follow as unavoidably as a
strict logical inference from admitted premises. Might not the
fatality of which he complained be but the inevitable result of
indulging a certain kind of thought until it became a settled habit of
mind, sure to manifest itself, on occasion, in appropriate action? Had
not this fatality first presented itself to him as a temptation,
suggesting a swift means to a desired end?--nay, was it not such still,
only treading more confidently a familiar track, and finding a readier
reception?
He had no time to answer these queries, if it had occurred to him to
ask them;--he was already at his destination. With a mighty effort of
his will, he tore himself free of his anxieties and doubts, and bent
his mind steadily upon the surgical operation which he had come to
perform; and he performed it well, with a clear eye and a steady hand.
He then went on to his office, where he found Bergan's summons to the
death-bed waiting for him; in apparent obedience to which, he soon
after presented himself at the Hall.