The Forsaken Inn: A Novel

  CHAPTER XXV.

  MARK FELT.

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  Subjected as I have been in the last three hours to distress andturmoil, I was delighted to find mademoiselle asleep, and to behold herpeaceful face. Gazing at it, and noting the happy smile whichunconsciously lingered on her lips, I could not but feel that, despitethe hideous revelations which lay before her, her lot was an enviableone, allied as it promised to be with that of one of such highprinciples as the marquis. Though I am old now and have had my day, thelove of the innocent and pure is sacred to me, and in this case itcertainly has the charm of a spotless lily blooming in the jaws of hell.

  As it was late and I was almost exhausted, I began to think of rest. Butmy uneasiness in regard to madame would not let me sleep till I hadmade another visit to her room. So, leaving the gentle sleeper lapped inserenest dreams, I proceeded to descend once more. As I passed the greatclock on the stairs, I noticed that it was almost midnight and began tohasten my steps, when I heard a loud knock at the front door.

  This is not an infrequent sound with us, but it greatly startled me thisnight. I even remember pausing and looking helplessly up and down thehall, as if it were a question whether I should obey the unwelcomesummons. But such knocking as speedily followed could not be longignored. So, subduing my impatience, I hastened to the door, andunlocking it, threw it open. A gust of rain and wind greeted me.

  This was my first surprise, for I had not even noticed that the weatherwas unpleasant, so completely had I been absorbed by what had been goingon in the house. My next was the bearing and appearance of the strangerwho demanded my hospitality. For though both face and form were unknownto me, there was that in his aspect which stirred recollections not outof keeping with the unhappy subject then occupying all my thoughts. YetI could not speak his name, or put into words the anticipations thatvaguely agitated me, and led him through the hall and into thecomfortable sitting room so lately vacated by the marquis, with no moredistinct impression in my mind than that something was about to happenwhich would complete rather than interrupt the horrors of this eventfulnight.

  And when the light fell full upon him, and I could see his eager eyes,this feeling increased, and no sooner had his cloak fallen from hisshoulders and his hat left his head, than I recognized the prominent jawand earnest face, and putting no curb on my impetuosity, I exclaimed atonce, and without a doubt:

  "Mr. Felt!"

  The utterance of this name seemed to cause no surprise to my new guest.

  "The same," he replied; "and you are Mrs. Truax, of course. Mr. Tamworthhas described you to me, also this inn, till I feel as if I knew itsevery stone. I did not wish to visit it, but I could not help myself. Anunknown influence has been drawing me here for days, and though Iresisted it with all my strength, it finally became so powerful that Irose from my bed at night, saddled my horse, and started in thisdirection. I have been twenty hours on the road, but part of these Ihave spent in the thicket just over against you on the opposite side ofthe road. For the sight of the house awakened in my mind such adisturbance that I feared to show myself at the door. A voice out of theair seemed to cry, 'Not yet! not yet!' Nevertheless I could not go backnor leave the spot, which, once seen, possessed for me a fatalfascination."

  I was speechless. Good God! were the old psychological influences atwork, and had they acted upon him at forty miles distance?

  "You come from Albany?" I at last stammered forth. "You must have had awet time of it; it storms heavily, I see."

  "Storms?" he repeated, glancing at the cloak he had thrown off. "GreatHeaven! my cloak is saturated, and I did not even know it rained. Atouch of the old spell," he murmured. "Something is about to happen tome; something has drawn me with purpose to this house."

  I felt awe-struck. Would he guess next what that something was?

  "At eleven o'clock," he went on, with the abstracted air of onerecalling an experience, "I felt a pang shoot through my breast. I hadbeen looking steadfastly at these walls, and somewhere about thebuilding a light seemed to go out, for a pall of darkness suddenlysettled upon it, simultaneously with the cessation of that imaginary crywhich had hitherto detained me. Where was that light, Mrs. Truax, andwhat has happened here that I should feel myself called upon to crossthis threshold to-night?"

  I did not answer at once, for I was trembling. Was I to be subjected toanother such an ordeal as I had experienced earlier in the evening andbe forced to prepare, by such means as lay in my power, a much abusedman for a most dreadful revelation? It began to look so.

  "What has called me here?" he repeated. "Danger to her or death to him?They are thousands of miles away, and Tamworth could not have yetreached them, but peril of some deadly nature menaces them, I know. Astroke has gone home to him or her, and it is in this place I am tolearn it; is it not so, Mrs. Truax?"

  "Perhaps," I tremblingly assented. "There is a gentleman here fromFrance who may be able to tell you something of the man and the womanyou mean. Would it affect you very much to hear disastrous news ofthem?"

  "I cannot say," he answered; "it should not. Mr. Tamworth tells me thathe has acquainted you with the story of my life. Do you think I shouldfeel overwhelmed at any retribution following a crime that was committedalmost as much against me as against the pure and noble being who wasthe visible sufferer?"

  "I shrink from answering," I returned; "the human heart is a curiousthing. If he alone were to suffer--"

  "Ah, he!" was the bitter ejaculation.

  "Or if she," I proceeded, "were bound by no ties appealing to thesympathies! But she is a mother--"

  "Good God!"

  I had not thought it would affect him so, and stood appalled.

  "A mother!" he repeated; "she! she! the tigress, the heartless one, withno more soul than the naked dagger I should have plunged into her breastand did not! Great Heaven! and this child has lived, I suppose; isgrown up and--and--"

  "Is the sweetest, purest, most unworldly of beautiful women that theseeyes have ever rested upon."

  I thought he would spring upon me, he leaned forward with so muchimpetuosity.

  "How do you know?" he asked, and my heart stood still at the question.

  "Because I have seen her," I presently rejoined. "Because I have hadopportunities for studying her heart. She is called Honora, and she islike Miss Dudleigh, only more beautiful and with more claims to what iscalled character."

  He did not seem to take in my words.

  "You have been to France?" he declared.

  "No," I corrected; "Miss Urquhart has been here."

  He fell back, then started forward again, opened his lips and staredwildly, half fearfully about the room.

  "Here?" he repeated, evidently overcome at the idea. "Why did they sendher here? I should as soon have expected them to send her into the murkof the bottomless pit. A girl, an innocent girl, you say, and senthere?"

  "They had reason; besides, she did not come alone."

  This time he understood me.

  "Oh!" he shrieked, "she in the house. I might have known it," he went onmore calmly; "I did, only I would not believe it. Her crime has drawnher to the place of its perpetration. She could not resist the magneticinfluence which all places of blood have upon the guilty. She has comeback! And he?"

  I shook my head.

  "The man had less courage," I declared. "Perhaps because he was moreguilty; perhaps because he had less love."

  "Love?"

  "It was love for the daughter which drew the mother here, not the spellof her crime or the accusing spirit of the dead. The woman who wrongedyou has some heart; she was willing to risk detection, and with it herreputation and life, to see if by any possibility she could venture togive happiness to the one being whom she really loves."

  "Explain; I do not understand. How could she hope to find happiness forher child here?"

  "By settling the question which evidently tortured her. By determiningonce for all whether the crime of sixteen years back had ever beendiscovere
d, and if she found it had not, to satisfy at once her ownpride and her daughter's heart by giving that daughter to as noble agentleman as ever carried a sword."

  "And they are here now?"

  "They are here."

  "And she has discovered--"

  "The futility of all her hopes."

  He drew back, and his heavy breath echoed in deep pants through theroom.

  "What an end for Marah Leighton!" he gasped.

  "What an end! And she is here!" he went on, after a moment of silentemotion--"under this roof! No wonder I felt myself called hither. Andshe knows her crime is detected? How came she to know this? Did yourecognize her and tell her?"

  "I recognized her and told her. There was no other course. We met in thesecret chamber, whither she had come to make her own terribleinvestigations; and the sight of her there, on the spot where she hadleft the innocent to die, was too much for my sense of justice. Iaccused her to her face, and she crouched before me as under the lash.There was no possibility of denial after that, and she now lies--"

  "Wait!" he cried, catching me painfully by the arm. "When was this day?To-day--to-night?"

  "Not two hours ago."

  His brow took on a look of awe.

  "You see," he murmured, "she has power over me yet. When her hope broke,something snapped within me here. I abhor her, but I feel her grief. Shewas once all the world to me."

  I recognized his right to emotion, and did not profane it by any wordsof mine. Instead of that I sought to leave him, but he would not let mego till he had asked me another question.

  "And the daughter?" he urged. "Does she know of the opprobrium whichmust fall upon her head?"

  "She sleeps," I replied, "with a smile of the shyest delight upon herlips. Her lover has followed her to this place, and the last words sheheard to-night were those of his devotion. Her suffering must cometo-morrow; yet it will be mitigated, for he will not forsake her,whatever shame may follow his loyalty. I have his word for that."

  "Then the earth holds two lovers," was Mark Felt's rejoinder. "I thoughtit held but one." And with a sigh he let go my arm and turned to thewindow, with its background of driving rain and pitiless flashes oflightning.

  I took the opportunity to excuse myself for a few minutes, and hurryingagain into the hall, hastened, with nervous fear and an agitationgreatly heightened by the unexpected interview I had just been through,to the now oft-opened door leading into the oak parlor.

  I found it closed but not locked, and pushing it open, listened for amoment, then took a glance within. All was quiet and ghostly. A singlecandle guttering on the table at one end of the room lent a partiallight by which I could discern the funereal bed and the other heavy anddesolate-looking articles of furniture with which the room wasencumbered. Honora's flowers, withering on the window seat, spoke oftender hopes not yet vanished from her tender dreams, but elsewhere allwas hard, all was dreary, all was inexorably forbidding and cold. Ishuddered as I looked, and shuddered still more as I approached the bedand paused firmly before it.

  "Madame Letellier"--it was the only name by which I could bring myselfto address her at that instant--"there is one gleam of brightness inyour sky. The marquis knows the story of your guilt, yet consents tomarry your daughter."

  I received no reply.

  Shaken by fresh doubts, and moved by an inexplicable terror, I stoodstill for a moment gathering up my strength, then I repeated my words,this time with sharp emphasis and scarcely concealed importunity.

  "Madame," said I, "the marquis knows your guilt, yet consents to marryyour daughter."

  But the silence within remained unbroken, and not a movement displacedthe somber falling curtains.

  Agitated beyond endurance, I stretched forth my hands and drew thosecurtains aside. An unexpected sight met my eyes. There was no madamethere; the bed was empty.