THE SHADOW OF EVIL'S REWARD
Avenge not yourselves; but rather give place unto wrath, for it is
written, Vengeance is mine, and I will repay, saith the Lord. . . .
Be not overcome of evil; but overcome evil with good.
--_The Epistle to the Romans._
When the door opened, I saw two men-servants, each bearing a candle,
each looking as frightened as men could well look. One I recognised as
the man to whom I had spoken in the morning, the other was evidently an
under-servant.
Each stared at me and at the burden I bore in amazement. The one
recognised me, the other evidently wondered who I was.
"May I ask what you want," said the old servant, "and why you arouse
the house at this time of the night?"
"Show me a room where your mistress can rest," I said.
"My mistress?" said the man. "Great God, who are you?"
As he said this he took a look at Ruth's face, and then with a shriek
of fear he rushed away from us.
"Come back," I said, "there is nothing of which you need be afraid."
"Afraid!" he gasped, "that is the dead body of my mistress."
"Your mistress is not dead," I said; "she is alive; show me a room
where I may rest her, and she will speak to you."
Tremblingly he led the way to a room, where I laid her down, and then,
at my command, he went away to get food and drink for her.
Soon after the other servants appeared. The shriek of horror given by
the man when he caught sight of Ruth's face had aroused the household.
Never shall I forget the expression on their faces as they looked at me
as I sat by the side of the precious burden I had borne. Evidently the
younger of the two servants had told them what I had said, for they
were afraid to speak, and kept gazing at us fearfully, yet wonderingly.
Ruth was now becoming exhausted. After the scene in the church the
journey home had been too much for her. Perhaps, also, the awfulness
of her position together with dread memories, were too great for her to
bear, so I bade the servants hurry in getting refreshments for her.
After taking some food she was, however, strong enough to sit up and to
talk.
I will not describe what followed, nor how the servants crowded around
her, weeping and trembling. Some I found were on the point of leaving,
having received their discharge, while others wondered what their
future would be. There had been every probability that the household
would be broken up, and those who had grown grey-headed in the service
of the family grieved much at the thought of leaving. And now, when
all hope was gone, their mistress had come back, and their joy and
their astonishment knew no bounds.
Presently we heard a tottering step outside the door, and in another
second Mr. Inch appeared on the scene. For a minute I thought he would
have fainted; but by a great effort he mastered himself, and came
slowly to the place where Ruth sat, looking at her steadily in the face
for, I should think, a minute. Then he heaved a great sigh, and said;
"Great God, Thy ways are wonderful!"
I had been holding Ruth's hand all the while, and I felt her shudder as
Mr. Inch approached. I was sure that she felt that he had not acted as
her friend, and now, in spite of herself, she feared him, and
unconsciously she came nearer to me.
I think the old man saw this, for a strange look passed over his face,
and he did not take her hand, as I was sure he had intended to do. He
turned towards me, however, and said:
"Tell me, Roger Trewinion--tell us all, how this great miracle has been
accomplished."
A look of intelligence passed over the servants' faces as my name was
mentioned. Apparently, it was well known to them, and all listened
eagerly for my answer.
Then I told how, in leaving the house that morning, I had heard the
voice telling me to visit her tomb, and had determined to do so. I
will not describe the excitement and wonder of those who heard my
experiences. It would take a pen far more able than mine to convey to
the minds of my readers the terrible interest that was taken.
Perhaps I ought not to have told the story before the servants; but we
were too excited to know what was right and seemly. Indeed, so
overwrought were we that Ruth had not been divested of her strange
garments, and soon after I had finished my narrative I felt how
thoughtless I had been, and how neglectful of her comforts.
When Ruth was taken to her room, however, with two of the maids to
attend her, the excitement began to pass away, and the servants, with
the exception of the old man whom I had seen at my first visit,
returned to their rooms.
For a few minutes Mr. Inch and I were left alone; he still trembled
with fear and wonder, perhaps also because of a troubled conscience, I
with a strange joy surging in my heart, thinking only of the blissful
present.
"This will cause much talk, and necessitate much investigation," said
the old steward.
"I suppose so," said I, absently.
"A great lawsuit would have come on," he said. "Two parties were
claiming the property. Lawyers are preparing the case on either side,
and the matter has already become public."
"That will all come to an end now," I said.
"I suppose so; but it will be the wonder of the countryside. I wonder
what Wilfred will say?"
I had forgotten Wilfred. The feelings aroused by seeing Ruth alive had
for the time quieted all my bitter memories of my struggle with
Wilfred, together with its awful ending.
"I wonder what Wilfred will say!"
The words struck terror into my soul. Wilfred, unless now discovered,
was lying bruised, battered, dead, on the great rocks beneath the
cliffs. Perhaps the fishes might know of his presence, and the great
sad sea would sweep remorselessly over his lifeless body; but Wilfred
would never know of what had been done.
My heaven of joyful thoughts was gone now. The hell of bitter
memories, the hell of a murderer possessed me.
The old man's remark was left unanswered. It had dashed me down into a
great gulf; it had led me to make what was to me a terrible resolve.
A little while later Ruth came back to the room again. The servants
had tried to persuade her to retire; but she declared that she could
not sleep and she wished to come to me.
She was Ruth again now, Ruth as I had seen her last. She had got rid
of her terrible garments, and except that she looked very pale, and was
a little older, I saw no difference in her. But there was a
difference. Love was shining out of her eyes, and she did not hide
from me the fact that I was the king of her heart.
But this gave me no joy now, no heaven. The ghastly form of my brother
Wilfred stood between us. I took her hand as she came in, and tried to
soothe her, for I felt that she was still trembling, that she felt safe
with no one but me. Then the old steward rose up and left us, and the
servants likewise retired from the room. They saw our relations to
each other, and although it was night we were left in the room together.
Again for a time I banished my dark thoughts, for a time I allowed
love, rather than duty, to fill my world, and I yielded to the gentle
witchery of her presence. I had made up my mind to tell her all; but I
postponed it for a while. "Time enough yet," I said; "let me have some
happiness before eternal night sets in."
How gentle, how kind, how loving she was! Her every word told of the
love she bore me, and had borne me for long years, every word told me
how she believed in my goodness and purity.
What we talked of, I may not recount. I only know that for a few short
minutes we lived in the blissful present. The thought of her great
love was more powerful than the dread remorse which had possessed me a
little while before.
And was it any wonder? Think, if you can, how I must have felt! Ten
long years before I had left her, thinking she loved another, and all
those years I had roamed the world in misery and hopeless despair. I
had come back at the summons of a voice which I had heard, or thought I
had heard, sweeping across the wide seas, and when I had arrived at the
place where I had hoped to see her I had heard she was dead. Then,
after grief that amounted to madness, I had discovered her alive, and
had found that she loved me. More than that, she was with me, we were
alone, and I felt her hands in mine. Was it to be wondered at then,
that darkness should, for the time, be driven away?
Swiftly the time passed, sweetly her gentle voice sounded as she told
me how happy, how safe, how contented she was, and, in spite of her
terrible experience, how little weakness she felt; and then she asked
me to relate to her my adventure since the night on which I left the
Trewinion Manor.
Again I remembered what I had done, again the agonies of remorse, which
had been awakened by memory, began to eat into my soul. But I would
tell her all. I would faithfully relate the tale of the years that had
passed, I would faithfully tell her what I had done.
And so I cast my mind back and told her what I have written in these
pages. How I had gone away to sea, and how, for years, I had sailed in
every clime, and with men of different nationalities. I recounted how
I had been taken by the pirates, and how for two years I had been with
them. I kept back nothing from her. I told her of many wild deeds
that I had done, and of the wild life I had led. By and by I came to
the night on which I had such a strange dream, or else had seen such a
strange vision, and here I hesitated. It seemed so wonderful, and
withal so unreal. I told it her, however, while she listened with
wonder-lit eyes.
"Yes, Roger," she said, "it all happened just as you saw it."
"And did you cry out, Ruth. Did you say, 'Roger is here?'"
"I did. I felt you were there, although I could not see you."
"And then, Ruth; what did you do?"
"I went out into the night. I knew your habit of going out on to the
headland when you desired to be alone, and I felt I must go somewhere
where you had been."
"Yes, Ruth, and afterwards?"
"I went out and wandered for a long time, until I felt my heart was
breaking. I seemed all alone in the world, with no one to help me, and
I cried out in anguish, 'Roger, come home.'"
"And I heard you, Ruth. After I had seen you in my dream, or whatever
it was, I went on deck, and while there I heard your cry, and I
answered back. Did you not hear me?"
"No, Roger, I heard nothing in answer to my cry, save a kind of wail,
which, as it mingled with the splash of the waves seemed to be only a
mocking echo of my words."
"And yet your words called me home."
"Thank God--and then?"
I told her how I had come home, and had met with the fisherman who had
informed me of her death, and how she had died because of Wilfred and
Mr. Inch, who had goaded her to do what was death to her.
"And what followed, Roger?" she said, anxiously, as I hesitated a
minute.
"I hated Wilfred as I never hated man before. I felt that he was
deserving of the worst that could befall any man, and I determined to
be revenged."
Again I hesitated, and again she told me to go on.
Should I tell her? Should I with a few words blacken her life, should
I destroy her every hope? Yet the truth must out. It always does, and
I should but put off the evil day by refraining from telling her. Yet
it was terribly hard, the man must have a steady hand who writes his
own death-warrant without shaking.
She saw, I think, how terrible was the ordeal, for she nestled closer
to me and spoke gently.
"Dear Roger," she said, "it must have nearly driven you mad to meet
him."
I think this gave me strength, for I clenched my hands nervously, and
began to tell her of our meeting and of the darkest deed that ever
blighted my life, wondering in my heart what she would say and do when
she knew what I had done.