MRS. CRAVEN'S FIXED IDEA.
"You will probably wish to ask Colonel Sharpley about the circumstances
attending poor Frank's loss," said Craven, in a soft voice.
"I am ready to hear what Colonel Sharpley has to say," returned Mrs.
Craven, coldly.
"I see you are displeased with me, madame," said Sharpley. "I can
understand your feelings. You associate me with the loss of your son."
"I do!" said Mrs. Craven, with emphasis.
"But that is not just, my dear," said Mr. Craven. "Accidents may happen
at any time--they are beyond human foresight or control. It is my
friend Sharpley's misfortune that our Frank came to his sad end while
in his company."
"While in his company?" repeated Mrs. Craven, looking keenly at
Sharpley.
"You think I should have prevented it, Mrs. Craven. Gladly would I have
done so, but Frank was too quick for me. With a boy's curiosity he
leaned over the precipice, lost his balance and fell."
"When did this happen--what day of the month?"
"It was the eighteenth of August."
Mrs. Craven remembered with joy that the letter which she had read,
addressed to Ben Cameron, was dated a week later; it was a convincing
proof of Frank's safety.
"You are sure that it was the eighteenth?"
"Yes, perfectly so," answered Sharpley, not, of course, seeing the
drift of her question.
"Did you find Frank's body?" asked Mrs. Craven, with less emotion than
Sharpley expected from the nature of the question.
"No," he answered, and immediately afterward wished he had said yes.
"Then," said Mrs. Craven, "Frank may be alive."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Craven and Sharpley in unison.
"Why impossible?"
"The precipice was too high; it was absolutely impossible that any one
could have fallen from such a height and not lose his life."
"But you did not find the body?"
"Because I started for home the very next day to let you know what had
happened. I left directions with a guide to search for and bury the
body when found. He has doubtless done it. A letter from him may be on
the way to me now announcing his success."
"When you receive the letter you can show it to me," said Mrs. Craven,
quietly.
"Certainly," said Sharpley.
Then he regretted that he had not, while in Europe, forged such a
letter, or, failing this, that he had not positively declared that he
had personally witnessed Frank's burial. This would have removed all
difficulty.
"I have not expressed my sympathy in your loss," said Sharpley; "but
that is hardly necessary."
"It is not at all necessary," said Mrs. Craven, "for I believe Frank to
be alive."
"How can you believe it," asked Sharpley, with difficulty repressing
his irritation, "in the face of my testimony?"
"You are not sure of Frank's death."
"I am as sure as I can be."
"I am not," said Mrs. Craven, quietly.
"But, permit me to ask, how could he possibly escape from the
consequences of such a fall?"
"That I cannot explain; but there have been escapes quite as wonderful.
I have a presentiment that Frank is alive."
"I did not think you were so superstitious, my dear," said Mr. Craven.
"Call it superstition if you please. With me it is conviction."
Involuntarily the eyes of the two--Craven and Sharpley--met. There were
irritation and perplexity in the expression of each. What could be done
with such a perverse woman, so wholly inaccessible to reason?
"Confound it!" thought Sharpley. "If I had foreseen all this trouble,
I would have stayed and seen the brat under ground. Of all the
unreasonable women I ever met, Mrs. Craven takes the palm."
"I have not yet told the circumstances," he said, aloud. "Let me do so.
You will then, probably, understand that your hopes have nothing to
rest upon."
He gave a detailed account, exaggerating the dangerous character of the
cliff purposely.
"What do you think now, my dear?" asked Mr. Craven.
"I believe that Frank escaped. If he has, he will come home, sooner or
later. I shall wait patiently. I must now beg to be excused."
She rose from her chair, and left the room.
"What do you think of that, Sharpley?" demanded Craven, when she was
out of ear-shot. "Did I not tell you the truth?"
"Yes, your wife is the most perverse, unreasonable woman it was ever
my lot to encounter."
"You see the difficulty of our position, don't you?"
"As to the property?"
"Yes. Of course, that's all I care for. Believing, as she does, that
Frank is alive, she won't have his property touched."
"It is a pity you are not the guardian, instead of your wife."
"It is a thousand pities. But what can we do? I want your advice."
Sharpley sat in silent thought for five minutes.
"Will it answer if I show your wife a certificate from the guide that
he has found and buried Frank?"
"Where will you get such a certificate?"
"Write it myself if necessary."
"That's a good plan," said Craven, nodding.
"Do you think she will resist the weight of such a document as that?"
"I don't see how she can."
"Then it shall be tried."
Three days later, as soon as it was deemed prudent, Sharpley called
again at the house. He had boarded meanwhile at the hotel in the
village, comprehending very clearly that Mr. Craven was not at liberty
to receive him as a guest.
Mrs. Craven descended, at her husband's request, to meet the man whom
she detested. She had received a second call from Ben, who, with all
secrecy, showed her a line from Frank, to the effect that he was well,
had found good friends, and should very shortly embark for America. It
was an effort for the mother to conceal her joy, but she did so for the
sake of expediency.
"When I was last here, Mrs. Craven," said Sharpley, "you expressed
doubt as to your son's death."
"I did."
"I wish you had had good reason for your doubt, but I knew only too
well that there was no chance for his safety."
"Well?"
"I am now prepared to prove to you that he is dead."
"How will you prove it?"
"Read that, madame," he said, extending a paper.
She took the paper extended to her, and read as follows:
"HONORED SIR:--As you requested, I searched for the body
of the poor boy who fell over the cliff. I found it concealed among
some bushes at the bottom of the cliff. It was very much bruised
and disfigured, but the face was less harmed than the body, so that
we knew it at once. As you directed, I had it buried in our little
cemetery. I will point out the grave to you when you come this way.
"I hope what I have done will meet your approval, and I remain,
honored sir, your servant,
"BAPTISTE LAMOUREUX,
"Alpine Guide."
"That removes every doubt," said Mr. Craven, applying his handkerchief
to his eyes. "Poor Frank!"
"When did you receive this letter, Colonel Sharpley?" asked Mrs. Craven.
"Yesterday."
"It was written by a Swiss guide?"
"Yes, madame."
"He shows an astonishing knowledge of the English language," she said,
with quiet meaning.
"He probably got some one to write it for him," said Sharpley, hastily.
"So I thought," she said, significantly.
"What difference can that make, my dear?" demanded Mr. Craven. "It
seems to me of no importance whether he wrote it himself, or some
traveler for him. You can't doubt Frank's death now?"
"I do."
"Good heavens! What do you mean?"
"I mean that I am confident that my boy is alive. No one can convince
me to the contrary," and she rose and left the room.
"The woman is mad!" muttered Sharpley.
"So she is," said Craven, rubbing his hands, as an evil thought entered
his mind. "She is the subject of a mad delusion. Now I see my way
clear."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this. I will obtain a certificate of her madness from two
physicians, and have her confined in an asylum. Of course, a mad woman
cannot control property. Everything will come into my hands, and all
will be right."
"You've hit it at last, Craven!" said Sharpley, with exultation. "That
plan will work. We'll feather our nests, and then she may come out of
the asylum, or stay there, it will be all the same to us."