The next Sunday, Vane, the Mayfair Missionary, as one of the evening
papers had called him, preached at St. Chrysostom, and took for his
text:
"Art thou a master of Israel and knowest not these things."
During the week, the storm of indignation against him had been growing
both in strength and violence, and a movement was already on foot to
arraign him before the Ecclesiastical Courts on charges of heresy and
unbelief, and of bringing the priesthood into contempt by publicly
associating himself as a priest with the avowed enemies of the Church.
The church was, of course, crowded, but the congregation was composed of
very different elements from those which had made up his congregation a
fortnight before. There were many of its richest members there, but they
did not come in their carriages. Many others had come in trains or
'busses, or had walked from Mile End and Bethnal Green to hear the words
of the new prophet; and scores of these had not seen the inside of a
church for years, or ever dreamt of listening with anything like respect
to a sermon from a Christian pulpit, yet none were more respectful and
attentive than these infidels and heretics whose respectful attention
and new-awakened reverence were the first fruits of Vane's mission
harvest.
His sermon was a direct and uncompromising reply to the challenge to
prove that he was worthy to wear the cloth of the priesthood, and when
it was over, his hearers, the believers and unbelievers alike, had been
driven to the conviction, unpleasant as it was to some of them, that if
the preacher had drawn his conclusions right from the words of Christ
and his Apostles, it was absolutely certain that neither churches or
churchmen, whatever their form of doctrine might be, could at the same
time be wealthy and powerful in the worldly sense, and remain anything
more than nominal Christians.
After the sermon Vane assisted Father Baldwin in the administration of
the Sacrament, and Carol and Rayburn took the elements from his hands;
Carol for the first time in her life, and Rayburn for the first time
since he had reached manhood. It was for them the consecration of their
new love and the new life which was to begin next day.
Dora, who had been present at the service and had remained through the
communion, had, greatly to the surprise of every one, and even to the
sorrow of Carol and Vane, refused steadily to partake. She would give no
reason, and therefore Carol quite correctly concluded that she had some
very sufficient one.
At ten the next morning, Vane married Carol and Rayburn. The ceremony
was as simple as the forms of the Church allowed, and absolutely
private. Sir Arthur gave Carol away, and Ernshaw acted as Rayburn's
best man. The only others present were Father Baldwin and Dora, and a
few of the usual idlers to whom a wedding of any sort is an irresistible
attraction, and who had no notion of the strangeness of the wooing and
the winning, or of the depth of the life-tragedy which was being brought
to such a happy ending in such simple fashion.
The only guests at the marriage-feast were Dora, Ernshaw, and Vane. It
was just a family party, as Sir Arthur called it, so the bride and
bridegroom were spared the giving and receiving of speeches. Never did a
greater change take place in a girl's life more simply and more quietly
than this tremendous, almost incredible change which took place in
Carol's, when, from being a nameless outcast beyond the pale of what is
more or less correctly termed respectable society, she became the wife
of a man who had wooed, and won her under such strange circumstances,
yet knowing everything, and the mistress of millions to boot.
When the brougham that was to take them to the station drew up at the
door, Rayburn put his hand on Vane's arm, and led him to the study.
"Maxwell," he said, as he shut the door, "I have done the best thing
to-day that a man can do. I have got a good wife, and----"
"You have done a great deal more than that, Rayburn," said Vane,
"infinitely more. I needn't tell you what it is, but if ever God and his
holy Saints looked down with blessing on the union of man and woman,
they did upon your marriage to-day."
"I see what you mean," said Rayburn, "and for Carol's sake, I hope so
with all my heart. Now, look here," he went on, in an altered tone,
taking an envelope out of his pocket, "you know that I don't find myself
able to believe with you on this question of the possession of wealth.
Perhaps I have got too much of it to be able to do so; but what I have,
I know Carol will help me to use better than I could use it myself. It
is the usual thing, I believe, for a man who has just taken a wife unto
himself, to make a thank-offering to the Church. Here is mine, and it is
not only mine, but hers, for we had a talk about it yesterday. Open it
when we have gone. And now, good-bye, brother Vane, and God speed you in
your good work!"
When the last good-byes had been said, and the last kisses and
handshakes exchanged, and the carriage had driven away, Vane went alone
into the study, and opened the envelope. It contained a note in Carol's
writing, and a cheque. The note ran thus:
"MY DEAREST BROTHER,
"The enclosed is the result of a talk I had with Cecil last night,
he also had one with Mr. Ernshaw, and I had one with Dora. I should
like it to be used, under your direction, for the good of those who
are as I was, but have not been so blest with such good fortune as
I have been.
"Ever your most loving and grateful sister,
"CAROL."
The cheque was for twenty thousand pounds.
Vane could scarcely believe his eyes when he looked at the five figures.
Then, when he had grasped the meaning of them, he murmured:
"God bless them both; they have made a good beginning," and went back
to join the others in the dining-room.
He had a long talk with Ernshaw that afternoon, and they decided to bank
the money in their joint name, Ernshaw absolutely refusing to have it in
his name alone, as the cheque had been given to Vane, and towards the
end of the talk Ernshaw said:
"I am glad to say that I should not be very much surprised now if what
your father said a couple of years ago were to come true. In fact, I
have broached the subject already very gently and circumspectly, of
course, but she absolutely refuses even to consider the matter for at
least a year. Still, she did it so gently and so sweetly that I don't by
any means despair; and that girl, Maxwell, will make as good a wife as a
parson ever had, and a better one than a good many have. She has given
me my life-work, too. You are going to try and redeem the rich, or, at
least, to show them the way of redemption. I, with God's help, and hers,
am going to try and show a way of redemption to those who have lost
everything, and this money of Rayburn's will give us a magnificent
start, if you will agree with me that it will be devoted to it."
"Of course, it must be," said Vane, "there can't be any doubt about
that. Miss Russell will naturally be at the head of the work, I suppose,
and the first thing we ought to do, I think, is to get an establishment
for her, and let her start as soon as may be. I suppose you have talked
it over with her already?"
"Oh, yes," replied Ernshaw, "and she is more than delighted with the
idea."
"I am glad to hear it," said Vane, "no one could possibly do the work
better. Ernshaw, old man," he went on, more gravely, "I'm afraid for
myself that with a helper, and, I hope, some day a help-meet like Miss
Russell, you will have a good deal more chance of success in your work
than I shall in mine."
"That, my dear fellow," replied Ernshaw, "is in other hands than ours.
There lies the work to our hands, and all we have got to do is to do it.
By the way, as far as mine is concerned, I hope you will help me to
persuade your father to take a share in it."
"I am perfectly certain he will," said Vane; "the fact that Carol
suggested it will be quite enough for that."
"Then if he does, by the time you come back from your first crusade, I
think you will find things getting pretty well into order."
"I'm sure I shall," said Vane.
But it was already written that this crusade was not to begin until many
other things had happened. That evening at dinner Sir Arthur said:
"Vane, I had a note from Sir Reginald this afternoon asking me to run
down to the Abbey for a few days, and then join them at Cowes. You are
included in the invitation, but, of course, you wouldn't go to Cowes,
and I don't think I shall, the work here will be very much more
interesting; but I thought perhaps you might like to run down to the
Abbey and see Father Philip before you start on your mission. Garthorne
and Enid are there, and her father and mother are going. It wouldn't be
a bad opportunity to tell the family party the good news about Carol."
"Oh, yes," said Vane, "I should like that, immensely; in fact, I've been
thinking already that if Father Baldwin agrees with me that before I do
make a start on my mission to Midas, as my friend, Reed, called it the
other day, the best thing I could do would be to spend a day or two at
the Retreat, and go into the matter thoroughly with Father Philip."
While he was speaking, Ernshaw noticed that Dora turned deadly pale.
When dinner was over Sir Arthur announced that he was going round for an
hour to see Sir Godfrey Raleigh on a little Indian business. Dora felt
now that her opportunity had come. It was a terrible thing to do, and
yet, all things considered, present, and to come, she felt that it was
her plain duty to do it, and not to permit this ghastly deception to go
on any longer. Her soul revolted at the thought of Sir Arthur and Vane,
Carol's half-brother, going to the Abbey and being received as friends
by Sir Reginald Garthorne. Knowing what she did, it seemed to her too
hideous to be thought of, and so when Vane asked jestingly what they
were going to do to amuse themselves, she got up, looking very white,
and said, in a voice that had a note almost of terror in it:
"Mr. Maxwell, there is something I want to say to you; something that I
must say to you. I cannot say it to you and Mr. Ernshaw together; it is
bad enough to say it even to you, but when I have said it, you will be
able to talk it over and try what is best to be done. I want to tell it
to you first, because it concerns you most."
"By all means," said Vane, looking at her with wonder in his eyes, "come
into the library. Ernshaw, I know, will excuse us; put on a pipe, and
get yourself some whiskey and soda. Now, Miss Russell," he said, as he
opened the door for her, "I'm at your service."
They left the room, and Ernshaw lit his pipe and sat down to speculate
as to the cause of Dora's somewhat singular request, but fifteen minutes
had not passed before the door was thrown open, and she came in white to
the lips and shaking from head to foot, and said:
"Mr. Ernshaw, come, please, quick. Mr. Maxwell is ill, in a fit, I
think. I have had to tell him something very dreadful, and it has been
too much for him."
Ernshaw jumped up without a word and ran into the library. Vane was
lying in a low armchair and half on the floor, his body rigid, his hands
clenched, his eyes wide open and sightless, and a slight creamy froth
was streaked round his lips.
"A fit!" said Ernshaw. "You must have given him some terrible shock. Run
and fetch Koda Bux and we will get him to bed; then tell a servant to go
for Doctor Allison; we will have him round all right before Sir Arthur
comes back."
In a couple of minutes Vane was on his bed, and Koda Bux had opened his
teeth and was dropping drop by drop, a green, syrupy fluid into his
mouth, while Ernshaw was getting his boots off ready for the hot-water
bottle that the housekeeper was preparing. By the time the Doctor had
arrived, Koda Bux's elixir had already done its work. His eyes had
closed and opened again with a look of recognition in them, his jaws had
relaxed and his limbs were loosening. The Doctor listened to what
Ernshaw had said while he was feeling his almost imperceptible pulse and
Koda was wrapping his feet up in a blanket with a hot-water bottle.
"Yes, I see," said the Doctor, "intensely nervous, high-strung
temperament, just what we should expect Mr. Vane Maxwell to be now.
"A very great mental shock and a fit. No, not epileptic, epileptoid,
perhaps. Did you say that this man gave him something which brought him
round? One of those Indian remedies, I suppose--very wonderful. I wish
we knew how to make them. I suppose you won't tell us what it is, my
man?"
Koda Bux's stiff moustache moved as though there were a smile under it,
and he bowed his head and said:
"Sahib, it is not permitted; but by to-morrow the son of my master shall
be well, for he is my father and my mother, and my life is his."
"I thought so," laughed the Doctor, who was an old friend of Sir
Arthur's. "I know you, Koda Bux, and I think I can trust you. I'll look
in again in a couple of hours, Mr. Ernshaw, just to see that everything
is right, but I don't think that I shall be wanted."
When the Doctor left Koda Bux took charge of the patient as a right, and
when they got back into the dining-room, Dora said after a short and
somewhat awkward silence:
"Mr. Ernshaw, after what has happened, I suppose it is only fair that I
should tell you what I told Mr. Maxwell, because when he gets better, of
course, he will talk it over with you, which is very dreadful, almost
incredible. I promised Carol that I should not say anything about it
until she was out of England. Of course, she told Mr. Rayburn; she
wouldn't marry him until he knew the whole story, and so I'm not
breaking any confidence in telling you."
"Yes," he said, "I can fully understand that. And now, what is it? It is
just as well that we should all know before Sir Arthur comes back, if I
am to have any share in it."
"Of course, you must have," she said, almost passionately. "You could
not remain Mr. Maxwell's friend and help him in the work you are going
to do if you did not know, and I had better tell you before Sir Arthur
comes back, so that you can think what is best to be done."
"Very well; tell me, please."
And she told him the whole miserable, pitiful, terrible story as she had
heard it from Carol from beginning to end. When she reached the part
about the flat in Densmore Gardens, his face whitened and his jaws came
together, and he muttered through his teeth:
"Very awful; but, of course, they didn't know. The sins of the fathers!
I am afraid Sir Reginald will have a very terrible confession to make.
It is difficult to believe that a human being could be guilty of such
infamy."
"Still I'm afraid there is no doubt about it," said Dora. "But what's to
be done? Mr. Maxwell will never let his father go to the Abbey now
without telling him what I have told you, and when he knows--no, I
daren't think about it. And poor Mrs. Garthorne, too; she married Mr.
Garthorne in all innocence, although I still believe she would rather
have married Mr. Maxwell. What would happen to her if she knew?"
"She would go mad, I believe," said Ernshaw. "It would be the most
terrible thing that a woman in her position could learn. We can only
hope that she shall never learn. If she ever does, God help her!"
"Yes," said Dora. "And yet, what is to happen? How can she help knowing
in the end? It must come out some time, you know."
"Yes, I am afraid it must," said Ernshaw, "but still, sufficient unto
the day; we shall do no good by anticipating that. We may as well leave
it, as the old Greeks used to say, on the knees of the gods."
And meanwhile the gods were working it out in their own way, using Koda
Bux as their instrument. Vane had gone to sleep after a second dose of
the drug which had brought him out of his fit, and, as the keen Oriental
intellect of Koda Bux had more than half expected, perhaps intended, he
soon began to talk quite reasonably and connectedly in his sleep, and so
it came to pass that a mystery which had puzzled Koda Bux for many a
long year was revealed to him.
When the Doctor came Vane was sleeping quietly, and, while he was
examining him, Sir Arthur arrived, and was told that he had been taken
ill shortly after dinner, and this the Doctor explained was probably due
to the very severe mental strain to which he had subjected himself
during the last week or so. He went up to his room and found Koda Bux on
guard. Koda salaamed and said:
"Protector of the poor, it is well! To-morrow Vane Sahib shall be well,
but now he must sleep."
"Very well, Koda Bux," replied Sir Arthur. "I know he can have no better
nurse than you, and you will watch."
"Yes, sahib, I will watch as long as it is necessary."
Then Sir Arthur went downstairs to hear from Ernshaw and Dora the now
inevitable story of the sin of the man who had been his friend for more
than a lifetime. He heard it as a man who knew much of men and women
could and should hear such a story--in silence; and then, saying a quiet
good-night to them, he went up to his room to have it out with himself
just as he had done on that other terrible night when he had found Vane
drunk on the hearth-rug in the Den, and had recognised that he had
inherited from his mother the fatal taint of alcoholic insanity.
When he awoke the next morning, after a few hours' sleep, Koda Bux was
not there to prepare his bath and lay out his clean linen. It was the
first time that it had happened for nearly twenty years, and it was not
until Sir Arthur came downstairs that he heard the reason. Koda Bux had
vanished. No one knew when or how he had gone, but he had gone, leaving
no sign or trace behind him.
"Vane," said Sir Arthur, as soon as the truth dawned upon him, "we must
go down to Worcester at once. I know where Koda Bux has gone, and what
he has gone to do. Garthorne's crime was vile enough, God knows, but we
mustn't let murder be done if we can possibly help it. Ah, there's an
ABC, Vane, just see which train he can have got to Kidderminster. I know
the next one is 9.50, which we can just catch when we have had a
mouthful of breakfast; that's a fast one, too; at least, fairly fast;
gets there about half past one."
"5.40, arriving 12.15, 6.30 arriving 12.20," said Vane, reading from the
time-table.
"In any case, I am afraid he has more than an hour's start of us at
Kidderminster. We can reduce that by taking a carriage to the Abbey
because he would walk, and, of course, he may not, probably will not, be
able to see Garthorne immediately, so we may be in time after all. Vane,
do you feel strong enough to come?"
"Of course I do, dad," he replied. "As long as I could stand I would
come."
"And may I come, too, Sir Arthur?" said Dora.
"You, Miss Russell!" he exclaimed, "but why? Surely there is no need
for us to ask you to witness such a painful scene as this, of course,
must be."
"I am Carol's friend, Sir Arthur," said Dora, "and I think it only right
to do all that I can do to prove that her story is true. I have got the
photographs, and I know the marks by which Sir Reginald can be
identified. If we are not too late, such a man will, of course, answer
you with a flat denial, but if I am there I don't think he can."
"Very well," said Sir Arthur. "It is very kind of you, and, of course,
you can help us a great deal if you will."
"And, of course, I will," she said.