instant way to his heart, despite its armor of prejudice and anger. At
the same moment, Carice fell, white and insensible, across the arm of
her chair.
"You have killed her," said Mr. Bergan, not resentfully, but with the
still resignation of a man who feels that fate has done its worst for
him, and there is little left to dread, and to hope.
"Indeed, I trust not," replied Hubert, earnestly, dismayed at the
mischief that he had done, as well as softened by the sweet, death-like
face, which, he now knew, was not only the one that still kept its
place in Bergan's memory, and would not be cast out, but was correlated
to a heart not less interested than his own in Bergan's fate. "I think
she has only fainted. Let me take her in, while you summon assistance."
And without waiting for either consent or remonstrance, he lifted her
in his strong arms, and carried her to the library. Almost
immediately, she showed signs of returning animation. He then withdrew
to the piazza, where Mr. Bergan shortly joined him; and explanations
were mutually given and received.
Hubert had duly received the notice of his uncle's funeral. It had
struck him as a little odd at first, that it should be addressed
jointly to his brother and himself; but he set it down as an absurd
legal formality, and thought no more about it. He had intended to ride
over this morning, in time for the funeral; but just as he was about to
start, Mr. Youle had slipped and fallen on the office steps, and
received several severe cuts and bruises; which had made it necessary
for him to take him home, and do what he could to assist him and
reassure his family. Thus it happened that he had arrived at the Hall
to find the funeral over, and to learn, to his surprise and alarm, that
his brother was not there, and that nothing was known of his
whereabouts, except that he was last seen at Oakstead. There, also, he
was told Doctor Remy might be found. Accordingly he had hastened
thither.
He now proposed to commence an immediate, thorough search for his
brother.
"Take my advice," said Mr. Bergan, "and wait a little longer. I have
had, all along, an expectation--or, at least, a hope--that my brother's
will would give some clue to all these mysteries. The time fixed for
the reading is now at hand. Go with me, and be present thereat, as you
have a right to be. Then, if we get any clue, I will do my utmost to
help you follow it out; if we do not, I shall be equally at your
service to seek for one elsewhere."
Chafing at the delay, but unable to suggest anything better to be done,
Hubert accompanied his uncle to the Hall. In the library they found a
considerable party assembled, discussing Bergan's mysterious
disappearance.
"I hope," Doctor Remy was just saying, with apparent concern, "that
nothing worse is behind it all, than some foolish whim or
escapade"--when, hearing a step at the door, he turned and met Hubert
Arling's stern, threatening gaze. In spite of his consummate
self-control, he could not help giving a violent start. Recollecting
himself instantly, however,--inasmuch as he had just heard of Hubert's
previous visit,--he came forward and held out his hand.
"You have deceived me twice, Mr. Arling," he said, pleasantly; "your
resemblance to your brother is really quite wonderful, and must lead to
many entertaining mistakes. I have to beg your pardon," he went on, in
a lower tone, "for my absurd conduct at our former meeting; I will
explain to you, by and by, what I had been led, by some malicious
persons, to believe that I might expect from your brother; which
indignity I hastily attempted to forestall. I have since learned my
error, and I now beg you to believe that I have the most friendly
feelings toward you both. I am scarcely less concerned than yourself
at your brother's absence, on this occasion."
Hubert drew back. "I take no man's hand which I have reason to believe
is not clean," said he, haughtily. "As to your relations with my
brother, he can settle them with you himself, if he still lives. If he
does not, I warn you that any man whom I suspect to have been anywise
concerned in his death, will meet with little mercy at my hands."
Doctor Remy turned livid with anger. Before he could reply, Mr. Tatum
(the lawyer whom Mr. Bergan had summoned) rapped on the table to
command attention, and held up the will to view, in order to show that
the seals were unbroken. He then read it, slowly and distinctly.
After a few minor legacies, it gave the bulk of the Major's property
unconditionally to his niece, Carice Bergan.
There was a dead silence after the formal voice had ceased.
"Is that will in due form of law?" asked Mr. Bergan, breaking the pause.
"It seems so," replied Mr. Tatum; "it is clearly worded, and duly
signed and witnessed."
"I drew it up myself," observed Doctor Remy, "as you see. It was over
a year ago, before the legatee became my wife. But I am surprised to
hear it read on this occasion; I supposed that it grew out of a
momentary whim, and had long ago been nullified by some other
instrument."
"I am equally surprised," remarked Mr. Tatum, "for the excellent reason
that I drew up a very different will myself, only about a fortnight
since. At that time, Major Bergan mentioned this one, or some
other,--for the provisions of this do not quite answer his
description,--and I advised him to destroy it, in order to prevent any
trouble."
"He may have returned to his first mind, and destroyed the second will
instead," suggested Doctor Remy.
"I cannot believe it," returned Mr. Tatum. "Suppose we go in a body,
and make a fresh search. Do you know, Mr. Bergan, any other receptacle
of papers than those already examined?"
"I do not," replied Mr. Bergan. "Perhaps Maumer Rue might; she knows
the house, as well as my brother's habits, much better than I do."
Strange to say, however, when Rue was sought for, she was nowhere to be
found. As messenger after messenger returned from the chambers, the
quarter, and the grounds, and reported that no trace of her could be
discovered, Doctor Remy and Mr. Bergan looked at each other in blank
amazement. This new disappearance was equally startling and suspicious
to both; each thought that the other must be privy to it; each wondered
what it portended.
"So much the more reason to search," finally said Mr. Tatum; "we have
two things to look for,--the will and the old woman."
Hubert Arling rose. "I must beg to be excused," said he. "I have
neither time nor inclination to search for anybody, or anything, except
my brother."
Mr. Bergan laid his hand warningly on his shoulder. "It seems to me,"
said he, "that you cannot begin your search better than in this house."
The search began. Not a corner was left unexplored, not a shadow left
undisturbed. Many strange relics of olden time were unearthed, much
venerable dust raised, but it was all unavailing, so far as either the
will or the blind woman was concerned.
Tired and disappointed, they returned to the library. Then Doctor Remy
stood forth with the light of triumph shining in his eyes. He had
schemed and sinned to some purpose; his reward was sure.
"I suppose that nothing remains," said he, "but for me to take
possession of the premises, in the name of my wife."
Mr. Bergan looked inquiringly at Mr. Tatum. "I suppose that is the
proper thing," said the lawyer,--"at least, as long as the other will
is not found."
Hubert's long-repressed impatience here broke forth. "Settle this
matter as you like," said he, "_I_ am going to look for my brother."
He strode out of the room. Mr. Bergan hesitated a moment, and then
followed him. At the door, he was met by a servant from Oakstead, who
delivered a message, in a low tone; of which Doctor Remy, who was
standing near, caught the words, "Richard Causton--business of
importance." Mr. Bergan listened half-impatiently, gave a brief
answer, and hastened after Hubert.
Doctor Remy watched them down the avenue, with a clouded brow. The
triumphant light had gone out in his eyes; a chill premonition of evil
was at his heart; already he seemed to feel his prize slipping from his
hand. "Excuse me," he said, hurriedly, to those who remained, "I have
urgent business to attend to." In another moment he was on his horse,
galloping swiftly across the fields.
VI.
HELP AT HAND.
Dick Causton's cottage--as it was called by courtesy, being, in truth,
only a better sort of cabin--stood on a sandy corner of the estate that
he had formerly owned. At first, he had begged to remain there only
until he could fix upon some more eligible place of abode; but the
owner was good natured, and Dick was indolent to the point not only of
letting well enough alone, but bad enough, too; so it gradually came to
be understood that he was a life-tenant, by sufferance, of the place.
Nor did the owner deem it worth while to interfere, when, in course of
time, Dick made the discovery that the sand composing this small domain
was of superior quality, and proceeded to convert it into cash, at the
rate of two or three pennies a load, and to swallow it a second time,
in the shape of alcohol. The process ceased only when the digging
threatened to undermine the cottage; which was thus left high and dry
upon a triangular sand promontory, with a deep excavation on each side.
The base of the triangle--a part of it, at least--touched the boundary
line of Oakstead, very near the point where Bergan had been left for
dead by "Big Ben."
Dick had risen unusually early on that morning. Owing to his sudden
flight from the Rat-Hole, he had failed to replenish his stock of
brandy, as he had designed; and the small quantity on hand had been
insufficient to blunt the thorns in his pillow, planted partly by
Doctor Remy's threats, and partly by the reproaches of his own
conscience. He had tossed about on their sharp points for the better
part of the night, and was glad when dawn brought such a measure of
relief as was to be derived from movement and occupation. In the
absence of stronger stimulant, he was fain to brace his nerves with a
cup of tea; to which end a fire was unfortunately necessary, and fuel
must be sought in the adjoining woods of Oakstead. While engaged in
this task, he, caught sight of a prostrate form, half-hidden in the
underbrush.
"_Quien busca, hallará_,--He who seeks will find, but he cannot tell
what," he muttered, peevishly. "Is the fellow drunk, or only asleep, I
wonder?"
He stole some paces nearer, then gave a start and stopped; he had seen
blood stains on the man's clothing. At the same moment, the lines of
the figure struck him as familiar, and while he strove to identify
them, a light breeze lifted the leaves of an overhanging bush, and
revealed an easily recognized profile. Immediately he was kneeling by
Bergan, trying his best to discover some sign of life.
He was unsuccessful; yet, thanks to his store of proverbs, he did not
quite despair. "No barber shaves so close that another cannot find
work," he said, encouragingly, to himself, and bent all his energies to
the difficult task of dragging Bergan into his cabin. He dared not
wait to call assistance, none being within easy reach; besides, he
reasoned that the transit, if not too ungently managed, would tend to
restoration rather than, otherwise. Moreover, having at once connected
Doctor Remy with Bergan's condition, and being thereby inspired with an
inordinate dread of the doctor's power to harm, he fancied that the
first necessity was to get the young man into a place of concealment.
"A good heart rids work," he murmured exultingly, when, panting and
exhausted, after many a pause for breath, and many a start of fright,
he at length dragged Bergan across his threshold, and closed and locked
the door.
He next applied himself, with good will and not unskilfully, to the
task of restoring animation. The wound, it appeared, had touched no
vital part--Big Ben's intention having been better than his aim--and,
being helped by the position in which Bergan had lain, it had stanched
itself. The blows of Ben's heavy fist had been much more effective.
Dick wellnigh gave up in despair before his efforts were rewarded by
the faintest sign that the soul had not forever quitted its earthly
house. Taking heart then, he worked on till the eyes opened and the
lips moved, but not with intelligent sight or coherent speech. The one
beheld only the misty phantoms, as the other gave utterance but to the
wild fancies, of a fevered and delirious imagination. Now, his uncle's
death-bed was the gloomy subject of Bergan's ravings; now, he beheld
Carice in danger or distress, and sought to hasten to her relief,
making it necessary for Dick to hold him in bed by main strength.
For two nights and three days, Dick had thus been forced to keep watch
over him, not daring to leave him for a moment, lest he should do
himself irremediable harm, during his absence. Nor was he disinclined
to the task. Bergan had won all his heart by the courtesy and
consideration with which he had uniformly treated him, no less than his
admiration by his fearless, upright character. "Your nephew has all my
best proverbs in his life, whereas, I only have them in my head," he
had once remarked to the Major, by way of lavishing his choicest
encomium upon the rejected heir; and he now did his best for the young
man's comfort and cure, with the somewhat meagre appliances at his
command. In the way of nourishment, the cabin afforded only a little
tea and beef broth; in the way of medicine, nothing but two or three
soothing herb-drinks, cold water, pure air, and perfect silence. With
the three last, however, nature can work wonders; and, in this case,
she wrought so effectively that, on the afternoon of the third day,
Bergan sank into a quiet sleep, to awake in great weakness, but fully
himself.
"Where am I?" he asked, feebly, glancing wonderingly around him.
"Where charity begins--at home," answered Dick, graciously; "that is,
if you will continue to make yourself so, as you have been doing for
the last three days."
"Three days!" exclaimed Bergan, trying to spring up, but failing by
reason of his weakness;--"what do you mean?"
Dick saw his mistake, but it was too late to retreat. Bergan's mind
had at once recurred to the last item in his memory,--namely, Big Ben's
uplifted fist,--and had easily connected it with his present condition.
Being now made aware of the lapse of time since then by Dick's
incautious admission, nothing remained but to give truthful answers to
the questions that he rapidly put. Quick at logical inference, the
facts that he had disappeared suddenly, and that no trace of him had
been found, were soon patent to him. He was filled with dismay. What
distress his mysterious absence must have cost his friends! What evil
use of it might have been made by his enemy! At the thought, he made
another attempt to rise, and partially succeeded, but only to fall back
again, half fainting.
"Take care. _Quien mas corre, menos vuela_,--the more haste the worst
speed," said Dick, warningly. "Stay a little, and news will find you."
"Not until it is too late, I fear," returned Bergan. "Since I cannot
do it myself, I must beg you to go immediately to my Uncle Godfrey, and
let him know that I am here, and ask him to come and see me at once, if
possible. Tell him privately, so as not to startle anybody else," he
added, with a thought of Carice; "and leave him to extend the
information to whomsoever he pleases."
"I would much rather go to your Uncle Harry," objected Dick, loath to
present himself at Oakstead, lest he should encounter Doctor Remy.
"He is dead," answered Bergan gravely.
Dick looked astonished, but muttered, resignedly,--"God sends no more
than can be borne." Then he bowed low to Bergan. "_Dopo un papa, se
ne fa un altro_," said he,--"The King is dead, long live the King; I
congratulate you."
"Upon what?" asked Bergan, with a keen glance;--"Doctor Remy's
succession?"
"Of course not," replied Dick, coloring and laughing. "Doctor Remy
will find out that _Den sviges vaerst, som sviger sig selv_,--He is
worse cheated who cheats himself. But," he added, with a quick change
of countenance, "he must have found it out already."
The thought was a startling one. Much as Dick had enjoyed the
certainty of the doctor's final discomfiture, he had not expected that
it would come so soon; nor had he known, as now, the extent of the
doctor's resources in the way of his interest or his vengeance. As he
pondered the matter, he was dismayed to recognize in the false will,
the Major's death, and the attempt on Bergan's life, apparent parts of
the same plan, and to infer therefrom the subtle and determined
character of the man whom he had ventured to try to outwit. Had he
succeeded? If so, he had everything to dread from the doctor's
resentment; if not--if Doctor Remy had found means to carry out his
plans to the end, and cover his tracks, as he seemed to have done thus
far--would he dare to open his mouth against him, only to take a share
in his punishment? Right and honor were good things, but could they
make a prison a pleasant abode?
Here, Bergan broke in upon his troubled reflections. "I must remind
you," said he, "that no time should be wasted. My disappearance must
have caused much anxiety, and my uncle should be informed where I am,
without delay."
"Very well," said Dick, glad, on the whole, to be relieved from further
consideration of his difficulties. "I'll be off instanter, if you'll
promise not to stir while I'm gone. And if anybody knocks, don't
speak, or even breathe loud;--likely enough it will be Doctor Remy,
and, in your case, discretion is the better part of valor. I'll make
all fast behind me, so that no one can get in. And I'll hurry back,
and bring your uncle with me, if I can."
At Oakstead, Dick was informed that Mr. Bergan was at the Hall, and
wherefore. He dared not go after him, knowing that Doctor Remy would
certainly be there also. He debated with himself, for a moment,
whether it would not be well to make his errand known to Mrs. Bergan;
but murmuring cynically, "A woman conceals only what she don't know,"
he decided to entrust her with a message simply. This was so
mysteriously and solemnly given, however, as necessarily to suggest to
her, after his departure, that he might possibly have found some clue
to the mystery of Bergan's absence; whereupon she dispatched a servant
to the Hall with the message,--though not without a strict injunction
that he should deliver it to his master privately. But this, as has
been seen, was not so well observed as to prevent some portion of the
message from reaching Doctor Remy's ears, and exciting his suspicions.
VII.
THE SET TIME.
Dick Causton trudged back to his cabin in no tranquil frame of mind.
He had his own excellent reasons for believing that a more disappointed
and angry man than Doctor Remy, at that moment, was not to be found
under the sun. Not only had he lost the coveted Bergan estate, but he
had been fooled and cheated by the very man whom he had taken to be his
most willing and despicable tool. Nor would it be long, Dick foresaw,
before the doctor would seek to mitigate the bitterness of his chagrin
with whatever sweetness was to be derived from the thought and purpose
of revenge. In that case, he would be the first point of attack. What
a fool he had been to meddle or make with any of the doctor's affairs!
As if he did not know at least a dozen different proverbs in as many
languages, to the effect that prudence was better than repentance,
safety preferable to sorrow! Of what use was it to have his head
stuffed with the consummate wisdom of all nations, if he only acted
like a consummate idiot!
A pertinent question, Richard Causton! Showing the good results, too,
of your period of forced abstinence from strong drink, and your lonely
watch over the sick-bed--wellnigh the death-bed--of Bergan Arling. Up
to this point, we have deemed your case hopeless; now, truly, we think
better of it. To recognize one's folly is the first step toward
breaking from its bondage. To have learned that the fruits of
righteousness do not ripen on the tree of worldly wisdom, is, perhaps,
to feel the first faint hunger for the saving fruitage of the tree of
life. There may be the making of a man--a contrite, humbled, subdued,
scarred, but free man--in you yet!
Ignoring, or unconscious of, these grounds of hope for the future,
however, Dick continued to busy himself with his fears for the present.
Nor did they prove to be causeless; he was not yet in sight of his
door, when he heard the sound of impatient knocking thereat. Stealing
to a point where he could see without being seen, his worst fears were
realized,--the unwelcome visitor was Doctor Remy.
"_De puerta cerrada el diablo se torna_,--From a locked door, the devil
turns away," he muttered, settling himself in his hiding place, with
the intention of remaining there until the anticipated departure.
But the doctor was not to be thus balked. After repeated knockings,
with short intervals of waiting, he finally drew back from the door
with the evident intention of bursting it in; whereupon Dick hastened
to make his appearance, doing his best to assume an air of easy
nonchalance.
"He who brings good news, knocks hard," he called out, by way of
arresting the doctor's attention, and saving the door. "Or, as the
Germans say, He who brings, is welcome; I suppose you have come to
settle our little account."
"Yes, I have come to settle accounts with you," replied Doctor Remy,
with grim irony. "Why didn't you tell me about this other will?"
"What other will?" asked Dick, innocently.
"I am in no humor for trifling," returned Doctor Remy;--"Major Bergan's
will, that you witnessed a fortnight ago."
"_C'est la glose d' Orleans_,--that is to say, the commentary is more
obscure than the text," answered Dick, shaking his head, as if he could
make nothing of it.
"Don't try my patience too far," rejoined the doctor, menacingly. "I
have just seen Mr. Tatum, and he told me of the will, and named you as
one of the witnesses."
"Did he?" asked Dick, shrugging his shoulders. "Then I must be like
'_el escudero de Guadalaxara, que de lo que dice de noche, no hay nada
â la mañana_.' Do you understand Spanish?"
"Do you understand English?" growled Doctor Remy. "I asked you if you
had witnessed a will; and I want to know what was in it."
"And I gave you to understand that if I had, it must have been when I
was too drunk to remember anything about it," responded Dick.
Doctor Remy's eyes flashed ominously. "I shall find a way to refresh
your memory," said he. "One question more, and I warn you that you had
better give me a straightforward answer, and not try to put me off with
a proverb;--what was done with the will after it was made?"
"Why, hasn't it been found?" asked Dick, with surprise that was plainly
genuine.
"No, it has not," replied Doctor Remy, curtly. "See here, Dick," he
added, after a pause, quitting his threatening tone for one of
persuasion; "I'll make it well worth your while to tell me all you know
about that will. Open the door--I'm tired of standing--and we'll go in
and talk it over."
"I--I--it's pleasanter outside," stammered Dick, fairly driven to his
wit's end by this proposal. "Besides, 'walls have ears;' no place like
the open air for your business--and mine."
"Your walls should be deaf," answered the doctor, looking at him
suspiciously; "you live alone, do you not?"
"Yes, certainly; but no walls are to be trusted; _mèfiance est mére de
sûretè_."
"Very true," replied Doctor Remy; "and I distrust you. Open that door
at once, and let me see what or whom it is, that you are so anxious to
conceal."
Dick's consternation was extreme. Still, he did what he could to gain
time; assistance might be on the road. He began to fumble in his
pockets. "Very happy to oblige you, I'm sure," he faltered, with a
poor assumption of graciousness. "But, 'He that will be served must be
patient.' I declare! I believe I've lost that key! Still, _Mais val
perder, que mais perd_--"
"Will you open that door?" interrupted Doctor Remy, fiercely, "or shall
I do it myself?"