A Monk of Cruta

  CHAPTER XXVII

  "GRIM FIGURES TRACED BY SORROW'S FIERY HAND"

  The lamp which stood on Paul's writing-table had gone out, and onlya few dull red embers remained in the grate. By moving a single yardbackwards, Paul was almost lost in the deep shadows which hung aboutthe room, whilst such light as there was fell directly upon thepriest's pale face. During those last few moments his voice had growna shade more solemn--more intense. Paul, who stood looking out athim from the darkness with dazed senses, like a man in a dream, neverdoubted for an instant, although perhaps he scarcely realized the fullmeaning of the story to which he was listening.

  "It must have been in this very room," Father Adrian continued,looking around him, "that your father and Count Hirsfeld stood face toface. But you are naturally impatient. I will take up the story againin your father's own words to me.

  * * * * *

  "'It was several moments before I could collect myself sufficientlyto answer Count Hirsfeld. Everything seemed dim and unreal around me.Only that calm, mocking face remained steadfast, and his words rang inmy ears.

  "'"It is a lie!" I gasped. "We stood together by her grave! She isdead!"

  "'The calmness suddenly vanished from my tormentor's face and manner.His eyes were ablaze with mingled triumph and hate. "You thought so,you poor fool!" he hissed out at me across the table. "Bah! you were afool! You were easily deceived! Listen!

  "'"You thought it a light thing to carry off the only daughter of thelast Count of Cruta. 'Twas easily done, no doubt; but you made foryourself enemies of men from whose vengeance you were bound to suffer.One was the Count whose daughter you had dishonoured, and whose proudname you disgraced; the other was myself, the man whom she was to havemarried--myself, who loved her! Do you think that because I did notseek you out and shoot you as you deserved, that I forgot? There weremen on the island who loved their lord, and who at the word from himwould have hunted you down and murdered you. If he restrained them,do you imagine he was willing to bear this great dishonour withoutstriking a blow? Bah! it was my word that said 'wait,' my counselwhich saved you from death as too light a punishment. There is anotherway, I said. So we waited.

  "'"It was my persuasions which induced Irene to leave you and returnto her father. It was I who pointed out to her your great selfishness,and raised in her the longing for revenge! It was I who laid the plotinto which you fell.

  "'"A few words more! It is all so simple! Irene was about to become amother; and you, believing her to be on her deathbed, married her. Thechild was born on the next day--your son and heir! Meanwhile, Irene'swaiting maid, who had been for long in a consumption, died. It washer funeral which you attended with such interesting penitence. Ireneherself was fast recovering; she was never in any real danger. Shelives with her old father, and the boy lives with her. We waited! Weread of your marriage, and the Count cried, 'Let us strike!' But Isaid, 'No, let us wait!' Time went on. We read again of the birth of ason and heir to you, and of the great rejoicings. Irene held your boyin her arms, and she frowned. 'Go now,' she commanded, 'tell Martinde Vaux that his son and heir is here, and his wife is here! Tell himthat they are weary of his absence.' So I came!"

  "'There was a dead silence. My throat and lips were dry; I couldnot speak. Count Hirsfeld watched me with folded arms. It was hisvengeance!

  "'"It is not true!" I stammered out at last. "I will not believe it.Irene is dead!"

  "'I tried to speak confidently, but I failed. In my heart I believedthe Count.

  "'He shrugged his shoulders. "You have reason," he remarked. "Whyshould you believe me? Come to Cruta, and you will see for yourself.You can see the headstone at the foot of the grave: 'Sacred to thememory of Marie, faithful servant of Irene of Cruta.' You can see thedoctor who attended her and your wife at the same time! Better still,you can see your wife and your infant son! What do you say?"

  "'"I will not go!" I cried passionately. "I will not see them! It wasbase treachery!"

  "'"One must use the weapons of craft against villains," he said."There is no baseness to equal yours. You are repaid in your own coin;that is all."

  "'I sank into a chair. The insult moved me to no fit of anger. I wasnumbed.

  "'"If this be true," I asked, "what does Irene ask for? I will not goback to her, or see her, or acknowledge her in any way. She can havemoney, that is all!"

  "'"Naturally, she requires an allowance," Count Hirsfeld answered,"and a large one, to enable her to bring up her son in accordance withhis position!"

  "'"She shall have the allowance; she shall have what she asks for," Ideclared; "but I will never acknowledge the boy, or her. If he takesthe name of De Vaux, or forces himself upon me in any way, it shall beopen war. The English courts will annul that marriage."

  "'"I think not," he answered coolly. "Besides, you married intoa noble family, did you not--a duke's daughter? How pleasant herposition would be while such a case was being tried! And your son----"

  "'I stopped him angrily. "I repeat that I will not acknowledge them.Money they can have, and the boy's future shall be my care! But not ifhe ever dares to call himself De Vaux."

  "'The Count shrugged his shoulders. "I am but an ambassador," he said."I will convey what you have said to your wife. You shall hear herdecision."

  "'He went away, and for a fortnight I was left in misery. At the endof that time I had a letter signed "Irene." It was cold and short. Ittold me that, so far as she herself was concerned, she had no desireor intention of claiming her position as my wife. All she demanded wasan allowance to be paid to her order at a certain bank in Palermoat regular intervals for the support of herself and for the propereducation and bringing up of her son. As to his future, she could notpledge herself to anything; for when the time came, he shoulddecide for himself. She would bring him up in ignorance; but on histwenty-fifth birthday she should tell him the whole story, and placeall the necessary papers in his hands. If he chose to use them andclaim the De Vaux estates, he would easily be able to do so. If, onthe other hand, he decided to remain as he was, she should not attemptin any way to alter his decision!

  "'The letter was a great relief to me. Five-and-twenty years was along respite. The boy might die--a thousand things might happen beforethen. At any rate, I was enough of a philosopher to seal down thatsecret page in my history, and to live as though it had never existed.

  "'Five-and-twenty years is a long time, but it passed away. It is theportion of my life which I look back upon with the most pleasure.I did my utmost to atone for a wasted youth, and in some measure Isucceeded. My fears had grown fainter and fainter, and when the blowcame it was like a thunderbolt falling from a clear sky. One morningI received a letter in Irene's writing, a little fainter and less firmthan of old, but still familiar to me. It contained only a few lines.She had told her son all, and he elected to assert his rightful nameand position. In future he intended to call himself "De Vaux" and onmy death he would claim the estates.

  "'I read the letter, and determined on instant action. In a week myson Paul and I were on board my yacht, starting for the Mediterranean.We made for Palermo, and here we separated,--Paul, at all hazard, tofind Count Hirsfeld, to whom I made a splendid offer if he wouldaid me in inducing Irene to change her purpose; I for Cruta, to seeIrene.'

  * * * * *

  "This is almost the end of your father's confession to me," FatherAdrian continued. "At Cruta he sought the hospitality of themonastery, where he was taken ill. He wrote an urgent letter to you,and immediately he was able to walk he went up to the castle. I havealready told you of the manner of return. Of that visit he told mescarcely anything, and he told me nothing at all concerning the woundwhich he received there. Only I gathered that he was more than everanxious to see Count Hirsfeld. It was while waiting for your returnthat he made this confession to me. I have finished."

  * * * * *

  The white morning light was stealing into the roo
m through theuncurtained windows. The fire had burnt out, and there was only ahandful of ashes in the grate. Outside in the park a grey mist washanging about in the hollows and over the tree-tops, and something ofits damp chilliness seemed to have found its way into the apartment.Paul, who had been leaning heavily upon the mantelpiece, with his headburied in his hands, looked up and shivered. Then he glanced quicklyacross towards the opposite easy-chair. Father Adrian was still there,and at Paul's movement he rose to his feet.

  "This has been a terrible night for you, I fear," he said quietly."I am sorry to have given you so much pain. If I could I would havespared you."

  "I thank you," Paul answered wearily. "It was right that I shouldknow. Why did you not tell me at Cruta?"

  "It seemed to me that your father's death was enough for you to bear!Perhaps I was wrong!"

  Paul made no answer. His thoughts seemed suddenly to have travelledfar away. Father Adrian watched his pale, stricken face with cold,pitiless eyes.

  "You are weary," he said softly. "I shall leave you now, but I havesomething more to say to you on this matter. It is no part of yourfather's confession. It is from myself. Can I come to-morrow or thenext day?"

  "Come in a week," Paul answered. "I shall be able to talk calmly thenabout this."

  Father Adrian hesitated. "A week! Well, let it be so, then. Farewell!"