CHAPTER XVIII
THE SHADOW FALLS
It would appear that Sir Robert went direct from the prison to the clubroom at White's. He was observed to be gloomy, preoccupied, his manner nota little perturbed. The usual light smile was completely clouded under agravity foreign to his nature. One may guess that he was in no humour tocarry coals. In a distant corner of the room he seated himself and fell tofrowning at the table on which his elbow rested. At no time was he a manupon whom one would be likely to foist his company undesired, for he hadat command on occasion a hauteur and an aloofness that challenged respecteven from the most inconsiderate.
We must suppose that he was moved out of his usual indifference, that somelong-dormant spring of nobility was quickened to a renewed life, that agirl's truth and purity, refining his selfish passion, had bitten deepinto the man's callous worldliness. For long he sat in a sombre silencewith his head leaning on his hand, his keen mind busy with the problem--soI shall always believe--as to how he might even yet save me from thegallows.
By some strange hap it chanced that Sir James Craven, excited with drink,the bile of his saturnine temper stirred to malignity by heavy losses atcards, alighted from his four in hand at White's shortly after Volney.Craven's affairs had gone from bad to worse very rapidly of late. He hadbeen playing the races heavily and ruin stared the man in the face. Morethan suspected of dubious play at cards, it had been scarce a week sincethe stewards of a leading racetrack had expelled him for running crosses.Any day a debtor's prison might close on him. Within the hour, as wasafterward learned, his former companion Frederick Prince of Wales hadgiven him the cut direct on the Mall. Plainly his star was on the decline,and he raged in a futile passion of hatred against the world. Need it besaid that of all men he most hated his supplanter in the Prince of Wales'good-will, Sir Robert Volney.
To Volney then, sitting gloomily in his distant solitude, came Craven withmurder in his heart and a bitter jest on his lips. At the other side ofthe table he found a seat and glared across at his rival out of apassion-contorted face. Sir Robert looked past him coldly, negligently, asif he had not been there, and rising from his seat moved to the other sideof the room. In the manner of his doing it there was somethingindescribably insulting; so it seemed to Topham Beauclerc, who retailed tome the story later.
Craven's evil glance followed Volney, rage in his bloodshot eyes. If alook could kill, the elegant macaroni had been a dead man then. It is tobe guessed that Craven struggled with his temper and found himself notstrong enough to put a curb upon it; that his heady stress of passionswept away his fear of Volney's sword. At all events there he satglowering blackly on the man at whose charge he chose to lay all hismisfortunes, what time he gulped down like water glass after glass ofbrandy. Presently he got to his feet and followed Sir Robert, stilldallying no doubt with the fascinating temptation of fixing a quarrel uponhis rival and killing him. To do him justice Volney endeavoured to avoidan open rupture with the man. He appeared buried in the paper he wasreading.
"What news?" asked Craven abruptly.
For answer the other laid down the paper, so that Sir James could pick itup if he chose.
"I see your old rival Montagu is to dance on air to-morrow. 'Gad, you'llhave it all your own way with the wench then," continued Cravenboisterously, the liquor fast mounting to his head.
Volney's eyes grew steelly. He would have left, but the burly purple-facedbaronet cut off his retreat.
"Damme, will you drink with me, or will you play with me, Volney?"
"Thanks, but I never drink nor play at this time of day, Sir James. If itwill not inconvenience you to let me pass----"
With a foolish laugh, beside himself with rage and drink, Craven flung himback into his chair. "'Sdeath, don't be in such a hurry! I want to talk toyou about-- Devil take it, what is it I want to talk about?-- Oh, yes! Thatpink and white baggage of yours. Stap me, the one look ravished me! Pityyou let a slip of a lad like Montagu oust you."
"That subject is one which we will not discuss, Sir James," said Volneyquietly. "It is not to be mentioned in my presence."
"The devil it isn't. I'm not in the habit of asking what I may talk about.As for this mistress of yours----"
Sir Robert rose and stood very straight. "I have the honour to inform youthat you are talking of a lady who is as pure as the driven snow."
Buck Craven stared. "After Sir Robert Volney has pursued her a year?" heasked with venomous spleen, his noisy laugh echoing through the room.
I can imagine how the fellow said it, with what a devilish concentrationof malice. He had the most irritating manner of any man in England; Inever heard him speak without wanting to dash my fist in his sneeringface.
"That is what I tell you. I repeat that the subject is not a matter fordiscussion between us."
Craven might have read a warning in the studied gentleness of Volney'scold manner, but he was by this time far beyond reck. By common consentthe eyes of every man in the room were turned on these two, and Craven'svanity sunned itself at holding once more the centre of the stage.
"And after the trull has gadded about the country with young Montagu inall manner of disguises?" he continued.
"You lie, you hound!"
Sir James sputtered in a speechless paroxysm of passion, found words atlast and poured them out in a turbid torrent of invective. He let fall theword baggage again, and presently, growing more plain, a word that is notto be spoken of an honest woman. Volney, eyeing him disdainfully, theman's coarse bulk, his purple cheeks and fishy eyes, played with his winegoblet, white fingers twisting at the stem; then, when the measure of thefellow's offense was full, put a period to his foul eloquence.
Full in the mouth the goblet struck him. Blood spurted from his lips, anda shower of broken glass shivered to the ground. Craven leaped across thetable at his enemy in a blind fury; restrained by the united efforts ofhalf a dozen club members, the struggling madman still foamed to get athis rival's throat--that rival whose disdainful eyes seemed to count himbut a mad dog impotent to bite.
"You would not drink with me; you would not play with me; but, by God, youwill have to fight with me," he cried at last.
"When you please."
"Always I have hated you, wanted always to kill you, now I shall do it,"he screamed.
Volney turned on his heel and beckoned to Beauclerc.
"Will you act for me, Topham?" he asked; and when the other assented,added: "Arrange the affair to come off as soon as possible. I want to havedone with the thing at once."
They fought within the hour in the Field of the Forty Footsteps. The onewas like fire, the other ice. They were both fine swordsmen, but there wasno man in England could stand against Volney at his best, and those whowere present have put it on record that Sir Robert's skill was this day athigh water mark. He fought quite without passion, watching with coolalertness for his chance to kill. His opponent's breath came short, histhrusts grew wild, the mad rage of the man began to give way to a no lessmad despair. Every feint he found anticipated, every stroke parried; andstill his enemy held to the defensive with a deadly cold watchfulness thatstruck chill to the heart of the fearful bully. We are to conceive thatCraven tasted the bitterness of death, that in the cold passionless faceopposite to him he read his doom, and that in the horrible agony of terrorthat sweated him he forgot the traditions of his class and the training ofa lifetime. He stumbled, and when Sir Robert held his hand, waiting pointgroundward with splendid carelessness for his opponent to rise, Cravenflung himself forward on his knees and thrust low at him. The blade wenthome through the lower vitals.
Volney stood looking at him a moment with a face of infinite contempt,than sank back into the arms of Beauclerc.
While the surgeon was examining the wound Craven stole forward guiltily tothe outskirts of the little group which surrounded the wounded man. Hishorror-stricken eyes peered out of a face like chalk. The man's own secondhad just turned his back on him, and he was already realizing that thef
oul stroke had written on his forehead the brand of Cain, had made him anoutcast and a pariah on the face of the earth.
The eyes of Volney and his murderer met, those of the dying man full ofscorn. Craven's glance fell before that steady look. He muttered a hopethat the wound was but slight; then, in torture, burst out: "'Twas a slip.By Heaven, it was, Volney! I would to God it were undone."
"'To every coward safety, and afterward his evil hour,'" quoted Volneywith cold disdain.
The murderer turned away with a sobbing oath, mounted his horse and rodefor the coast to begin his lifetime of exile, penury, and execration.
"Do I get my passport?" asked Sir Robert of the surgeon.
The latter began to talk a jargon of medical terms, but Volney cut himshort.
"Enough! I understand," he said quietly. "Get me to my rooms and send atonce for the Prince of Wales. Beauclerc, may I trouble you to call onCumberland and get from him an order to bring young Montagu to my placefrom the prison? And will you send my man Watkins for a lawyer? Oh, andone more commission--a messenger to beg of Miss Macleod her attendance. Incase she demurs, make it plain to her that I am a dying man. Faith,Topham, you'll be glad I do not die often. I fear I am an unconscionablenuisance at it."
Topham Beauclerc drove straight to the residence of the Duke ofCumberland. He found the Duke at home, explained the situation in a fewwords, and presently the pair of them called on the Duke of Newcastle andsecured his counter-signature for taking me temporarily from the NewPrison. Dusk was falling when Beauclerc and the prison guards led me toVolney's bedroom. At the first glance I saw plainly that he was not longfor this world. He lay propped on an attendant's arm, the beautiful eyesserene, an inscrutable smile on the colourless lips. Beside him satAileen, her hand in his, and on the other side of the bed the Duke ofCumberland and Malcolm. When he saw me his eyes brightened.
"On time, Kenneth. Thanks for coming."
Beauclerc had told me the story, and I went forward with misty eyes. Helooked at me smiling.
"On my soul I believe you are sorry, Montagu. Yes, I have my quietus. Thefellow struck foul. My own fault! I always knew him for a scoundrel. I hadhim beaten; but 'tis better so perhaps. After all I shall cross the riverbefore you, Kenneth." Then abruptly to an attendant who entered the room,"Has the Prince come yet?"
"But this moment, sir."
The Prince of Wales entered the room, and Volney gave him his old winsomesmile.
"Hard hit, your Highness!"
"I trust it is not so bad as they say, Robert."
"Bad or good, as one looks at it, but this night I go wandering into thegreat unknown. Enough of this. I sent for you, Fritz, to ask my lastfavour."
The face of the stolid Dutchman was all broken with emotion.
"'Tis yours, Robert, if the thing is mine to grant."
"I want Montagu spared. You must get his pardon before I die, else I shallnot pass easy in mind. This one wrong I must right before the end. 'Twas Idrove him to rebellion. You will get him pardoned and see to it that hisestates are not confiscated?"
"I promise to do my best. It shall be attended to."
"To-day?"
"This very hour if it can be arranged."
"And you, Cumberland, will do your share."
The Duke nodded, frowning to hide his emotion.
Volney fell back on the pillows. "Good! Where is the priest?"
A vicar of the Church of England came forward to offer the usualministrations to the dying. Volney listened for a minute or two withclosed eyes, then interrupted gently.
"Thank you. That will suffice. I'll never insult my Maker by fawning forpardon in the fag hour of a misspent life."
"The mercy of God is without limits----"
"I hope so. That I shall know better than you within the space offour-and-twenty hours. I'm afraid you mistake your mission here. You cameto marry Antony, not to bury Caesar." Then, turning to me, he said with aflare of his old reckless wit: "Any time this six weeks you've beenqualifying for the noose. If you're quite ready we'll have the obsequiesto-night."
He put Aileen's hand in mine. The vicar married us, the Prince of Walesgiving away the bride. Aileen's pale face was shot with a faint flush, asplash of pink in either alabaster cheek. When the priest had made us manand wife she, who had just married me, leaned forward impulsively andkissed our former enemy on the forehead. The humorous gleam came back tohis dulling eyes.
"Only one, Montagu. I dare say you can spare that. The rest are for abetter man. Don't cry, Aileen. 'Fore Heaven, 'tis a good quittance foryou."
He looked at the soft warmth and glow of her, now quickened to throbbinglife, drew a long breath, then smiled and sighed again, her lover even tothe last.
A long silence fell, which Sir Robert broke by saying with a smile, "Incase Selwyn calls show him up. If I am still alive I'll want to see him,and if I'm dead he'll want to see me. 'Twill interest him vastly."
Once more only he spoke. "The shadow falls," he said to Aileen, andpresently dozed fitfully; so slipped gradually into the deeper sleep fromwhich there is no awakening this side of the tomb. Thus he passed quietlyto the great beyond, an unfearing cynic to the last hour of his life.
THE AFTERWORD
My pardon came next day, duly signed and sealed, with the customary riderto it that I must renounce the Stuarts, and swear allegiance to KingGeorge. I am no hero of romance, but a plain Englishman, a prosaic loverof roast beef and old claret, of farming and of fox-hunting. Our cause wasdead, and might as well be buried. Not to make long of the matter, I tookthe oath without scruple. To my pardon there was one other proviso: that Imust live on my estate until further notice. If at any time I were foundten miles from Montagu Grange, the pardon was to be void.
Aileen and I moved to our appointed home at once. It may be believed thatour hearts were full of the most tender joy and love, for I had beensnatched from the jaws of death into the very sunshine of life. We had butone cloud to mar the bright light--the death of many a dear friend, andmost of all, of that friendly enemy who had given his life for her goodname. Moralists point out to me that he was a great sinner. I care not ifit be so. Let others condemn him; I do not. Rather I cherish the memory ofa gallant, faultful gentleman whose life found wrong expression. There besome to whom are given inheritance of evil nature. Then how dare we, whoknow not the measure of their temptation, make ourselves judges of theirsin?
At the Grange we found awaiting us an unexpected visitor, a red-haired,laughing Highlander, who, though in hiding, was as full of merriment as aschoolboy home for the holidays. To Cloe he made most ardent love, andwhen, at last, Donald Roy slipped across the waters to St. Germains, hecarried with him a promise that was redeemed after the general amnesty waspassed.
Six weeks after my pardon Malcolm Macleod and Miss Flora Macdonald stoppedat the Grange for a short visit with us. They were on their way north,having been at length released without a trial, since the passion forblood was now spent.
"We three, with Captain Donald Roy and Tony Creagh, came to London to behangit," smiled Major Macleod as they were about to resume their journey."Twa-three times the rope tightened around the gullets of some of us, yetin the end we all win free. You and Tony have already embraced the othernoose; Donald is in a geyan ill way, writing Latin verses to his lady'seyes; and as for me,"--he smiled boldly at his companion--"I ride to theland of heather side by side with Miss Flora Macdonald."
Here I drop the quill, for my tale is told. For me, life is full of manyquiet interests and much happiness, but even now there grips me at times alonging for those mad wild days, when death hung on a hair's breadth, andthe glamour of romance beckoned the feathered foot of youth.
FINIS
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