Cord and Creese

J >> James de Mille >> Cord and Creese

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37

"They could no longer row. The one sat in the bow, the other in the
stern, glaring at one another. My friend Clark was a man of singular
endurance. But why go into particulars? Enough; the boat drifted on, and
at last only one was left.

"A ship was sailing from Australia, and the crew saw a boat drifting. A
man was there. They stopped and picked him up. The boat was stained with
blood. Tokens of what that blood was lay around. There were other things
in the boat which chilled the blood of the sailors. They took Clark on
board. He was mad at first, and raved in his delirium. They heard him
tell of what he had done. During that voyage no one spoke to him. They
touched at Cape Town, and put him ashore.

"My friend is yet alive and well. How do you like my story?"

The stranger sat down. A deep stillness followed, which was suddenly
broken by something, half groan and half curse. It was Clark.

He lifted himself heavily from his chair, his face livid and his eyes
bloodshot, and staggered out of the room.

CHAPTER XLV.

BEATRICE'S JOURNAL CONCLUDED.

September 7, 1849.--[This part begins with a long account of her escape,
her fortunes at Holby and London, and her recapture, which is here
omitted, as it would be to a large extent a repetition of what has
already been stated.]--After Brandon left me my heart still throbbed
with the fierce impulse which he had imparted to it. For the remainder
of the day I was upheld by a sort of consciousness of his presence. I
felt as though he had only left me in person and had surrounded me in
some way with his mysterious protection.

Night came, and with the night came gloom. What availed his promise?
Could he prevent what I feared? What power could he possibly have in
this house? I felt deserted, and my old despair returned.

In the morning I happened to cross the hall to go to Mrs. Compton's
room, when, to my amazement, I saw standing outside the Hindu Asgeelo.
Had I seen Brandon himself I could scarcely have been more amazed or
overjoyed. He looked at me with a warning gesture.

"How did you get here?" I whispered.

"My master sent me."

A thrill passed through my veins.

"Do not fear," he said, and walked mysteriously away.

I asked Mrs. Compton who he was, and she said he was a new servant whom
_He_ had just hired. She knew nothing more of him.

September 12.--A week has passed. Thus far I have been left alone.
Perhaps they do not know what to do with me. Perhaps they are busy
arranging some dark plan.

Can I trust? Oh, Help of the helpless, save me!

Asgeelo is here--but what can one man do? At best he can only report to
his master my agony or my death. May that Death soon come. Kindly will I
welcome him.

September 15.--Things are certainly different here from what they used
to be. The servants take pains to put themselves in my way, so as to
show me profound respect. What is the meaning of this? Once or twice I
have met them in the hall and have marked their humble bearing. Is it
mockery? Or is it intended to entrap me? I will not trust any of them.
Is it possible that this can be Brandon's mysterious power?

Impossible. It is rather a trick to win my confidence: But if so, why?
They do not need to trick me. I am at their mercy.

I am at their mercy, and am without defense. What will become of me?
What is to be my fate?

Philips has been as devoted as ever. He leaves me flowers every day. He
tries to show sympathy. At least I have two friends here--Philips and
Asgeelo. But Philips is timid, and Asgeelo is only one against a crowd.
There is Vijal--but I have not seen him.

September 25--To-day in my closet I found a number of bottles of
different kinds of medicine, used while I was sick. Two of these
attracted my attention. Once was labeled "_Laudanum_," another was
labeled "_Hydrocyanic Acid--Poison._" I suppose they used these
drugs for my benefit at that time. The sight of them gave me more joy
than any thing else that I could have found.

When the time comes which I dread I shall not be without resource.
_These shall save me._

October 3.--They leave me unmolested. They are waiting for some crushing
blow, no doubt. Asgeelo sometimes meets me, and makes signs of
encouragement.

To-day Philips met me and said: "Don't fear--the crisis is coming." I
asked what he meant. As usual he looked frightened and hurried away.

What does he mean? What crisis? The only crisis that I can think of is
one which fills me with dread. When that comes I will meet it firmly.

October 10.--Mrs. Compton told me to-day that Philips had gone to London
on business. The poor old thing looked very much troubled. I urged her
to tell me what was the matter, but she only looked the more terrified.
Why she should feel alarm about the departure of Philips for London I
can not imagine. Has it any thing to do with me? No. How can it? My
fate, whatever it is, must be wrought out here in this place.

October 14.--The dreaded crisis has come at last. Will not this be my
last entry? How can I longer avoid the fate that impends?

This afternoon He sent for me to come down.

I went to the dining-room expecting some horror, and I was not
disappointed. The three were sitting there as they had sat before, and I
thought that there was trouble upon their faces. It was only two
o'clock, and they had just finished lunch.

John was the first to speak. He addressed me in a mocking tone.

"I have the honor to inform you," said he, "that the time has arrived
when you are to be took down."

I paid no attention whatever to these words. I felt calm. The old sense
of superiority came over me, and I looked at Him without a tremor.

My tyrant glanced at me with a dark scowl. "After your behavior, girl,
you ought to bless your lucky stars that you got off as you did. If I
had done right, I'd have made you pay up well for the trouble you've
given. But I've spared you. At the same time I wouldn't have done so
long. I was just arranging a nice little plan for your benefit when this
gentleman"--nodding his head to Clark--"this gentleman saved me the
trouble."

I said nothing.

"Come, Clark, speak up--it's your affair--"

"Oh, you manage it," said Clark. "You've got the 'gift of gab.' I never
had it."

"I never in all my born days saw so bold a man as timid with a girl as
you are."

"He's doin' what I shouldn't like to try on," said John.

"See here," said my tyrant, sternly, "this gentleman has very kindly
consented to take charge of you. He has even gone so far as to consent
to marry you. He will actually make you his wife. In my opinion he's
crazy, but he's got his own ideas. He has promised to give you a tip-top
wedding. If it had been left to me," he went on, sternly, "I'd have let
you have something very different, but he's a soft-hearted fellow, and
is going to do a foolish thing. It's lucky for you though. You'd have
had a precious hard time of it with me, I tell you. You've got to be
grateful to him; so come up here, and give him a kiss, and thank him."

So prepared was I for any horror that this did not surprise me.

"Do you hear?" he cried, as I stood motionless. I said nothing.

"Do as I say, d--n you, or I'll make you."

"Come," said Clark, "don't make a fuss about the wench now--it'll be all
right. She'll like kissing well enough, and be only too glad to give me
one before a week."

"Yes, but she ought to be made to do it now."

"Not necessary, Johnnie; all in good time."

My master was silent for some moments. At last he spoke again:

"Girl," said he. "You are to be married tomorrow. There won't be any
invited guests, but you needn't mind that. You'll have your husband, and
that's more than you deserve. You don't want any new dresses. Your ball
dress will do."

"Come, I won't stand that," said Clark. "She's got to be dressed up in
tip-top style. I'll stand the damage."

"Oh, d--n the damage. If you want that sort of thing, it shall be done.
But there won't be time."

"Oh well, let her fix up the best way she can."

At this I turned and left the room. None of them tried to prevent me. I
went up to my chamber, and sat down thinking. The hour had come.

This is my last entry. My only refuge from horror unspeakable is the
Poison.

Perhaps one day some one will find my journal where it is concealed. Let
them learn from it what anguish may be endured by the innocent.

May God have mercy upon my soul! Amen.

October 14, 11 o'clock.--Hope!

Mrs. Compton came to me a few minutes since. She had received a letter
from Philips by Asgeelo. She said the Hindu wished to see me. He was at
my door. I went there. He told me that I was to fly from Brandon Hall at
two o'clock in the morning. He would take care of me. Mrs. Compton said
she was to go with me. A place had been found where we could get
shelter.

Oh my God, I thank thee! Already when I heard this I was mixing the
draught. Two o'clock was the hour on which I had decided for a different
kind of flight.

Oh God! deliver the captive. Save me, as I put my trust in thee! Amen.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE LAST ESCAPE.

The hour which Beatrice had mentioned in her diary was awaited by
herewith feverish impatience. She had confidence in Asgeelo, and this
confidence was heightened by the fact that Mrs. Compton was going to
accompany her. The very timidity of this poor old creature would have
prevented her from thinking of escape on any ordinary occasion; but now
the latter showed no fear. She evinced a strange exultation. She showed
Philips's letter to Beatrice, and made her read it over and over again.
It contained only a few words.

"The time has come at last. I will keep my word to you, dear old woman.
Be ready tonight to leave Brandon Hall and those devils forever. The
Hindu will help you.

"EDGAR."

Mrs. Compton seemed to think far more of the letter than of escaping.
The fact that she had a letter seemed to absorb all her faculties, and
no other idea entered her mind. Beatrice had but few preparations to
make; a small parcel contained all with which she dared to encumber
herself. Hastily making it up she waited in extreme impatience for the
time.

At last two o'clock came. Mrs. Compton was in her room. There was a
faint tap at the door. Beatrice opened it. It was Asgeelo. The Hindu
stood with his finger on his lips, and then moved away slowly and
stealthily. They followed.

The Hindu led the way, carrying a small lantern. He did not show any
very great caution, but moved with a quiet step, thinking it sufficient
if he made no noise. Beatrice followed, and Mrs. Compton came last,
carrying nothing but the note from Philips, which she clutched in her
hand as though she esteemed it the only thing of value which she
possessed.

[ILLUSTRATION: "THE GIGANTIC FIGURE OF ASGEELO STOOD ERECT, ONE ARM
CLUTCHING THE THROAT OF HIS ASSAILANT, AND THE OTHER HOLDING THE KNIFE
ALOFT."]

In spite of Beatrice's confidence in Asgeelo she felt her heart sink
with dread as she passed through the hall and down the great stairway.
But no sound disturbed them. The lights were all out and the house was
still. The door of the dining-room was open, but no light shone through.

Asgeelo led the way to the north door. They went on quietly without any
interruption, and at last reached it. Asgeelo turned the key and held
the door half open for a moment. Then he turned and whispered to them to
go out.

Beatrice took two or three steps forward, when suddenly a dark figure
emerged from the stairway that led to the servants' hall and with a
sudden spring, advanced to Asgeelo.

The latter dropped the lamp, which fell with a rattle on the floor but
still continued burning. He drew a long, keen knife from his breast, and
seized the other by the throat.

Beatrice started back. By the light that flickered on the floor she saw
it all. The gigantic figure of Asgeelo stood erect, one arm clutching
the throat of his assailant, and the other holding the knife aloft.

Beatrice rushed forward and caught the uplifted arm.

"Spare him!" she said, in a low whisper. "He is my friend. He helped me
to escape once before."

She had recognized Vijal.

The Hindu dropped his arm and released his hold. The Malay staggered
back and looked earnestly at Beatrice. Recognizing her, he fell on his
knees and kissed her hand.

"I will keep your secret," he murmured.

Beatrice hurried out, and the others followed. They heard the key turn
in the door after them. Vijal had locked it from the inside.

Asgeelo led the way with a swift step. They went down the main avenue,
and at length reached the gate without any interruption. The gates were
shut.

Beatrice looked around in some dread for fear of being discovered.
Asgeelo said nothing, but tapped at the door of the porter's lodge. The
door soon opened, and the porter came out. He said nothing, but opened
the gates in silence.

They went out. The huge gates shut behind them. They heard the key turn
in the lock. In her excitement Beatrice wondered at this, and saw that
the porter must also be in the secret. Was this the work of Brandon?

They passed down the road a little distance, and at length reached a
place where there were two coaches and some men.

One of these came up and took Mrs. Compton. "Come, old woman," said he;
"you and I are to go in this coach." It was too dark to see who it was;
but the voice sounded like that of Philips. He led her into the coach
and jumped in after her.

There was another figure there. He advanced in silence, and motioned to
the coach without a word. Beatrice followed; the coach door was opened,
and she entered. Asgeelo mounted the box. The stranger entered the coach
and shut the door.

Beatrice had not seen the face of this man; but at the sight of the
outline of his figure a strange, wild thought came to her mind. As he
seated himself by her side a thrill passed through every nerve. Not a
word was spoken.

He reached out one hand, and caught hers in a close and fervid clasp. He
threw his arm about her waist, and drew her toward him. Her head sank in
a delicious languor upon his breast; and she felt the fast throbbing of
his heart as she lay there. He held her pressed closely for a long
while, drawing quick and heavy breaths, and not speaking a word. Then he
smoothed her brow, stroked her hair, and caressed her cheek. Every touch
of his made her blood tingle.

"Do you know who I am?" said at last a well-known voice.

She made no answer, but pressed his hand and nestled more closely to his
heart.

The carriages rushed on swiftly. They went through the village, passed
the inn, and soon entered the open country. Beatrice, in that moment of
ecstasy, knew not and cared not whither they were going. Enough that she
was with him.

"You have saved me from a fate of horror," said she, tremulously; "or
rather, you have prevented me from saving myself."

"How could you have saved yourself?"

"I found poison."

She felt the shudder that passed through his frame. He pressed her again
to his heart, and sat for a long time in silence.

"How had you the heart to let me go back when you could get me away so
easily?" said she, after a time, in a reproachful tone.

"I could not save you then," answered he, "without open violence. I
wished to defer that for the accomplishment of a purpose which you know.
But I secured your safety, for all the servants at Brandon Hall are in
my pay."

"What! Vijal too?"

"No, not Vijal; he was incorruptible; but all the others. They would
have obeyed your slightest wish in any respect. They would have shed
their blood for you, for the simple reason that I had promised to pay
each man an enormous sum if he saved you from any trouble. They were all
on the look out. You never were so watched in your life. If you had
chosen to run off every man of them would have helped you, and would
have rejoiced at the chance of making themselves rich at the expense of
Potts. Under these circumstances I thought you were safe."

"And why did you not tell me?"

"Ah! love, there are many things which I must not tell you."

He sighed. His sombre tone brought back her senses which had been
wandering. She struggled to get away. He would not release her.

"Let me go!" said she. "I am of the accursed brood--the impure ones! You
are polluted by my touch!"

"I will not let you go," returned he, in a tone of infinite sweetness.
"Not now. This may be our last interview. How can I let you go?"

"I am pollution."

"You are angelic. Oh, let us not think of other things. Let us banish
from our minds the thought of that barrier which rises between us. While
we are here let us forget every thing except that we love one another.
To-morrow will come, and our joy will be at an end forever. But you,
darling, will be saved! I will guard you to my life's end, even though I
can not come near you."

Tears fell from Beatrice's eyes. He felt them hot upon his hand. He
sighed deeply.

"I am of the accursed brood!--the accursed!--the accursed! You dishonor
your name by touching me."

Brandon clang to her. He would not let her go. She wept there upon his
breast, and still murmured the words, "Accursed! accursed!"

Their carriage rolled on, behind them came the other; on for mile after
mile, round the bays and creeks of the sea, until at last they reached a
village.

"This is our destination," said Brandon.

"Where are we?" sighed Beatrice.

"It is Denton," he replied.

The coach stopped before a little cottage. Asgeelo opened the door.
Brandon pressed Beatrice to his heart.

"For the last time, darling," he murmured.

She said nothing. He helped her out, catching her in his arms as she
descended, and lifting her to the ground. Mrs. Compton was already
waiting, having descended first. Lights were burning in the cottage
window.

"This is your home for the present," said Brandon. "Here you are safe.
You will find every thing that you want, and the servants are faithful.
You may trust them."

He shook hands, with Mrs. Compton, pressed the hand of Beatrice, and
leaped into the coach.

"Good-by," he called, as Asgeelo whipped the horses.

"Good-by forever," murmured Beatrice through her tears.

CHAPTER XLVII.

ROUSED AT LAST.

About this time Despard received a call from Langhetti. "I am going
away," said the latter, after the preliminary greetings. "I am well
enough now to resume my search after Beatrice."

"Beatrice?"

"Yes."

"What can you do?"

"I haven't an idea; but I mean to try to do something."

Langhetti certainly did not look like a man who was capable of doing
very much, especially against one like Potts. Thin, pale, fragile, and
emaciated, his slender form seemed ready to yield to the pressure of the
first fatigue which he might encounter. Yet his resolution was strong,
and he spoke confidently of being able in some mysterious way to effect
the escape of Beatrice. He had no idea how he could do it. He had
exerted his strongest influence, and had come away discomfited. Still he
had confidence in himself and trust in God, and with these he determined
to set out once more, and to succeed or perish in the attempt.

After he had left Despard sat moodily in his study for some hours. At
last a visitor was announced. He was a man whom Despard had never seen
before, and who gave his name as Wheeler.

The stranger on entering regarded Despard for some time with an earnest
glance in silence. At last he spoke: "You are the son of Lionel
Despard, are you not?"

"Yes," said Despard, in some surprise.

"Excuse me for alluding to so sad an event; but you are, of course,
aware of the common story of his death."

"Yes," replied Despard, in still greater surprise.

"That story is known to the world," said the stranger. "His case was
publicly tried at Manilla, and a Malay was executed for the crime."

"I know that," returned Despard, "and I know, also, that there were
some, and that there still are some, who suspect that the Malay was
innocent."

"Who suspected this?"

"My uncle Henry Despard and myself."

"Will you allow me to ask you if your suspicions pointed at any one?"

"My uncle hinted at one person, but he had nothing more than
suspicions."

"Who was the man?"

"A man who was my father's valet, or agent, who accompanied him on that
voyage, and took an active part in the conviction of the Malay."

"What was his name?"

"John Potts."

"Where does he live now?"

"In Brandon."

"Very well. Excuse my questions, but I was anxious to learn how much you
knew. You will see shortly that they were not idle. Has any thing ever
been done by any of the relatives to discover whether these suspicions
were correct?"

"At first nothing was done. They accepted as an established fact the
decision of the Manilla court. They did not even suspect then that any
thing else was possible. It was only subsequent circumstances that led
my uncle to have some vague suspicions."

"What were those, may I ask?"

"I would rather not tell," said Despard, who shrank from relating to a
stranger the mysterious story of Edith Brandon.

"It is as well, perhaps. At any rate, you say there were no suspicions
expressed till your uncle was led to form them?"

"No."

"About how long ago was this?"

"About two years ago--a little more, perhaps. I at once devoted myself
to the task of discovering whether they could be maintained. I found it
impossible, however, to learn any thing. The event had happened so long
ago that it had faded out of men's minds. The person whom I suspected
had become very rich, influential, and respected. In fact, he was
unassailable, and I have been compelled to give up the effort."

"Would you like to learn something of the truth?" asked the stranger, in
a thrilling voice.

Despard's whole soul was roused by this question.

"More than any thing else," replied he.

"There is a sand-bank," began the stranger, "three hundred miles south of
the island of Java, which goes by the name of Coffin Island. It is so
called on account of a rock of peculiar shape at the eastern extremity.
I was coming from the East, on my way to England, when a violent storm
arose, and I was cast ashore alone upon that island. This may seem
extraordinary to you, but what I have to tell is still more
extraordinary. I found food and water there, and lived for some time. At
last another hurricane came and blew away all the sand from a mound at
the western end. This mound had been piled about a wrecked vessel--a
vessel wrecked twenty years ago, twenty years ago," he repeated, with
startling emphasis, "and the name of that vessel was the _Vishnu_."

"The _Vishnu_!" cried Despard, starting to his feet, while his
whole frame was shaken by emotion at this strange narrative.
"_Vishnu_!"

"Yes, the _Vishnu_!" continued the stranger.

"You know what that means. For many years that vessel had lain there,
entombed amidst the sands, until at last I--on that lonely isle--saw the
sands swept away and the buried ship revealed. I went on board. I
entered the cabin. I passed through it. At last I entered a room at one
corner. A skeleton lay there. Do you know whose it was?"

"Whose?" cried Despard, in a frenzy of excitement.

"_Your father's_!" said the stranger, in an awful voice.

"God in heaven!" exclaimed Despard, and he sank back into his seat.

"In his hand he held a manuscript, which was his last message to his
friends. It was inclosed in a bottle. The storm had prevented him from
throwing it overboard. He held it there as though waiting for some one
to take it. I was the one appointed to that task. I took it. I read it,
and now that I have arrived in England I have brought it to you."

"Where is it?" cried Despard, in wild excitement.

"Here," said the stranger, and he laid a package upon the table.

Despard seized it, and tore open the coverings. At the first sight he
recognized the handwriting of his father, familiar to him from old
letters written to him when he was a child--letters which he had always
preserved, and every turn of which was impressed upon his memory. The
first glance was sufficient to impress upon his mind the conviction that
the stranger's tale was true.

Without another word he began to read it. And as he read all his soul
became associated with that lonely man, drifting in his drifting ship.
There he read the villainy of the miscreant who had compassed his death,
and the despair of the castaway.

That suffering man was his own father. It was this that gave intensity
to his thoughts as he read. The dying man bequeathed his vengeance to
Ralph Brandon, and his blessing to his son.

Despard read over the manuscript many times. It was his father's words
to himself.

"I am in haste," said the stranger. "The manuscript is yours. I have
made inquiries for Ralph Brandon, and find that he is dead. It is for
you to do as seems good. You are a clergyman, but you are also a man;
and a father's wrongs cry to Heaven for vengeance."

"And they shall be avenged!" exclaimed Despard, striking his clenched
hand upon the table.

"I have something more before I go," continued the stranger, mournfully
--"something which you will prize more than life. It was worn next your
father's heart till he died. I found it there."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37